MOUMITA'S MUSINGS: Revenge time!

You know what they don’t tell you about parents growing older? Along with the genuine fear of them falling ill, you suddenly find yourself in a position to take revenge for the traumas of your childhood.

I discovered this last week when I took my father to his doctor, where we were told, among other things, that a) he absolutely must take an afternoon nap, b) he has to drink milk at least twice a day, and c) he must eat his vegetables.

As my father turned pale at the thought of a) missing his favourite afternoon shows, b) drinking milk (!), and c) eating carrots (!!), bhindi (!!!), turi (!!!!), and other such stuff that he had long assumed are grown purely for the oxygen they generate, with the pleasing side effect of torturing children who would rather eat pani puri, a light bulb lit up above my head.

Aha! I thought. The time has finally come for the child’s revenge. For years, my parents drove me nuts by telling me to do as they say, not do as they do. (A certain prominent government servant does exactly the same thing with the great Indian public. Humph!). While they shovelled raw carrots down my throat by the wheelbarrowful (“they’re good for your eyes, beta, you won’t need specs when you grow up”), they ate quantities of deep-fried foods themselves, excusing themselves on the grounds that they had to attend parties simply to network so as to earn enough money to buy me carrots.

After I choked on the carrots, I was chased around the table, banging my ankles and knees on sundry items of furniture, by my ayah holding a tall glass of milk (“it’s good for your bones, beta, you won’t need a wheelchair when you grow up”), while my parents guzzled cold drinks.

And after all my (failed) milk-dodging bruises were mercurochrome (the parents refused to listen when I pointed out that cuts and bruises were hardly good for my bones and I needed a wheelchair right now at the age of six), I was lifted up bodily and thrown onto my bed, where I was supposed to sleep peacefully while listening to the rock music my terribly cool parents blasted (“Sleep is good for you, beta, you won’t get much when you’re our age”).

Unfortunately, for my dreams of revenge, my parents are not only older but wiser. Which is why, on the way back home from the doctor’s, my father casually said, “Remember how you drove your mother and me crazy by only wanting to eat pani puri and drink colas, and never sleeping? Now it’s our turn to drive you crazy by doing the same things.”