Dennis, The Menace: The metamorphosis of a tiny tot
This is about the brattiest kid on the block
2008: He recognised my voice when he was less than two. Each time I called him, he'd say, ``Dodomasiiiiiiii''. When i call him `dododennis', he plays the game like a 13-year-old and goes, "dodomasiiiii." And so on, till one of us tires.
When he saw his grandmom had made tindli, he told her, "You know nana does not like this shaak. Why did u make it?'' The last occasion that nana had informed this toddler about his dislike for this vegetable was weeks ago. At that time, he had sagely admonished his nana, "Dont do that. Just eat it, ok." And then promptly tumbled to his nani to scold her, "Nani, u know nana does not like this shaak. Why did u make it?''
In the evening, when his mother was telling her father something, he decided she was talking loudly, and went up to her, "You should not talk like that."'
When his mom left a holy book out unattended for a moment, he promptly scrambled over to spray his crayons all over it. When his nani scolded him and said he should apologise, he said, "sorry.'' His nani said, "Say I wont do it again." He repeated, "I wont do it again."
And then.... he tells his nani, "I wont talk to you."
The brat demanded to know where the key to the fridge door is. He figured out for himself that the fridge had a lock, even though nobody locks the fridge at home and found out the lock as well.
.......
2009: At 3 and half, he was very clear in his fundas. Once, his mom and I decided to go out for a brief shopping spree. His caretaker was at home and he was asleep. It was a perfect setting for a walkfree.When we returned an hour later, the tiny fellow was coiled up on the bed watching TV. His mother fussed over him as if she had sinned by stepping out of the house without him.
He didnt say much, just continued sulking. I showed him a new shirt we had bought for him, hoping it will placate him. He barely glanced at it and shoot his head. "Mane na gamyu (I didn't like)." Oh, you didn't like it, I exclaimed. He shook his head again. I told him it was a lovely shirt and will suit him. He should wear it, I said and hurried to help him change. He shook his head slowly this time.
"Aa mane gamyu. Tame je karyu te mane na gamyu. (I liked this but did not like what you did)". At his insanely young age, he was so clear in his head about what he did not like, so calm that he surveyed the shirt logically without letting his emotions cloud his opinion, and so emphatic about making himself understood correctly.
Not for him the chalta hai attitude for sure.
........
A few months later, his mom and grandmom went down to a neighbour's for five minutes. Dennis and I tagged along. There, he launched forthwith to undo whatever he could lay his sights on. One unfortunate woman there, ignorant of his reputation and innocent to his ways, encouraged him to help himself to whatever stuffed toys were displayed on the mantelpiece.
He didnt really need that. He was anyway going to help himself to all those irresistible charms floating in front of him, to explore what they were made of and what happened when they were dislocated a bit. All the three women tried to get him to go home but he was happily perched on the swing, making merry with his world of makebelieve cluttering up every inch. Finally, I decided to leave and asked him innocently, "Dennis, I am leaving. Can you pl tell me how to go back home?"
Uuf, he said. He surprised me by saying he knew the way out even though he had never been to this place and it was quite complicated. He tried to talk me into directions. Go straight, then right and left and so on. Not being half as bright as him, I couldnt understand any of it.
Ever the gallant gentleman, he dropped his precious possessions and came out to show me the way. There, I asked him to come to the next step and gradually, led him all the way up the stairs and back home. Once we entered, I took him to the kitchen, gave him a glass of water and asked him to drink up. Mission accomplished, I decided to ignore him and settled on the sofa.
In a moment, he stood before me, hands on waist. "Tame mane uloo banavyo ne (You fooled me, didn't you?)!" Before I could recover, he had scrammed back to the kitchen. In a trice, he was back on the adjacent sofa and began quietly playing with his toys. Not only was he smart enough to know the directions to his grandmom's house, he was sharp enough to understand my game and yet, sweet enough not to raise a din over it. That's maturity for you.
......
2010: He went to visit Shopper Stop with his parents. Most of these visits are undertaken by virtually tying his hands to his mom's or dad's, as he has had a tendency from times immemorial to yank down everything in the racks in any showroom. It's easy to tell where he has been as he breathes destruction in his wake - piles of clothes, toys, artefacts strewn over the floor wantonly as he swaps price boards in the consumer electronics section.
