Feed on
Posts
Comments

Wishlist…

“Mamma, can you buy me a guitar?”

“Fine,” replies the Missus, without giving it much thought.

“And a tabla! I love the tabla!”

“Okay.”

“And could I have a piano, too?”

“Uh huh.”

This was getting too much for me. I couldn’t afford a piano even if I were to sell the shirt off my back.

“Is that it? Nothing more on your list?” I ask sarcastically.

“I’d like a bow and arrow, too,” Stwabbit replies.

“You can’t make music with a bow and arrow. What do you want that for?” I wonder aloud.

Without a moment’s hesitation, pat comes the reply:

“To shoot you with!”

Budding creativity!

The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination. - Albert Einstein

A few samples of Stwabbit’s artwork…

This one was created when she encountered an ink-pad at the car showroom last month.

What else do you do when they lay the table and the food’s nowhere in sight?

My dad called me to remind me that I had yet to chronicle this incident…

Usually, it’s one of us who have to tell stories to Stwabbit. When my parents are around, my dad is the chosen one. One afternoon, though, Stwabbit decided it was her turn to entertain him. Here’s how the story went…

Once upon a time, deep in a forest, there lived a proud and mighty lion. All the other animal cowered when he roared. He was the king of all he surveyed. And, he lived life, king size.

One afternoon, having spent a hectic morning roaring and frightening the other creatures, and having had a satisfying meal on one of them, he settled down under a shady tree for his siesta. The lion snored, and that was almost as frightful as his roar.

A mouse, living nearby, was unable to partake of his afternoon nap because of the lion’s snoring. He decided to make the most of the situation and have some fun. He stepped out of his humble abode and crept up to the lion. The lion snored on. The mouse tugged at the lion’s tail. The lion snored on. The mouse climbed onto the lion’s back. The lion snored on. The mouse ran up and down the lion’s back. The lion couldn’t care less. The mouse decided to slide down the lion’s nose… whee… once, twice… The lion gave a mighty roar and caught the mouse deftly in his paw.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” growled the lion.

“Uh… just admiring you, your Majesty,” squeaked the mouse.

“You tiny little creature… do you know that I could devour you in one gulp if I so desire?” said the lion.

“You probably could, but this is no time for a snack!” came the cheeky reply. The lion was taken aback.

The mouse continued, “Let’s cut a deal. You let me go, and I’ll give you an IOU. If you ever need my help, you can encash it!”

The lion was amused. “What use can you ever be to me?” he asked.

“Don’t bet on it, buddy boy. Here, note down my cell phone number, and if you’re ever in trouble, just give me a missed call,” said the mouse, matter-of-factly.

The lion extracted his cell phone from his arm-pit (lions don’t wear clothes, so they don’t have pockets, you know!) and noted down the number, just to humour the mouse.

“Ciao!” said the mouse, as he scampered away.

Days passed, and life in the forest continued as it had for ages. The lion was in his kingdom, God was in his Heaven and all was fine with the world. The lion soon forgot about his encounter with the mouse.

One fine day, as he strutted about complacently, the lion walked straight into a hunter’s trap. Finding himself trapped, he growled and roared. But, the Moving Finger had written, and having writ, moved own. The mighty lion had been captured. His end was near…

The lion , exhausted by all the roaring and growling, lay down, resigned to his fate. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled the glorious years he had spent, ruling the forest. Hours went by, and the lion lay tired and hungry, entangled in the net.

It was nearing dusk, when a thought struck the lion. He remembered the IOU of the mouse, and wondered if that could be encashed before his imminent death. After all, you don’t waste IOUs, do you?

So, the lion reaches out for his cell phone, and gives the mouse a missed call. And one more…

Suddenly, as though by magic, the mouse appeared before the lion!

“In a spot, pal?” asked the mouse.

“Uh… kind of. Hey, do you think you can get me out of this mess? You owe me one, you know,” the lion reminded him.

“Sure thing. What are friends for?”

The lion squirmed at the thought, for noone really wants a mouse for a friend, but he decided to let it pass for the moment.

The mouse made a few calls, and before long there stood an army of mice before the lion. In a flash, the mice had gnawed away the net. The lion was free!

Well, to cut a long story short, the lion and the mouse became inseparable pals from that day on.

