I am not very fond of children, especially the smaller ones who have learned to communicate using vocal and verbal skills into a few years and so apart from using their limbs, can bombard anyone with never ending series of questions which need immediate answering and which at times can be difficult to answer or may be even embarrassing when confronted with in presence of an audience.
Guys are always ahead in this respect then their fairer counterparts (although I’m not the person to give reference on this subject). I’m not being sexist—it’s a comment made from my personal experience. A male child of the species is much difficult to manage at this age and he can practically drive anyone crazy. Now when I see such brats harassing their poor parents, many times I feel for my poor mother and wonder what problems I must have created for her!
Well, after the long shift at work I was tired and coming out from Kabi Nazrul metro station. You don’t get to let you buttocks touch the metro bench if u take a ride on it from Central Station and move towards Garia (Kabi Nazrul station) at around 5 in the evening. By the time the train reaches Central, it is already filled and keeps getting people rushing in till it reaches Tolly after which its starts getting vacated but never ever is it as empty as to allow me a little space for my poor tired bottom.
As I walked up the lane leading to the main road, I rushed towards an auto sensing vacant seats. Along with me there appeared a woman of around 30 years and with her was her son of maybe 5 or 6 yrs. I saw the little guy and so to let them sit comfortably in the back, taking all the pain of sitting myself beside the plump auto driver on the front seat—rather it can be described as half hanging as most of the seat was occupied by his huge buttocks and there was another guy half hanging just like me on the other side of him.
I didn’t want to miss the precious half seat in the auto as I knew well that at this time of the day if I let it pass, the seat would soon be taken by some other guy ready to half hang and go and I may have to wait even longer to get another auto going that way.
Well all things ran in my mind together and the decision was taken in an instant like a spinal response not involving the use of higher center. I just got into the front seat hanging myself beside the bulging auto-driver. And then the little devil of the boy shouted to his mother, “see, he took the 1st seat. I want to sit there.” “All sacrifice for nothing”, I thought irritated as his mother hushed him saying “no no, you can’t sit there, it’s risky”, to which he asked, “Why?”
Mother (M): Because you are cannot sit there
Boy (B): But why?
M: You will fall my dear.
B: Why? (Referring to me) that uncle is sitting there.
M: Uncle is a big guy, so he can sit, but you are small. You will fall and get hurt.
B: But why do small boys fall from there?!!! And, I am not small…
…..
….
….
The questioning continued as the auto was travelled down towards Baruipur through the busy road.
B: (seeing a taxi) look Maa, a taxi. What is this color?
M: It’s yellow
B: Yellow… but why is it yellow???
M: (she is out of any logical answer) … because…because they make it yellow…
B: But why it is made yellow?
M: (tired) I don’t know…
(She tried to distract his attention and pointed to the number plate on the back of the taxi).. Look, can u read what is written there?
B: Where?
M: There? (Pointing to the number plate) Can u read it for me?
B: WB… (He started trying to decipher the code using his newly learned linguistic skill)
Hoping now that the child was sufficiently distracted from his previous queries on the taxi color, she went on helping him read the letters. The road was jammed with traffic and the vehicles moved slowly and so the taxi was always there standing in front of us displaying her numbers.
Soon the question-bug attacked him again and he asked, “Why is there a number on the taxi?”
M: It helps one to find his car when it is lost.
B: But how can it get lost? The driver always drives it, no?
M: mmmm….yes he does, but….but sometimes a bad person may drive it away. Then the number helps to find out the taxi.
B: How?
……..
So like that, with the shower of questions and slow traffic along the congested and clogged road through Rajpur, we finally were nearing Harinavi. Onto the right, the child pointed to a water body, rather a shallow pond and asked, “What is that?”. The mother replied, “It called Kochuripana.”
“Kochuripana”, repeated the boy and fixed his gaze on the green plants growing on the water. The water body was dirty and there was garbage piled on one of the sides. I caught him looking with his brows furrowed and thoughtful towards the growth through the mirror attached on the side of the auto. There was peace for around 2 to 3 minutes which was profound going by his questioning ability.
And then as the auto reached Harinavi, and I prepared to get down, he slowly gulped a swallow and said untrustingly, “Did Dida made me eat that today?”
By this time even the auto driver turned around surprised and looked into the eyes of his mother as I paid my fare and could not help but notice her as well. The child’s face had a disdainful look that bordered on with a nauseated feel as if the child may through up any moment.
By this time, the mother getting real embarrassed explained, “no no my foolish child. What should I do with you! It’s not Kochuripana that you had, but Kochuri. The two things are different baby. ….”
I could not resist a smile like the auto driver as he drove past the auto towards Baruipur with the mother now busy explaining the essential difference between a Kochuripana and a Kochuri.
Note:
- Kochuripana(কচুরিপানা) means Water Hyacinth.
- Kochuri(কচুরি)is stuffed deep-fried flatbread made of wheat flour that is typical of Bengali cuisine. kochuri stuffed with mashed peas (koraishutir kochuri) is one notable variety.
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