I can vouch for this as I saw the situation when he was two-and-half. Things have improved since. He now walks one hand firmly in his mom's vice grip and the other hand, poking everything within its reach and if possible, landing it on the floor.
On that day, he managed to disentangled himself from his parents, entranced as always by some enchanting ware on display, and drifted to some other section and from there to another. When he turned to look, his parents were missing. Now what?
He calmly tapped a female attendant on her legs and looked up five feet, "I am lost. Will you please call my dad and tell him to meet you here?" The intrigued attendant squatted beside him and asked him, "Ok. why dnt you want to call your mom?" He replied like a man seasoned in the art of finding his parents, "I dont know her number. I am used to calling my dad at work, you see."
The dad received the call and rushed to get him. On the way back, the mom asked him out of curiosity how did he go about finding the lady. Here is his version from the horse's mouth: "Oh, I thought I will have to look for you, But I am too small to look for you all everywhere. So I should find somebody who runs this store so that they can find you all."
And how exactly did he figure that this lady would be running the store? "She was wearing the uniform, na." If he is not sorted, I dont know who is. How does that tiny brain work so well and so fast? A calm four year old who lost and found his panicking parents.
.........
2012: At six, he is as sprightly as they come. He has lost weight and is size zero. Cannot be helped when one is ever on one's feet and every meal has to be hand-fed. To say he fusses is to underestimate his capacity. Fussing is the polite way of describing the half-hour struggle his harried mom has with him every time he has to be fed.
He rarely reaches the dining table; the dining table is usually brought to him. Stage 1 is to obey instructions carefully while picking the morsel. He doesnt like most veggies. Such as peas. So any paneer mutter -- he likes paneer but only if it's white; the yellow or masala orange is spotted promptly and expelled out of sight in one horror-struck moment -- finding its way to his mouth has to be declared pea-free first.
There may be other stuff inside such as coriander seeds which also
have to be thus weeded out. Beginners, kindly note: this exercise is much tougher than sifting wheat from chaff.
Stage 2 is distracting him from the television or the computer that is before him to ensure a micro-second opening of the mouth during which the mom's hands has to shove the morsel inside in well-coordinated sync perfected over the years. After a couple of morsels are screened and swallowed (not chewed) comes the non-commercial break. The son goes back to giving undivided attention to his task at hand while mom wipes a sweat off her brow.
Stage 3 is to tackle his increased impatience with food. This stage make Stage 2 look like a cakewalk. Here, the morsel reaches the mouth, but cannot push its way in. So, he has to be coaxed into parting those lips for a brief moment. By now, he is suitably annoyed with the distractions and is most reluctant to do anything of the sort. After much cooing and oohing, the mouth relents and is slapped shut immediately. This is how the 3/4ths of the meal is fed.
Stage 4 is giving up the last chapati in abject surrender. He is supposed to have three but as the mom has run out of steam, she simply walks away defeated.
Meanwhile, the few mouthfuls process their way in his stomach, get converted into energy in four hours and get used up in three minutes flat.
Little wonder he is wiry. The marvel is he is managing on thin air.
My neighbour's five-year-old is pure, unadulterated bliss by comparison. He sits on the table, eats by himself, eats till he is sated, and shuns chocolates because "they spoil the teeth."
He doesnt speak unless spoken to, sits in one place for hours and is unobtrusive unless you knead him. Ironically, he reminds me of the Menace's mother. She was as peaceful in childhood.
Is this what they call karma?
............
"We are still 6 but super-excited about Mother's Day. After all, it's Mom who runs, fusses, screams and panics after us in the day and suffers our kicks in the middle of the night. It was she who meditated furiously while I was resting inside for nine months in the hope that I will turn out right. It was she who stopped hollering during labour pain when her doctor told her that her screams were disturbing me. She would bear the worst of pains but not allow her child to be disturbed for a seconds.
It was she who gave up her career till I needed her. It was she who nursed and watched over me every second till I could walk. It was she who woke up at nights to ensure I got my feed. It was she who would wake up every now and then only to check on my comfort or to change my nappies.
It is she who put up with my endless fuss about food even today. It was she who sat with me patiently four to five times every single day with my meals and fed me tiny morsels after morsels during my micro-second breaks from play.
It is she who tore out of the house with a heavy me in her arms when I fell head down and cracked my skull. It was she who spent the entire night watching me sleep. The sight of the heavy blood loss haunted her for days on end.
