Things Thing says


It isn’t the saying ‘no’ that’s hard. Or watching her cry. Or staying firm through a tantrum. Keeping a straight face – that’s the hardest.

“Tell, tell, plicklee tell.”

“Mahm, I am becoming a vegetarian tomorrow.”
“What are you today?”
“Sausages.”

A few of her M&Ms fall to the floor. She picks them up and hands them to me: “You can eat them Mama, itsa 5 second rule.”

“A kite, a manja and a giant loudspeaker were having a tea-party. Princess Thing was invited.”
My favourite weirdo tells a story.

“Please pass the silly sauce.”

“First Lulu started fissing, then Bottle started fissing. Only BrusWen didn’t fiss. He mewrowled at them.”

“You must apologise to this stone. You hurt its feelings.”
“How do you know?”
Thinks for a minute.
“AAAPOLLLLLLAGAISE”

“Aday Yaard, kya kartey tum?”
That’s me. Yaard.

“Where is my best friend everywhere?”
Who’s that?”
“Dada!”
“Who am I then?”
“You’re just a Mama.”

“My name is Lola, call me Lola. I am a pink cwockodile. You have to be scared of me now.”

“I’m done eating my dinner.”
“No you’re not, there’s food left on your plate.”
“I’m sacrafycing that for desserd.”

“You are such a cartoon!”
sings: “Cartoon ki kidmat me salaam apun ka. Tane din thanda na.. Dada taught me. You can glare at him and shake your head.”

“Must you always get your way, Thing?”
“Yaah. Itsarule.”

“How old are you, girlie?”
“I’m growing 5.”
“5 what?”
“Years Yaard.”
– The last bit enunciated with utter disdain.

“Now how many stories do I have?”
“35.”
“Oh my, my, thutty five.” giggles like Ranjit

She picks up a fruit chunk with her fingers, spears it, pops it into her mouth.
“Why bother with the pick?”, I ask.
“You. Said. To. Use. It.”

Playing a game of alphabets, ‘nowhai’ comes up.
Because ‘nowIknowmyABCs’.
“STOP laughing at me!”

“You’re not allowed to change your mind. You’re a Dada.”

“Play hide and seek with me Dada.”
“After Mama goes.”
“Go plicklee, right now Mama.”

“What did you bring me Mama?”
“Myself.”
“I prefer presents.”

“I’d like to be a lady when I grow up Mama. Who will teach me?”
– 4 years old and already dissing her poor Mum.

“Watermelon or pineapple juice, Thing?”
“Chocolate milkshake.”

“Tell Mama you want peda from Chitale’s”, he prompts her.
“But I want a racing car toy.”

She’s eating ice-cream, relishing every spoon; she stands on her toes:
“See, didn’t I tell you ice-cream makes you taller?”

“I think I want to be Mix’s baby.”
“Should I pack your bags then?”
“Hmph. You must fight for me, Mama.”
– The mind games have begun.

“I’m a grasspopper and I’m going to bug you.”

“ZERO IS NOT NOTHING. YOU ARE MEAN. I WANT ZERO GUMMY BEARS. I WANT ZERO GUMMY BEARS.”

“I’m gonna count to 3 kiddo and y..”
“Count to 6 Mama, it’s so much nicer.”

“Where did you come from, Father?”
“I came from my mama’s womb, baby.”
“Oh.”
“And where did you come from?”
“I came from school.”

I walk in on her peering into the mirror, my lip balm smeared all over her face.
“I didn’t do anything, Mama. The lip balm attacked me.”

Update 28th March 2013: This post was getting way too long, so I’ve given in to my audience of one and moved all our conversations with my mad little Thing here.

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