Land of Lilliputians

  The door opens with a thud as Saif runs inside; he flings his school bag on the floor and asks: “How many?” “Four,” somebody replies. “Just four?” Saif says and his brow furrows in consternation. Now he opens the fridge and inspects the objects of his mathematical inquiry: four brown eggs sit smugly in the egg container. But they are just four! Since the day my carnivorous family ate up Napoleon and his family, ten new hens have been living in the hen coop and carousing under the grapefruit and tangerine trees. And they lay eggs. While every Lilliputian is impressed with the mysterious feat that the hens are capable of, Saif is totally bewitched.  He sits for hours in front of the hen-coop, observing the hens in a bid to find out how they manage to make eggs without any apparent exertion on their part. Added to this ponderous undertaking is another overriding concern: since there are ten hens, there should be ten eggs. So when Saif comes in the after...

  Under my bed is Omar’s treasure trove. It is an odd assortment of a few planks of wood, a handle of some discarded racket, a few iron rods, a gigantic nail that serves the purpose of a hammer, and the miraculous scotch tape that can join a few unlikely objects to make dreams come true. The cave under my bed is considered an ideal repository not just of Omar’s property but his trust as well. “I know you will never throw it away. Everybody thinks it’s junk, but you will not let anyone touch it, right?” he asks me with no trace of doubt in his eyes about my unflinching loyalty. “I won’t,” I reiterate my trustworthiness.  Don’t we all have treasure troves that can well be junkyards for others? Who knows why something is treasured by someone and for what reason. “And if you do so….,” here he rolls his eyes, puts his hands on his hips and makes a face depicting all the anger that a six-year-old can muster up. “I will be very angry.” Omar likes to assert his au...

The zeal for self-improvement and self developments can hit you once in a while. But when a three- year- old feels its lure and succumbs to it, it is mighty impressive.  One morning Mobby decides to embark on a journey towards perfection. And, as he is wont to do, he announces his life-altering decision at breakfast. His journey begins by a public avowal of resisting something dark and sweet: chocolate. “I will never eat chocolate again,” he vows.  But whoever said that the path to excellence is not paved with mouthwatering temptations! Just when you want to be good, you encounter all the good reasons to be not so good. “Oh! Is that so? I was thinking of buying a big packet of chocolates…too bad, you can’t eat it,” I become temptation personified. Mobby purses his lips tightly and his eyes open wide with a disbelieving expression. He obviously isn’t prepared for this attempt on my part to dissuade him from the righteous path. “Chocolate can make ...

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...