It is she who has had to sacrifice many an outing, spiritual camps, vacations and social life because I needed somebody all the time. It is she who puts up with my thousand idiosyncracies and brattishness because she is my mother."
Time to give her a token of appreciation, he thought.Six is a good enough age to make Mother's Day special for mom. So he announced his plans to his grandparents: I am buying mom a gift -- a book on God and another on dharma. I am also making a huge card for her. I am also making a thermocol greeting pronouncing, Happy Mothers Day.
The preps began two days before with grandfather being entrusted with the list of things to buy. Next went a call to his father to buy a "nice book on God" for mom on his way back home. Like a responsible manager who leaves nothing to chance, he called his father after a few hours to ask if the said book had been bought. Father said no. Next, he lines up next to grandmom to pull her out to a bookstore: two books with God and dharma, he tells her. Mom will like. A big, fat book is selected but grandmom vetoes it saying it's too fat. So out come lots of slim God books lining up the racks, one after another, each accompanied with the query, "What about this one?"
When grandmom suggests a cookery book, he agrees. He has grown up and listens. So there is a God book and a cookery book.
Back home, the grandparents and Dennis plunge into the task of the greeting card and thermocol.
After writing his sentiments for his mom on the card, he calmly trundles off to watch TV, leaving grandmom to give the finishing touches to the card. He was sorted; his job was done. That detachment from an event he is eagerly awaiting and for which his responsbility was over, has to be seen to be believed.
Mom, needless to say, is thrilled. Suddenly, bringing him up doesn't seem impossible.
......
Grandfather asks Dennis, still 6, idly to take his advice on how to celebrate grandmom's birthday a day before. Without a moment's hesitation, he goes, "Grandpa, you'll have to get up early to wish her. Then go for your walk, come back and make a card for her, buy her a cake and a gift. Take her to a romantic movie and then for lunch."
Under such categorical instructions, grandpa and grandmom have no choice but to do as directed. Grandmom hates eating out but is sitting at J W Marriott and picking on her food. Dennis calls her up, wishes her and asks her
whether she is having a nice time. Grandmom says, "Yes, Grandpa bought me
a gift. Now we are having lunch. Dennis interrupts, "Did he take you to a movie?"!!
He has not forgotten his instructions. :-/
...........
This is about the brattiest kid on the block
2008: He recognised my voice when he was less than two. Each time I called him, he'd say, ``Dodomasiiiiiiii''. When i call him `dododennis', he plays the game like a 13-year-old and goes, "dodomasiiiii." And so on, till one of us tires.
When he saw his grandmom had made tindli, he told her, "You know nana does not like this shaak. Why did u make it?'' The last occasion that nana had informed this toddler about his dislike for this vegetable was weeks ago. At that time, he had sagely admonished his nana, "Dont do that. Just eat it, ok." And then promptly tumbled to his nani to scold her, "Nani, u know nana does not like this shaak. Why did u make it?''
In the evening, when his mother was telling her father something, he decided she was talking loudly, and went up to her, "You should not talk like that."'
When his mom left a holy book out unattended for a moment, he promptly scrambled over to spray his crayons all over it. When his nani scolded him and said he should apologise, he said, "sorry.'' His nani said, "Say I wont do it again." He repeated, "I wont do it again."
And then.... he tells his nani, "I wont talk to you."
The brat demanded to know where the key to the fridge door is. He figured out for himself that the fridge had a lock, even though nobody locks the fridge at home and found out the lock as well.
.......
2009: At 3 and half, he was very clear in his fundas. Once, his mom and I decided to go out for a brief shopping spree. His caretaker was at home and he was asleep. It was a perfect setting for a walkfree.When we returned an hour later, the tiny fellow was coiled up on the bed watching TV. His mother fussed over him as if she had sinned by stepping out of the house without him.
He didnt say much, just continued sulking. I showed him a new shirt we had bought for him, hoping it will placate him. He barely glanced at it and shoot his head. "Mane na gamyu (I didn't like)." Oh, you didn't like it, I exclaimed. He shook his head again. I told him it was a lovely shirt and will suit him. He should wear it, I said and hurried to help him change. He shook his head slowly this time.
"Aa mane gamyu. Tame je karyu te mane na gamyu. (I liked this but did not like what you did)". At his insanely young age, he was so clear in his head about what he did not like, so calm that he surveyed the shirt logically without letting his emotions cloud his opinion, and so emphatic about making himself understood correctly.
