In Defence Of

The show is over and the children have dispersed.Into little frocked clusters sitting dangly legged on plastic chairs.He appalled by yet another piece of the Barbie cake ,resolutely gulps it down.Its come to this now.
He slides the the purple robe off , puts the rabbit back into the hat and trudges home.

………………………………………..

The desks are polished planks of roughly hewn wood,the text books pages are bleached to blueness.The small windows have curtains.Its that kind of school.

“Bank clerk.,sir”

“Shop ..er..businessman sir, stationery shop.”

“Tuition-teacher”

“….pata nahi sir..”

“Eng-lish!”

“I don’t know,sir”

“You do not know what work,your father,he is doing?!”

………………………………………………

He painfully wrote out his name in cursive and shot a glance at his mother.He wasn’t supposed to talk during home-work time but.. “Mummy…

Where is papa?”

“Working .You study.”

“What work?”

She twisted the corner of her mouth in contempt. “Why don’t you ask him what work a grown man like him is doing.”

……………………………………………….

A long draught of cool water from a metal tumbler .Comfortable now in his vest and dhoti.
His son came and stood next to him ,holding the wide arm of the chair for confidence.

You’re tired?

“A little..*weak grin*..long day”

“What did you do?...No my teacher was asking ..I didn’t know..”

He looked at his son and it all came in a rush ,drowning the rest out.So he whispered ,softly,enchantingly-magic.

“Oh!”

Parenting

While
Expertly arbitrating
And unthinkingly participating
In the cutting and drying process
Buoyed by what they've said
And heard said (Mama Knows Best)
Do they sometimes stop

To ask-But how should I?
Do their hands,suddenly uncertain
Drop by their side
When it stikes
-Why I still catch head-colds
And couldnt tie my laces
Till I was seven...