The small boy comes to my door, screaming at his mother and telling me point blank that he wants to come in.
Maybe later? We're eating lunch.
But I want to.
Come baby, I will get you some icecream. says the mother.
No. I want to!
OK how about you come in another 15 minutes.
Yes baby, they are eating. Come I'll get you a gameboy.
NO! I WANT TO!
But...
Please baby...
I WANT TO! I WANT TO! I WANT TO!
OK OK. Come, come.
Sorry. He's just cranky. He didn't sleep last night.
No problem, aunty.
I grimace as I here a crash and a wicked shriek from within. Hastily I say goodbye and rush off to see what priceless heirloom the little monster has broken. I look at the alabaster shards that litter the floor and up in dismay at the inert little face.
Please don't play in the living room, you will break things.
&%$#!(&%^!!!!!!
And off he runs. I tell him not to shout, he hurls startlingly original obscenities at me. I tell him not to jump around, he jumps on my toes. I tell him to put my book down, he hurls it at my face.
I reach a breaking point. The only thing holding me back from picking him up by his nostrils and hurling him out the 1st floor window is the prospect of facing his mother's considerable bulk and a the jail sentence for murder. I fall to my knees and pray for deliverance. I promise 11 coconuts in the Ganapathi Kovel the next day. And just to make sure my prayer is heard I pray to Jesus...Our Father who art in heaven (crash)....and Allah...I will do namaz. I will do zakhat(smash, dash).
Mercifully, the door bell rings.
Hello beta.
Hello Aunty.
How has he behaved.
I have difficulty expressing my enhanced feelings of anger, hate, resentment and horror. She interprets my silence and twitching face as love for her horrible child.
What a good boy he is. Where is he? Bring him here.
I go in and ask him to leave. When answered only with a shrill No! I bodily carry him to the door bravely risking permanent disembowlement and facial disfiguration.
You had fun beta?
I want to stay!
No beta.
I WANT TO!
Aunty, we have to go out now.
I WANT TO! I WANT TO!
Bye Aunty.
I slam the door shut and lock and bolt it for good measure. Slowly, I crawl into the drawing room which looks as if a small tornado or large rat has swept through it. Slumped on the couch, I thank all Gods for keeping me alive and pray that the little boy moves far away to Nicaragua...or Kashmir.