Not for him the chalta hai attitude for sure.
........
A few months later, his mom and grandmom went down to a neighbour's for five minutes. Dennis and I tagged along. There, he launched forthwith to undo whatever he could lay his sights on. One unfortunate woman there, ignorant of his reputation and innocent to his ways, encouraged him to help himself to whatever stuffed toys were displayed on the mantelpiece.
He didnt really need that. He was anyway going to help himself to all those irresistible charms floating in front of him, to explore what they were made of and what happened when they were dislocated a bit. All the three women tried to get him to go home but he was happily perched on the swing, making merry with his world of makebelieve cluttering up every inch. Finally, I decided to leave and asked him innocently, "Dennis, I am leaving. Can you pl tell me how to go back home?"
Uuf, he said. He surprised me by saying he knew the way out even though he had never been to this place and it was quite complicated. He tried to talk me into directions. Go straight, then right and left and so on. Not being half as bright as him, I couldnt understand any of it.
Ever the gallant gentleman, he dropped his precious possessions and came out to show me the way. There, I asked him to come to the next step and gradually, led him all the way up the stairs and back home. Once we entered, I took him to the kitchen, gave him a glass of water and asked him to drink up. Mission accomplished, I decided to ignore him and settled on the sofa.
In a moment, he stood before me, hands on waist. "Tame mane uloo banavyo ne (You fooled me, didn't you?)!" Before I could recover, he had scrammed back to the kitchen. In a trice, he was back on the adjacent sofa and began quietly playing with his toys. Not only was he smart enough to know the directions to his grandmom's house, he was sharp enough to understand my game and yet, sweet enough not to raise a din over it. That's maturity for you.
......
2010: He went to visit Shopper Stop with his parents. Most of these visits are undertaken by virtually tying his hands to his mom's or dad's, as he has had a tendency from times immemorial to yank down everything in the racks in any showroom. It's easy to tell where he has been as he breathes destruction in his wake - piles of clothes, toys, artefacts strewn over the floor wantonly as he swaps price boards in the consumer electronics section.
I can vouch for this as I saw the situation when he was two-and-half. Things have improved since. He now walks one hand firmly in his mom's vice grip and the other hand, poking everything within its reach and if possible, landing it on the floor.
On that day, he managed to disentangled himself from his parents, entranced as always by some enchanting ware on display, and drifted to some other section and from there to another. When he turned to look, his parents were missing. Now what?
He calmly tapped a female attendant on her legs and looked up five feet, "I am lost. Will you please call my dad and tell him to meet you here?" The intrigued attendant squatted beside him and asked him, "Ok. why dnt you want to call your mom?" He replied like a man seasoned in the art of finding his parents, "I dont know her number. I am used to calling my dad at work, you see."
The dad received the call and rushed to get him. On the way back, the mom asked him out of curiosity how did he go about finding the lady. Here is his version from the horse's mouth: "Oh, I thought I will have to look for you, But I am too small to look for you all everywhere. So I should find somebody who runs this store so that they can find you all."
And how exactly did he figure that this lady would be running the store? "She was wearing the uniform, na." If he is not sorted, I dont know who is. How does that tiny brain work so well and so fast? A calm four year old who lost and found his panicking parents.
.........
2012: At six, he is as sprightly as they come. He has lost weight and is size zero. Cannot be helped when one is ever on one's feet and every meal has to be hand-fed. To say he fusses is to underestimate his capacity. Fussing is the polite way of describing the half-hour struggle his harried mom has with him every time he has to be fed.
He rarely reaches the dining table; the dining table is usually brought to him. Stage 1 is to obey instructions carefully while picking the morsel. He doesnt like most veggies. Such as peas. So any paneer mutter -- he likes paneer but only if it's white; the yellow or masala orange is spotted promptly and expelled out of sight in one horror-struck moment -- finding its way to his mouth has to be declared pea-free first.
There may be other stuff inside such as coriander seeds which also
have to be thus weeded out. Beginners, kindly note: this exercise is much tougher than sifting wheat from chaff.
Stage 2 is distracting him from the television or the computer that is before him to ensure a micro-second opening of the mouth during which the mom's hands has to shove the morsel inside in well-coordinated sync perfected over the years. After a couple of morsels are screened and swallowed (not chewed) comes the non-commercial break. The son goes back to giving undivided attention to his task at hand while mom wipes a sweat off her brow.
