Land of Lilliputians

Poetic and practical is the get-well package that Apple has brought me. Only we adults can think of just a clichéd get-well card. Apple is more original.  What I get is a complete get-well package aimed at my burnt-beyond-recognition finger. The package takes care of many emotional as well as mundane aspects of being unwell.  As I look at the red card that dangles on a red ribbon, read the reassurance on it, and admire the painted bouquet of pink and mauve flowers where a heart is precariously perched on a petal, Apple asks me to rummage inside the envelope.  I grope inside and scoop out the first item, a scale. I feel excited. It is like a treasure hunt and I want to know what I will find next, so fumble for more and this time take out another exciting object: a ballpoint. I can now not only practice drawing straight lines-something which I could never learn- but can also rediscover the joy of writing with the good old ballpoint. And this means ...

Mobby has a way of getting up in the morning and making pronouncements about the things that had been bothering him the night before. And on one particular morning he wakes up and immediately gets into a sitting position.  Something apparently weighs heavy on his 3-year-old-mind.  Without even rubbing his eyes, he declares: “I don’t want any baby sister, give me a few more brothers.” Amma is worried. She thinks ‘Is Mobby making a prediction of sorts?” After all, there are no imminent signs of any baby. Baba knows that his younger son always has a well-thought-out logic behind every pronouncement. So he probes with “Why not a baby girl?” Mobby, it seems, has reached the important conclusion after much deliberation. Throughout the night, he probably has been weighing the pros and cons of having a baby sister.  His well-considered response is based on empirical findings:  “Because amma is a girl and she is in the kitchen all the time. She does...

Wishing You a Very Happy 2013 It is December 29. At 8 pm we receive a handwritten note; an invitation, actually. The invitation is for a New Year Party and the party is being arranged by the four elder Lilliputians: Maheen, Saif, Zainab, Apple.  There’s one invite for every adult and every invite bears the invitee’s name and sketch. I, for one, feel special.    Though not really a party person, I know I want to attend this one. The fact that my study was ransacked, my reams of paper ravaged, and my pens robbed to design the invites, is, of course, another matter.   The invite is for 10:30 pm. And from 8pm to 10 pm a strange calm descends on the Land of Lilliputians.  While we try to make the most of this unexpected peace, one room alone bears the brunt of loud noises and crazy thumping of the feet. It’s the room where the party will be hosted. The room is turned upside down to create the party mood. Rehearsals of dance and sing...

The Lilliputians have abandoned us. They have charted their own course in life. They have become independent. Now they live in a grand mansion of their own. The mansion is a 6 by 4 feet wooden plank and is nestled in the hollow of a garb tree. The dwellers of this palatial abode have actually made it quite comfortable. There are cushions. There’s a shoe rack. Behind the shoe rack, there’s also a study of sorts where one book is strategically arranged in such a way that the onlookers may see it and remark: the studious Lilliputians.  There’s a strong possibility that for all intents and purposes the study in question is merely a showpiece. While the residents of this luxurious lodging enjoy their newfound independence, the adults of the land of Lilliputians are reduced to being errand people for siphoning out food to the treehouse dwellers. The Lilliputians are happy. But not so the birds. All the birds within 100- meter radius of the land of Lilliputians h...

Every moment in three-year-old Mobby’s life is a ‘Eureka!’ moment.  He is so taken with the discovery of his own self.  Starting with the revelation of being able to hold a full mug of milk, he is now onto some bigger self-discoveries. And for the last two weeks, this journey has been happening on a tricycle. He starts wheeling. His concentration level is optimum. As he tries to push his feet downwards to roll the obstinate pedals and discover the power of being mobile, a new world opens up for him. He declares with an evident note of pride: “See I can ride a cycle.” A few days later, he decides to move out of his comfort zone. In a resolve to stretch his physical boundaries, he announces that now he is going to opt for some bigger feats. He lets go of the handles. Now the tricycle inches forward, zigzagging.  Mobby’s arms extend wide as if he has suddenly grown wings and he shouts:  “Look! I can ride without even touching the handle...

Life can change in an instant. Capitalism can catch you unawares. Some little people can suddenly become rich. And this happens on a quiet evening when I have sneaked inside my study to somehow experience what silence feels like. Not even a minute has passed and I am still trying to get hold of the oh-so-elusive sound of silence, when Omar barges inside. “You are so nice,” he coos. “Thank you, Omar.” The compliment makes me feel good. Only it is not really a compliment. It is just a prelude to the sales pitch that now starts: “Show me your finger.” Here he takes my finger, slips on it a piece of wool tied with a knot and continues, “this is a ring. See how good it looks on your finger.” “Ring? Eh...yes, it is beautiful.” I try to be nice. “Yes, designing and making it required a lot of effort. Now you have bought it, and you owe me thirty Rupees.” He wears the expression of a businessman who has made a real good bargain. “I bought it? I see. It seems a...

One fine evening I receive a telephone call. It is Apple and she has to share something very important, as she informs me. "You know about my best friend, Aimen Omair, my namesake?" she asks. "Yes, you have told me so much about her. What happened? You two had a fight?" "No. it is something else, something very serious." Here she starts padding out of the living room to huddle somewhere in the veranda with the cell phone. (Apple’s mother later recounted the scene) "Aimen Omair has left school!” She says after settling down in a corner where nobody can hear her. The nature of the emotional upheaval dawns upon me. "Oh no! Apple this is so sad." "Yes. Now I don’t even feel like going to school. You know she used to sit with me. And she always stood first while I came second. Now that she is not here I will stand first…not that I am happy about it.” Good bye is a mixed baggage. "Yes, standing f...