"Are we going?"
(Yes, and why do I let myself be talked into these kind of mid-afternoon madness type thingies, for want of a better word? Also, No, if that's an acceptable answer to give a 4year old you've promised you will.)
"Are we going today?"
(Was that sarcasm? peer into his sunshiney face - a thousand laxman slyvania's (didn't you watch TV in the eighties - it was the most famous telly jingle going, after Laser blade) wouldn't fill the room with so much light as did that one thought of finally going fishing.)
'Not a chance,' is the answer I get from the ebullience and sheer delight brimming over with excitement and fascination and pure, undiluted joy on Donny's visage. How nice not to know sarcasm and equate it with smart repartee as adults are prone to doing. Yes, moi too - guilty as charged!)
'Not a chance,' is the answer I get from the ebullience and sheer delight brimming over with excitement and fascination and pure, undiluted joy on Donny's visage. How nice not to know sarcasm and equate it with smart repartee as adults are prone to doing. Yes, moi too - guilty as charged!)
"Hmmn?...hmmmn." (Distracted query and statement answer from me while packing the lunch away in an old jhagola of a bag. It's so shapeless and vague, no other name would quite suit the well-worn white with blue straps vegetable bag, so jhagola it is.)
"But Mummie, you said it's rude to just nod and do 'hoon' -'haan' - then why are You doing it??" he's such a pest sometimes.
I forbid the grin to even linger a moment on my lips and banish it forthwith to the narrow confines of an adult mind, intent on reprimanding a cheeky child:"Now, Donovan, that's not nice. Mummy is Mummy and you cant tell her what to do."
How lame. But, really, I couldn't have thought of anything else on the spur of the moment, while also ensuring I'm putting the chaaloo luncheon of ours into the right box and taking some empty bottles to fill with spring water on the way, a durrie, old newspaper, some cutlery, money to buy dahi on the way...
Will I need toilet paper or shall I just tell the litte chap to rub himself off in the grass for I cant be bothered with such trivialities after a meal of egg-biryani...
Will I need toilet paper or shall I just tell the litte chap to rub himself off in the grass for I cant be bothered with such trivialities after a meal of egg-biryani...
....all this extra thinking and planning for a impulse picnic gets to me,really it does...whatever happened to good ol' fashioned spontaneity, I wonder?....
Then, I remember, its all those years of adopting the scouts' motto ("Be Prepared!") as my wholesoul saving principle...which is also why I keep a few extra boiled potatoes in my house. (For sudden guests and kiddie hunger pangs that come unannounced like measles. Not that there's any comparison between guests and measles and ubla aalus, but since I used the word, 'like' perhaps some of you may think so and ...well, okay...some guests are measles!! Happy now??
Then, I remember, its all those years of adopting the scouts' motto ("Be Prepared!") as my wholesoul saving principle...which is also why I keep a few extra boiled potatoes in my house. (For sudden guests and kiddie hunger pangs that come unannounced like measles. Not that there's any comparison between guests and measles and ubla aalus, but since I used the word, 'like' perhaps some of you may think so and ...well, okay...some guests are measles!! Happy now??
Why is Donovan so quiet?
Alarm bells ring - and all mothers reading this will know silence and kids are not a happy equation for clean homes or sane moms or safe children...so off I dash in mad-cow mode: y'know the kind - clumsy and befuddled but propelled by woman's intuition that the rascal has cut himself up with the letter opener, drunk the floor cleaning liquid (after all, I come from a family where brothers taking a swig at a bottle of petrol is perfectly fine and rushing to Command Hospital the saturday night-out plan) or worse still, poured nail-polish over my bed-linen (heirloom value, no less - I wash them by hand so in rank of preciousness, they're way over the top. Okay, so I dont have a washing machine, also.)
Alarm bells ring - and all mothers reading this will know silence and kids are not a happy equation for clean homes or sane moms or safe children...so off I dash in mad-cow mode: y'know the kind - clumsy and befuddled but propelled by woman's intuition that the rascal has cut himself up with the letter opener, drunk the floor cleaning liquid (after all, I come from a family where brothers taking a swig at a bottle of petrol is perfectly fine and rushing to Command Hospital the saturday night-out plan) or worse still, poured nail-polish over my bed-linen (heirloom value, no less - I wash them by hand so in rank of preciousness, they're way over the top. Okay, so I dont have a washing machine, also.)
He's just curled himself up into a ball, like those hairy caterpillars are prone to doing and is feeling sorry for himself in the cane chair, head resting on his chest and a pink cushion under his legs.
"Awww" I say, despite myself.
"What happened?" I urge him, trying to snuggle up, but he won't let up for a moment even.
"You're taking so long...all the fish will go to sleep."
(Hain??!! Never heard of this one!)
"Why will the fish go to sleep, sweetheart?" I ask, very patiently - and a tad, curiously.
"Why...don't they also have mummas that put them to sleep inda afta-noon?" he parries.
(Oh my. What a little devil I have created...he foxed me with that one.)
I hurried to put things right. I told him to count till 25 (he gets stuck around 19 so I thought that was a smart plan to buy time) twice over and I'd be done, with even locking up taken care of.
I kept my word - and we were on our way to a fishing holiday.
.....
Lunch was polished off within a matter of minutes - no, it wasn't that good and no, we're not the 'savor your meal' type people when we're not in polite society; we simply chomp our way through lunch and dinner and then attend to chores that push their way into our sleepy heads thereafter.
It's just that this day, we had very important things to do: like remembering to recall how to fold newspapers into paper hats and sail boats and then get down to some fishing fun.
It's just that this day, we had very important things to do: like remembering to recall how to fold newspapers into paper hats and sail boats and then get down to some fishing fun.
Dexter was given charge of constructing the boats - I demanded he make one for me, since Don got one of his own - and I let him go first too. (See how mature I can be when I want to....and also because I have to coz I'm Don's Mom?)
So, we both got our paper sail boats before we had to resort to stamping our feet (which, I can verily say, I have no qualms about indulging in if I'm assured the results I want - yes, anywhere, at any age...so, beware...) and ventured down to the lake-shore. Now the bloody things just wouldn't budge from the shallow waters into the lake and here Don and I were fast losing patience coz we'd kinda imagined the whole route they'd take, y'know kinds whizzing off motor-boat style or even dingy-style a-la Parineeta, but no! The darn things stubbornly stayed near the shore - almost begging to be pushed into deeper waters.
So we did just that! Picked up a nice big abandoned stick and gave the 'chipkoo boats' the shove they needed - and off they went merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily....
ah, life is but a dream.
....
We saw fish. We admired some. We gazed some more.Then we fished to our heart's content.
How many did we catch???
Oh, that one's best answered by a look at the prize catch photo; take a look below........
......................
..................
it's coming, be prepared to feast your eyes on this one.....
......................
Fisherman's Folly: we don't use lures and hooks coz it may hurt the fish, y'knw....
(Don's logic for going angling with a thought to the fish's Mom...what can I say 'cept Dons will be Dons...and please avoid this if you want to be able to tell a real fishing tale)
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