A dangerous game
Kids at play can get on your nerves, and land you in trouble
Summer holidays. Of course not for me! For the cackling kids around the colony. The calm that usually descends in the society after six in the evening – except for the occasional screams from mums at the appalling state of their kids' knowledge levels -- had been plundered. The first few days were tolerable. In fact the giggles and chatter drifting around in waves were a pleasant change from the solemn, pretentious silence that I encounter every day when I return from office. I think I even said this cheesy line to the husband one evening: "Aren't they like little birds chirping? How sweeeeeet... hmmmm (sigh sigh)."
The days wore on, the novelty factor wore off. The constant prattle from the playgrounds below became like a machine droning somewhere far away, but not quite far enough. Or a mosquito buzzing in your ear. Or a spluttering radio trying to catch a signal. And cricket balls started landing in our balcony til way after sunset, sweaty kids running up the stairs to fetch the ball and ask for "auntie water", and then indignantly "auntieeee, COLD water". "Auntie five minutes cartoon network", "auntie chocolate biscuits", "auntie you are BAKING? Mmmmmm!", "auntie angry birds on your phone, pliss pliss pliss pliss, waaaan time, one time only!" – the entreaties became more demanding with the passing days, days that passed real slow.
I wanted to say "Shoo!" Don't pretend, you would too if it became a nagging everyday thing. But they are neighbours' kids. Only once I told a kid not to bring her dusty shoes on my carpet and made her stand outside. She went and squealed! Asha, the mother of course, caught me at the supermarket the next day and gave me a lecture, cynicism dripping off each word – "Oh, I am soooo sorry my little Nikki walked into your home in her three-grand Gucci pairs [ya, like I would've died if she hadn't given me that piece of information]. Your poor carpet, is it Cashmere?" "Cashmere"??? Who says "Cashmere"? And yes, I got her point. She might as well have pinched and drawn blood from me. My carpet is a Delhi Haat buy, in which even your bare feet won't sink in. Definitely cheaper than the three-grand over-top-top footwear that a five-year-old spoilt girl was sporting.
From then on, I've been super careful. Just supply the pesky things with anything they want. From helping them do potty in my place to letting them play with my Swarovski decoration pieces. I greet them with sugary sweet smiles. Supply them food at regular intervals. Even buyt them cricket balls! And then...
Admonition: "You gave my hunny bunny banana walnut cake? He is allergic to banana! You have to be careful, no?"
Condescension: "I know you don't have a kid yet, I understand. But, um, you should know, that much cold water has given Rajat a soar throat."
Outrage: "That woman gets these kids the damn cricket balls to break our windows! Why do you have to get involved in their silly games??? ARE YOU NOT OLD ENOUGH????"
ME? GET INVOLVED? You've got to be kidding!
When will these summer holidays end?