Stage 3 is to tackle his increased impatience with food. This stage make Stage 2 look like a cakewalk. Here, the morsel reaches the mouth, but cannot push its way in. So, he has to be coaxed into parting those lips for a brief moment. By now, he is suitably annoyed with the distractions and is most reluctant to do anything of the sort. After much cooing and oohing, the mouth relents and is slapped shut immediately. This is how the 3/4ths of the meal is fed.
Stage 4 is giving up the last chapati in abject surrender. He is supposed to have three but as the mom has run out of steam, she simply walks away defeated.
Meanwhile, the few mouthfuls process their way in his stomach, get converted into energy in four hours and get used up in three minutes flat.
Little wonder he is wiry. The marvel is he is managing on thin air.
My neighbour's five-year-old is pure, unadulterated bliss by comparison. He sits on the table, eats by himself, eats till he is sated, and shuns chocolates because "they spoil the teeth."
He doesnt speak unless spoken to, sits in one place for hours and is unobtrusive unless you knead him. Ironically, he reminds me of the Menace's mother. She was as peaceful in childhood.
Is this what they call karma?
............
"We are still 6 but super-excited about Mother's Day. After all, it's Mom who runs, fusses, screams and panics after us in the day and suffers our kicks in the middle of the night. It was she who meditated furiously while I was resting inside for nine months in the hope that I will turn out right. It was she who stopped hollering during labour pain when her doctor told her that her screams were disturbing me. She would bear the worst of pains but not allow her child to be disturbed for a seconds.
It was she who gave up her career till I needed her. It was she who nursed and watched over me every second till I could walk. It was she who woke up at nights to ensure I got my feed. It was she who would wake up every now and then only to check on my comfort or to change my nappies.
It is she who put up with my endless fuss about food even today. It was she who sat with me patiently four to five times every single day with my meals and fed me tiny morsels after morsels during my micro-second breaks from play.
It is she who tore out of the house with a heavy me in her arms when I fell head down and cracked my skull. It was she who spent the entire night watching me sleep. The sight of the heavy blood loss haunted her for days on end.
It is she who has had to sacrifice many an outing, spiritual camps, vacations and social life because I needed somebody all the time. It is she who puts up with my thousand idiosyncracies and brattishness because she is my mother."
Time to give her a token of appreciation, he thought.Six is a good enough age to make Mother's Day special for mom. So he announced his plans to his grandparents: I am buying mom a gift -- a book on God and another on dharma. I am also making a huge card for her. I am also making a thermocol greeting pronouncing, Happy Mothers Day.
The preps began two days before with grandfather being entrusted with the list of things to buy. Next went a call to his father to buy a "nice book on God" for mom on his way back home. Like a responsible manager who leaves nothing to chance, he called his father after a few hours to ask if the said book had been bought. Father said no. Next, he lines up next to grandmom to pull her out to a bookstore: two books with God and dharma, he tells her. Mom will like. A big, fat book is selected but grandmom vetoes it saying it's too fat. So out come lots of slim God books lining up the racks, one after another, each accompanied with the query, "What about this one?"
When grandmom suggests a cookery book, he agrees. He has grown up and listens. So there is a God book and a cookery book.
Back home, the grandparents and Dennis plunge into the task of the greeting card and thermocol.
After writing his sentiments for his mom on the card, he calmly trundles off to watch TV, leaving grandmom to give the finishing touches to the card. He was sorted; his job was done. That detachment from an event he is eagerly awaiting and for which his responsbility was over, has to be seen to be believed.
At the stroke of midnight, the stage is set. Mom is
banished into her room to permit the preparations for the surprise.
The lights go off . A candle is lit. Grandparents and Dennis
hide in the darkness. Mom is then invited down to the candle-lit
room decorated with cards, gifts, etc. Mom is surprised and touched,
looks for her bundle of joy, who jumps out of nowhere, his face
reflecting pure delight.
Mom, needless to say, is thrilled. Suddenly, bringing him up doesn't seem impossible.
......
Grandfather asks Dennis, still 6, idly to take his advice on how to celebrate grandmom's birthday a day before. Without a moment's hesitation, he goes, "Grandpa, you'll have to get up early to wish her. Then go for your walk, come back and make a card for her, buy her a cake and a gift. Take her to a romantic movie and then for lunch."
He has not forgotten his instructions. :-/
...........