Moral: Always carry your cell phone; and remember, help is always a missed call away!

Stwabbit’s version, my eloquence. We make a great team!

Alto!

Here are some pictures of our new car…

Alto02  Alto03

And here a close-up of the dent that came along with the car - saved me the trouble of putting one in myself!!!

Alto01

Of course, the showroom said they’d get it done up when I send it in for servicing…

Last evening, the missus, my daughter, and yours truly were traveling home, doing our balancing act on my bike. Not one to stay silent for long, Stwabbit (as we shall call her henceforth) entered the inquisitive mode.

“Papa, why are thieves bad?”, she asked.

“Well, it’s because they steal from others. They don’t work to earn, but instead take away from others”, I replied.

“How do they steal?”, was the next question.

“When people go to work and their houses are empty, they break locks and enter houses”, was my explanation.

The next thing I know, she’s bawling.

“What’s wrong?”, I inquire.

She bawls harder. I’m perplexed.

Further probing on my part reveals the following, between sobs:

“Why don’t they ever come to our house? Don’t they consider my toys worth stealing?”

Early one Monday morning, on our way to school, I noticed my daughter was not as chirpy as she usually is. She had a glum expression on her face.

“Why are you so unhappy?”, I asked.

“I don’t like going to school!”, she replied.

“Why? You have so much fun in school. You get to meet your friends and play with them”, I reasoned.

“”My teachers torture me!” she exclaimed.

This worried me. Was she, at the age of six, being subject to harsh punishment meted out by her teachers? Was her school, known for it’s orthodox views, subjecting her to corporal punishment?

“What do they do to you? Do they hurt you?”, I asked anxiously.

“They don’t let me play all day! They expect me to learn new words and write them! They don’t even let me fall asleep in class!”, she burst out.

Maybe I should bring this up at the next parent-teacher meeting…

Cleverly disguised IQ!

I attended my daughter’s parent-teacher meeting at her school this morning.

“Your daughter is very intelligent, Mr. Sarkar”, the teacher said.
I beamed at the other parents, feeling a notch above the rest.

“However,” the teacher continued, “she prefers to keep her intelligence under wraps! All she’s interested in is talking all day!”

Ouch! It was like falling off the balcony from the 10th floor!

My daughter will be reciting the following lines at her school annual socials…

Shakespeare

Bill Watterson had it pat…

play

First, At Last!

Yesterday, my daughter’s school arranged some sports activities. My daughter participated in the sprint.

Later, at home, this is how the conversation flowed:

“Mama, I came first today!” squealed my l’il bundle of joy.

“Hey, wow! You won!” exclaimed the missus.

“Er… not exactly…”, came the reply.

“You came first, but didn’t win?” probed the missus, confused.

“Well, you see, it’s like this… The three who won are different. I came first amongst the ones who didn’t! “

That’s my girl - content with her lot. After all, being the first non-winner is no mean feat!

The Birds And The Bees…

“Papa, where do children come from?”, she asks me one morning while I was dressing her up for school.

Till date, I had always maintained that married couples could go to a hospital and select a baby for themselves, much like shopping one does at a departmental store.

“Oh, we book them at the hospital, you know that”, I reply.

“Then why does the mother’s stomach swell up?”, she persists.

“That’s because, once a baby is selected, it is put in the mother’s stomach”, I explain.

“That’s just it!”, she exclaims. “How does it get in there?”

Hmm…

A thought struck me. I suddenly remembered something interesting my mom had got for my daughter on one of her (my mom’s) recent jaunts to the US of A.

“Do you remember those capsules you had - the ones, when put in hot water, turn into little dinosaurs? Well, babies actually come in similar capsules, and when the mother swallows it, it goes into her stomach and and becomes a baby!”

She stops to think.

“So”, she ponders, “I was a capsule when you selected me?”

“Yes!”, I respond, happy that I was able to buy time before we had this conversation again - say, in about ten years from now.

Silence. I finally get her dressed for school. Seven minutes late.

“I don’t believe you!” :-(

All this, because some teacher in her school, despite being around children, decides to have one of her own and currently struts about looking proud as a queen (more like a beached whale, actually!).

Go ahead, ask your teacher. That’s what I send to to school for, anyways. Hmph…

Older Posts »