With my niece Goolli when she was a baby, 1992 |
(I wrote this as a 'middle' in 1998)
It’s tough to be six, and to be treated as a child. Especially
when she’s got a questing mind buried in a tiny frame, topped by enormous eyes
and a silky mane ~ giving her the overall appearance of a lemur. And she is as
endearing as an untamed creature of the wild.
That’s
my cousin’s daughter, my niece Goolli (because of her round eyes) ~ and we’ve
been friends for six years.”Doesn’t matter if Didi-Akka is older than me,” she
insists, referring to her sibling, who’s ten. “I have to be your favourite ~ because
you came to see me when I was just born.”
She’s
always disliked being ‘small and cute.’ In an argument with Dimi, her
grandmother, Goolli at three once shrugged off these despised labels.
“Dimi,
when I was a big girl, I used to switch the lights on and off. I used to press
the lift button. I could even climb up that tall ladder,” she announced.
“If
you were a big girl then, what happened?” asked Dimi.
Goolli
replies, “Then, Didi-Akka was born… and I became a baby.”
Refute
that, if you can. I didn’t try. I continued to answer her questions, come when
they might. The latest torrent arrived when I was babysitting her and her
Didi-Akka overnight.
The dialogue lasted a half-hour.
Here’s an excerpt:
“Are you coming to stay
with us again tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Why not? We can make
up some more stories…”
“I’m going to watch the
Football World Cup.”
“”Where? You don’t have
a TV at home…”
“At a friend’s house.”
“If the World Cup wasn’t
on, what would you do?”
“I’d read a book or
listen to music.”
“And if there’s no
electricity?”
“I’d go to sleep.”
“If you’re not feeling
sleepy?”
“I’ll walk up and down
till I feel sleepy.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe until my legs
begin to ache.”
“If your legs ache, you
won’t be able to sleep. Then, what will you do?”
“I’ll take some
medicine.”
“Suppose you don’t have
any medicine at home?”
“I’ll go to a pharmacy
and buy some.”
“What if you don’t have
any money?”
“I’ll borrow some from
my friends.”
“And if all your
friends are out of Bangalore?”
“Then, I’ll ask my
cousin for some money.”
“Which cousin? Mamma?”
With Goolli at the Chennai beach, 1998 |
“Yes.”
“And if she’s also out
of town?”
“I’ll probably ask you
if you can lend me some pocket money,” I tease.
“I might be away in
Canada.” She is solemn.
That’s where her
cousins live, but she hasn’t been there yet.
“If nobody you know is
in Bangalore, what will you do?”
“I’ll go away to Chennai.”
Goolli has always
wanted to travel to Chennai with me ~ without her parents or her sister.
“How will you go?”
“By train.”
“If all the trains from
Bangalore are not allowed to go?”
“Then I’ll take a bus.”
“But if none of the
buses can go, either. If they have a… strike!”
“In that case, I’ll fly
to Chennai.”
“What if all the planes
in the world… crashland!”
“I don’t know…”
“How silly, can’t you
walk to Chennai? And take me with you?”
As usual Goolli had the
last word. Even at six!
(Deccan Herald, 1998)
No comments:
Post a Comment