CHILD, THE MOTHER OF WOMAN!

BY KAVITA KANE

I dreamt I heard a noise. But I wasn’t dreaming. In the still, cold night, I listened to the noise close to me. I forced my sleepy eyes open – a diaphanous figure was emerging, very close, a few inches away from my now-petrified face. Wild hair, white and …WET! The last realization made me react instinctively. My younger nine-month-old daughter had wet the bed, and the blankets. My maternal instinct quickly swamped the paralyzing fear of the previous few seconds and I could feel it ebbing away to leave behind a brisk mom, battling another night …

Five years later…

Over my lazy Sunday morning cuppa, I vaguely heard my daughters arguing. “Why do boys have such a funny center point?” demanded the Little One, looking at the newspaper I was glancing over.
“Center point?’” I asked stupidly.
“Yes! The one here! Her pudgy finger pointed at a place little below the waistband of her knickers. “That’s what we call it at school!” she giggled, nudging the Older One. “What’s it called? It is sort of cute!”
“Where did you see it?’ I squeaked in alarm.
“Rhea’s baby brother's, of course! But what’s it called?” the Older One sounded impatient.
The moment had arrived. I managed to croak the word somehow.
“Hmm…” she repeated, almost savoring the word! “Like peanut?” she asked, clearly referring to its pronunciation.
The Little One answered sagely, “Yes, yes!! All the boys and men have it. Papa has it, Azoba has it, Vikram Uncle has it, Ravi Uncle has it…” The Older One nodded on solemnly.
I fled.

Two years later…

“Aai, today was the worst day at school!” The Little One proclaimed with a huge grin. I immediately adopted the ‘oh, my poor little baby’ expression but she remained unimpressed. “Oh, what happened?” I asked politely.
“Rahul said ‘I love you’ to me today,” she replied.
“Oh! You’ve found yourself a good friend now,” I sounded weak and stunned, yet, trying desperately to sound wise and confident.
“That he is! In fact, I like him too! He’s the best of the lot!”
“Oh?” I said weakly.
“But he’s not romantic enough!” the Little One scowled.
‘Oh?” I echoed weakly.
“Varun actually wrote ‘I love you ‘ to Sia in her home work book,” the Little One sounded highly indignant, and a trifle miffed.
I almost blurted out that it requires more courage to confess one’s love to the face than furtively scribbling it on paper, but I quickly realized that the daughter facing me now was not a seventeen year old but had just turned seven!
“Oh,” I said weakly.
“Could be that Rahul doesn’t know how to spell ‘love’ or my name, “ muttered the Little One, reassuring herself. “He’s very weak with his spellings, you see.”
“Oh?”
But she had scampered off, looking considerably relieved, a happy smile starting on her freckled face.

Now…
Waiting for more to come!

Bee Gee's note: An assistant editor with Citadel, the Pune city magazine, Kavita is the mum of two pretty, naughty, daughters. If morning shows the day as they say it does, she will have a great time watching her kids grow up.