Kids are wonderful and full of fun. They represent 50% of a parent. And my 50% has learned a story which her father does not like.
Upon reaching home, the 3.3 year old was excited to narrate a story to me. I knew it must be from her favourite cartoon serial Chhota Bheem. Few times she told me the scenes from the cartoon over a pillow. According to her, she was the queen Indra Muti and I am Jagu, the talking monkey. I claimed I was Chhota Bheem but she had already tagged it to her uncle. And I remained Jagu in almost all the stories she told me so far. I don’t mind being a monkey as far as her other 50% (my wife) does not call me that. I am lucky I am not even ‘pig’ although I would not mind being that especially for this blog.
“Daddy, I want to tell you a story, about four friends,” my daughter screamed.
“I am Chhota Bheem,” I said not even looking at her but concentrating fully on loosening the shoe laces.
She looked irritated. But it was timely I had to tell her the news of eating out in the town. And it sure made her happy. “We are going out for a dinner,” I said.
“Really? Hurray!” she exclaimed and hurried off to hug her aunty. My wife was watching us. I locked her eyes, “It was I who announced that news and why hug her aunt?”
“Zalu,” wife said hinting it does not matter whoever our daughter hugs.
“At 8 O’Clock,” I said.
And at 8 O’Clock, we got into the car and went to the town. Not finding a table in Rice Bowl, we went closer to Tandin hotel. At the first tread of steps, my daughter took my hand from her aunt.
“Ani told me a story,” she got back to the old tale.
“I am Chhota Bheem,” I said.
“Not that. It is about four friends,” she persisted.
“I am Chhota Bheem,” I persisted again which irritated my wife.
“Zalu,” she whispered.
“It is about Elephant and....four friends, Ani told me today.” I was happy to hear that.
On the second landing, we reached the lobby and in the wall I saw the paintings of four friends; elephant on the ground supporting other three friends to pluck a fruit. I smiled happily at her attempt of narrating similar story to Chhota Bheem.
“OK, go on,” I said. She saw the paintings too. She smiled a mischievous smile and did not utter a word. I coerced her to continue the story.
“Elephant and who are the other three friends?”
“Hehe, elephant and bird and rabbit and.........”
“And?” I knew she would speak it. She knows how monkey looks.
After a brief pause, she spoke and that made me hate her story.
“And Ugyen Gyeltshen,” she said.
If I have to become monkey anyways, I better be a talking Jagu than the monkey from the wild jungle. Becoming Chhota Bheem the hero became a farfetched dream.
“Let’s go inside and find out the table to eat,” I said and dragged her to the restaurant hall.
“Zalu,” I heard my other half whisper from behind.
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