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All I had said was to take a small booklet and keep it on the table by the bedside. Little Tanvi’s large eyes fixed on me, incredulous at the suggestion. When I repeated the instruction, she went in with the booklet, but I heard her whimpering. Alarmed, I ran in.

With her mother away at work and the babysitter on her day off, I was filling in, and wanted nothing to go wrong.

All had been well till then. We’d tried to build a yellow dog out of plastic building bricks like she suggested, tucked on banana slices in honey till puke-ish, and were generally enjoying ourselves, till she settled down for her daily fix of Doraemon on the television.

I began looking at a booklet for story ideas, when the bell rang. Since it was another journalist at the door, I decided to put the booklet, decorated with all kinds of underlining and squiggles away, and asked Tanvi to take it inside, while I went to fetch him water from the fridge.

My first instinct was that she’d hurt herself, and I gathered her in my arms searching furtively for any signs. By then the whimper had grown into big fat tears as she sobbed into my shoulder. Seeing how preoccupied I was, my journalist friend apologised and excused himself. I was able to pacify Tanvi and stop the crying, but she just wouldn’t tell me what had gone wrong.

By 7pm, when the wifey came home, we were back to playing with a remote-driven toy car and I thought all was forgotten and forgiven. That lasted till Tanvi’s mother picked her up. I still can’t figure how or why she said, “What happened? Why is my Tanvi so quiet?” That brought on another wave of whimpering and crying. “Papa made me do his work in front of his friend,” she complained. I explained what had happened and mama “scolded” papa for telling Tanvi to do stuff. She finally looked happy at this.

I kept wondering about this peculiar behaviour and spoke to my mother about it, when she reminded me of a similar episode in my own childhood. One day, when in Class III, my dad called out to me on his way to work and suggested I go with him till the grocers’, half a kilometre away. I went with him. He bought a four kilo tin of groundnut oil and suggested I take it back. I remember trying to tell him that it was too heavy. All he said in return was, “Pick it up with your kerchief wrapped around the handle and stop to rest if you feel tired,” and left. I did as told but came home and wept. Was it because my hands hurt? Had I found my dad’s act cruel? Or was it something else?

Since I would only be back for two holidays a year from boarding school, mom really fussed over what had gotten me into a funk. “People will laugh at me for carrying an oil can,” I had said. Instead of pacifying me, she had rebuked me instead. “What do you expect? You are not born into a royal family with servants dancing at your whim. Just carrying oil will not harm you.” Though I went around with a hangdog expression for a better part of the day thinking she would show some remorse, I was allowed to “stew in my juices” (one of mom’s favouritetechniques) till I got tired and got over it.

Was Tanvi feeling the same kind of shame about being made to do a chore? She’s only two years and nine months old.

Even if she did, would she be able to articulate the agitation in her mind in detail? When I discussed the incident with some child psychiatrist friends, they admitted that this could be the only logical explanation.

In fact they warned me that given the times we live in, this will only increase with time. “Even without saying it in so many words, children are socialised into believing that anything which involves labour is below them,” points out psychiatrist Dr Fabian Almeida.

He mentioned the case of a 12-year-old who needed help out of his traumatised feelings for being asked to help out in the garden by his father. “Though his friends hadn’t actually teased him, the fear that they would led to temper tantrums when he was brought to me.”

According to him, every time we berate the household help, talk down at the mason, or yell at the vegetable vendor, we are subtly sending the signal that they are not our equals.

“Children are hugely impressionable and pick up these cues,” he observes.

Perhaps it is in our own interest to watch how we conduct ourselves. If not in the pursuit of a more equitable society, where dignity of labour is a core value, at least to ensure that the little Tanvis of the world do not feel ashamed to pick up a book in their own homes.