Smash! Chomp! Chomp!
I take unbridled pleasure in stepping on a swarm of innocuous ants marching on the bench. Dust and footprints lodge on to distemper paint with a stubborn permanence. Who paints these building benches anyway?
I am wearing my buckled bata school shoes without socks. I go announce my formidable act proudly to my babysitter-aai, who is busily looking out for children traipsing around the place. "Ashi ghanerdi tsala noko karu" (Don't do such nasty activities), she pleads, feeling overwhelmed.
We are waiting to be picked up by our parents. Aai starts panicking as we start a mini game of pakda-pakdi (run and catch), succumbing to the dormant restlessness that hangs loosely in the air. The 5.30pm buses queue up sluggishly , almost mirroring the state of its passengers, uncles (the way we address married/older looking men) dressed in dull blue shirts. An array of crushed men. Ants?
Aai cautiously makes sure none of us fall prey to the giant wheels.
Thud..
Little Babuli falls down from the bench trying to mimic me as I crush ants ruthlessly. He doesn't cry. He is a brave 3- year old, I think. He looks at me and Aai, his bewildered eyes moving to and fro. Aai, on the other hand lets out a frightened yelp, checking him for injuries.
Babuli's eyes discover his mother getting out of one of those beastly buses and almost inadvertently, begin producing tears. By the time he is in his mother's arms, he is bawling.
His mother, looking way more composed than Aai, smiles and tells him "How will babuli become strong if he doesn't fall? huh? nai roneka baboo.. mummy haina ( Don't cry, mommy's here)"
I go home and narrate my day's events to my parents as my mother braids my hair into two pigtails and secures a freshly cut yellow rose on to my tresses with a U-pin.
"Yerumba kollardu oru paapam (Killing ants is a sin)", my father's didactic voice pipes in. Meanwhile, I'm thinking "Do bones grow stronger after a hit? Do bones just know what to do?" Maybe.
How indeed does Babuli become strong when he falls down?
I take unbridled pleasure in stepping on a swarm of innocuous ants marching on the bench. Dust and footprints lodge on to distemper paint with a stubborn permanence. Who paints these building benches anyway?
I am wearing my buckled bata school shoes without socks. I go announce my formidable act proudly to my babysitter-aai, who is busily looking out for children traipsing around the place. "Ashi ghanerdi tsala noko karu" (Don't do such nasty activities), she pleads, feeling overwhelmed.
We are waiting to be picked up by our parents. Aai starts panicking as we start a mini game of pakda-pakdi (run and catch), succumbing to the dormant restlessness that hangs loosely in the air. The 5.30pm buses queue up sluggishly , almost mirroring the state of its passengers, uncles (the way we address married/older looking men) dressed in dull blue shirts. An array of crushed men. Ants?
Aai cautiously makes sure none of us fall prey to the giant wheels.
Thud..
Little Babuli falls down from the bench trying to mimic me as I crush ants ruthlessly. He doesn't cry. He is a brave 3- year old, I think. He looks at me and Aai, his bewildered eyes moving to and fro. Aai, on the other hand lets out a frightened yelp, checking him for injuries.
Babuli's eyes discover his mother getting out of one of those beastly buses and almost inadvertently, begin producing tears. By the time he is in his mother's arms, he is bawling.
His mother, looking way more composed than Aai, smiles and tells him "How will babuli become strong if he doesn't fall? huh? nai roneka baboo.. mummy haina ( Don't cry, mommy's here)"
I go home and narrate my day's events to my parents as my mother braids my hair into two pigtails and secures a freshly cut yellow rose on to my tresses with a U-pin.
"Yerumba kollardu oru paapam (Killing ants is a sin)", my father's didactic voice pipes in. Meanwhile, I'm thinking "Do bones grow stronger after a hit? Do bones just know what to do?" Maybe.
How indeed does Babuli become strong when he falls down?
