The Brat!

“A daughter is more attached to the father and the son to the mother” is the oft repeated phrase in the family circles in India. I don’t know if this has any scientific basis or is a regular entry to the ‘Paatti sonna kadhaigal’ sort of books. Whatever it might be, I am happy to announce it doesn’t hold true in my case. The kids, both the D and the S being Papa’s children. More so in the case of my son.

Though one would like our children to set the bar higher when it comes to choosing their idols, I am also told that the first heros of one’s life are often our parents. So is the case with my son and this let me confess, gives me immense pleasure. The oft and unexpected hugs, the smiles, the kisses that are bestowed on you. Well priceless! And when you see him advertising ‘Dad is my Hero’ on his T shirt, it gives you a joy which belies words. You will be correct if you assume that I am extremely happy with the scenario described above. But with some *conditions apply as they say in advertising parlance.

While this ‘Dad is right’ slogan is fine the difficulty starts when this is taken beyond normal standards. Like when while on a shopping trip the junior goes straight to the apparel brand store which I patronize. While the choice of brand is fine, the difficulty is when you notice that these brands price their children’s range almost at par with those of their menswear collection. I mean such an expensive wardrobe when you know the dude will outgrow the cloths in less than six months. Any amount of convincing is useless and surrender inevitable.

                                                                     The Brat!

We live in an information age. We have lot more avenues to update our knowledge base. Thanks to the internet and burgeoning television channels children are far more aware of things to aspire for. Courtesy the film ‘Cars’ one of the earliest fancies to catch my son was well, Cars. Initially models of cars from the movie and as time went on cars, cars and more cars. He could virtually name every model of every car brand on the roads and possessed a ‘bucketful’ of their miniatures too. It was all so pretty when friends found it very impressive that a three year old could recognize so many models. This was to take a dramatic turn during a weekend ride for a family gathering. While driving through Embassy Road in Bangalore, we noticed a new BMW store that had opened. As expected the son wanted a new BMW car. And as usual I agreed, a visit to a departmental store to pick up a miniature of the same being the routine. Imagine my shock when he said that we go to the BMW store and pick up one then and there! “Let us give them our car (a poor old hatchback) and take a BMW” being his irrefutable logic!

                                                      Roaring for Team India WC'2011

His initiation to the game I love, Cricket was thanks to that massive six hit by a certain M S Dhoni on 2^nd April, 2011 at Wankhade stadium. Since then I have been forced to buy more bats and balls than maybe even BCCI! Add the beast called IPL and add the multiple CSK jerseys (“I want it with No.7 and Dhoni written on it only”!) that I have invested on. It was fine till then. But then things reach ridiculous levels when you are dragged out of your bed early in the morning on a weekend for bowling to him. The dude who would need to be literally picked and plonked into the washroom on weekdays before going to school is up before Lord Surya to play cricket. One can accept the ‘punishment’ to this extent but what takes this to torturous levels is that you keep bowling! The rules of the game keep changing as he bats and bats. The Imaginary stumps keep moving away from the areas the ball goes through. The number of overs to be bowled keeps increasing as does the number of balls per over.  Rules pertaining to modes of dismissal like LBW, out to a catch, run out and even clean bowled were replaced with one simple rule: “I will only bat”! You might guffaw at my predicament but try bowling 25352 balls everyday from 5 AM till late into the night, with the venues changing from the drawing room to parking lot to parks to terrace and back to drawing room, and all this on a weekend. I am sure I have your sympathy. I mean even if it is a game vs your son, everybody wants to bat too yaar! And sooner than later your enthusiasm gives way to irritation, anger, frustration and finally resignation! But My Lord will keep batting!

                                                         

                                                             WhistlePodu

 And finally the day ends and you thank your stars and massage your aching, creaking bones.  But one final duty still beckons. The brat refuses to sleep unless you give him company. And you yet again sacrifice your favourite TV show to take an unscheduled trip to the bed. A mini wrestling bout on the bed and tight hugs later, peace finally reigns. Before switching off the lights you have one last look at the child, sleeping without a worry in the world, with a smile on the face, and all your creaking bones, aching muscles recover miraculously.  You smile at the peaceful look as if it is saying to you “My Dad is my hero”!

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PS: I am sure every father reading this will have a similar story to tell. And everyone reading this knows of a loveable brat or two!

Glossary:

Paatti Sonna Kadhaigal: Grandma’s tales.

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