Fights...Funny Fights

Sunday morning. When I tend to relax the otherwise strict TV rules I have for my kids. My boys, thanks to my mythology loving genes which have passed on to them, love watching Amar Chitra Katha, Tales of Krishna and Balaram, and Chota Bheem (ok, so the last one bears no reference to the hero of Pandava fame). Oh alright, they love watching TV and going out for movie dates in general, but they DO love their mythology...especially the EO.

The Nephew joins them. Suddenly I hear him and my EO arguing. And it's one helluva verbal duel. I'm working on my comp in the bedroom and because there is no physical violence involved with the usual karate, judo and guerrilla warfare tactics, I refrain from butting in, wanting them to sort it out themselves. Statements such as, "But you're my big brother!", "Just let me finish my sentence!" and "I don't like you anymore!" have been exchanged. The argument reaches its crescendo and I hear the door banging shut -- the Nephew, fed up, decides to walk away. But, the EO isn't done saying his piece so he runs after him. I can tell that a certain level of hysteria has been reached and I shout out for him to come to me. I was right. There are tears of rage pouring out of his eyes, his cheeks are flushed and he's shaking. I ask him to calm down and tell me what happened. In a hysterical, high-pitched voice, the EO, still shaking, starts off with, "WXYZ is so dumb! He's as dumb as a fish! When he grows up he's going to become foolish!" I tell him to calm down and tell me what happened...a simple argument where the EO is trying to guess the ending to the story and the Nephew doesn't want to hear of it. He's still in a rage after this narration, so I tell him to listen to some music. He shakes his head and says he wants to finish his movie instead.

So I let him, thinking that it'll help him cool off. But no. My EO still has some rage to expend and who better that his little brother to take it out on? So I hear him admonishing my little shrimp to throw WXYZ dada into the dustbin! Not content with that ruling, he then forbids him from going downstairs to even see and play with WXYZ dada.

And my shrimp decides to do exactly that! He scampers out of the room and I hear the EO yelling after him in frustration.

Sigh! Don't you just love peaceful Sunday mornings?

A Letter to my Blog

Dear Blog,

1) You probably think I'm treating you like Lady Tremaine treated Cinderella. Yes, I googled her name, because I still have a responsibility to my readers...

...those who are left, anyhow :-(

2) You probably think I am taking out my DaddyDearest's death, on you.

3) You probably think I don't have anything to say or record anymore.

4) You probably think I don't love you anymore.

Well, to all that, let me assure you that nothing(s) could be further from the truth.

No, you're not some thingummy that I got forcibly stuck with. I created you because I wanted to. I'm sorry about the neglect. With Baba gone, I seem to have lost a huge sense of drive and motivation. I am guilty of being lazy at the best of times; couple that sin with the meh-blah feeling of pointlessness, then my world will suffer. I'm sorry it had to be you.

I seem to have driven all my faithful readers away...which hurts, and it's all my fault. I hope one day I can rise again from my ashes. I will resurrect you then and hopefully all our old friends will be back, and some new ones too!

I just wish I knew when that day was.

All I can say to you, dear Blog, is, keep singing "I Will Survive"; just that one line, over and over to yourself again and again. Let that one line be our anthem.

Love always,
M4

Sweet Sunday Somethings

Of course the Universe will take a big bite out of my giant a**. Of course it will. With pointy, razor-sharp fangs, no less.

Just when I write my last post, something like this happens...

It's a lovely, monsoon morning. The type where the world looks like a faded water-colour and the poet in your soul feels restless. It's a Sunday morning too, so that means the house is over-flowing with the male presence. The MIM decides it's time to rock 'n' roll with the boys and puts on loud music in the bedroom. He mixes it up with the boys' favourites and his. So while our sons go beserk to "Aal Iz Well", they also learn to apprciate the fine nuances of a Guns 'n' Roses composition. The number in question? Well, as the MIM explains to his heirs, "This song is called 'Sweet Child of Mine'...'Mishti Bachcha Aamaar'." I guffaw while sitting in the other room, but of course there's music coursing through my veins by now and I am supporting Axl Rose's vocals with my back-up act, all the while, nose buried deep in a book. After the song, I suddenly hear the sweet voice of that 'sweet child of mine' trying to sing the chorus...in his own tune. I laugh. I call the EO to me and sing it to him so that he can pick up the correct tune. He loves it, throws himself into my arms, sits on my lap and buries his face into my neck as I sing "Oh-oh, sweet child of mine" over and over again. After I finish, he looks up at me and says, "I'm a happysaur!"

Thankfully, my little boy still hasn't outgrown his love for dinosaurs. Thankfully, he still likes to make up stories and words and images, giving vent to his creative, imaginative side. Thankfully, he loves the music his parents love and is inculcating a distinct taste of his own...an eclectic mixture of Rabindrasangeet, Biddha Bar, Bollywood, Disney and Rock.

And most of all, thankfully, my little boy is a little boy yet...definitely 'sweet child of mine.'