My wife would wake-up early in the morning, not bothering to wake me up, she would hurry to the kitchen…..she had started on her daily chores. I sneaked by and watched her expression-less face as she was wiping off the damp plates from dishwasher and putting it in order. Upon seeing me she smiled from the corner of her lips and begged me to make a coffee for her.
She had lot of things to do. Every step she took, she would either stamp on a toy or crayon or some other thing which was not supposed to be lying there. She then slowly said, as if thinking very hard, ‘You are spoiling him. Can you not ask him to keep the toys in its place? See! his toys are inside the fridge too.’ As we were talking, we heard the small steps coming towards us. Yes! It was him. He was standing near me raising both his hands towards me and eyes-half closed. He knew it was not the right time to go to Mom. Smiling, I picked him forgetting about the coffee she wanted me to make. Trying to wake him up was my favorite thing to do. More I try to wake him up, more he would hug me hard and I loved it. By this time, my wife had heated the milk for him and put in the sipper cup, putting him in her lap…. cajoling him to drink the milk …..asking him to look at the imaginary deer that just ran away, the pigeon that was waiting to be fed, the bug that would sting if he did not drink and etc., but he did not want the milk, he wanted juice. Finally, leaving him and the cup with me, she proceeded for her next activity, murmuring ‘juice in the morning…gone after you’.
As the day progressed, my son’s demands increased….now, he did not want juice either, would chew the toothbrush instead of brushing, at breakfast, he did not want dosa, but idli, he wanted cheese only to put it down and play, he wanted boiled egg but not the yolk, at lunch, he wanted spoon to eat, then a fork and then glass of water so that he could put the rice in it and play, finally wanted cookies instead of rice….he was tireless and my wife was tired dancing to his ever changing tunes. He wanted to play in the sprinkler, draw in the wall using the crayons, tear the papers, sit close to the TV, jump from sofa…. ‘She would say, you will have to eat rice to get the cookies, you will have sit in your chair to watch TV else, no cartoon’. The word ‘no cartoon’ would break his heart and wail at the top of his voice as if he had lost his precious something. ‘Miss Melting heart’ would have no other option but switch the TV on again. At the end of the day when it was time for bed, he would not go to his mom at all… he would keep running away and she would have to beg and plead again… ‘kanna… onu va daa….ketti pidikyatte ’(darling, come once to me, let me hug you). All her pleading would be of no use. She would turn to me and tell…. ‘What have I done to get a son like this?’ Seeing his mother in tears, he would rush and hug her. And to answer her question, I would say – ‘The same thing(penance) that Yashoda did’.
