Hrit Naisha celebrated their birthday in school almost two months in advance because they’d be leaving school.. Here’s what they looked like.. Naisha can’t forget to pose and Hrit.. well he just won’t.
Another birthday
Lights! Camera! Disaster!
A freind’s friend happened to be doing a piece on twins for a magazine. Once earlier Hrit had missed a modelling chance (Brush with fame) so I was pretty excited. There we were, Hrit Naish and I, readying ourselves for a photo shoot. Now Hrit and Naisha might not be the best looking kids in the world (even though that’s what I tell them at least ten times a day) they do look nice enough for about five minutes after they have been showered, scrubbed and cleaned. The challenge was to extend those five minutes for the duration of the shoot.
By the appointed hour we were all ready and waiting and clean. I’d prepared the kids the best I could (An uncle wll be coming to click a picture of you) and motivated them (read bribed and threatened) to behave themselves. That was my only concern.
The photographer came, surprisingly punctual to a minute. As expected Naisha was a dream.. she always is.. she posed and smiled and acted cute.. oh she’s good at it. Hrit on the other hand is totally completely hopeless. He played with the reflectors and grinned at the photographer when he told him not to. He refused to look at the camera.. slouched on the sofa, then decided to recline and finally lay down flat on Naisha’s lap. If the photographer said smile he put on that totally fake smile he has.. if he said ‘sit on the sofa’, Hrit slid to the ground or climbed onto my lap, if he said ‘okay sit on mama’s lap’ Hrit was on my shoulders. We tried bringing in soft toys.. then we tried switching on the television.. useless.
We decided to work arond Hrit.. Naisha and I positioned ourselves beside Hrit.. but the catch was he was never stationary.. Finally he said ‘let’s do some masti’. Now that’s what Hrit specialises at.. but when the camera was on him.. he just didn’t oblige.
I think the photographer must’ve given up. He did take a lot of pictures but didn’t seem too happy at the end of it all. I felt bad for the poor guy.. he’d travelled all the way from Chembur. However there was little I could do… Kids are and will always be unpredictable.
So that’s how Hrit Naisha’s brush with fame comes to an end. One thing is for sure modelling is certainly not Hrit’s cup of tea.
A little sister
“I want a little sister,” demanded Naisha today. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I mean this line is usually heard from company starved single kids, isn’t it? It’s just not fair that I have to deal with two same age kids plus demands like this one. Like almost all other kids she went on to enumerate all the other children who had smaller siblings.. Shubhi has one (wrong.. she was a cousin), Vineesh has one (wrong again.. cousin again), Zaheen has one (Oh well okay she does), Arna has one (Right again).”
Standard requests have standard replies. I think every mom on the face of this earth has thrown this challenge at every kid who has dared to ask for a sibling. This is what is goes like, “Well she will be very small.. will you clean her when she messes up (refering to the poo/pee possibilities)?” This thought can put off grown ups from having kids what’s a small girl like Naisha? However she had a solution. “We’ll show her the pot and tell her this is where she needs to go,” said she. “But she’ll be too small to walk.. she will mess up,” Silence for a while.. then, “Let’s not a get a baby then.” Naisha gave up and promptly went on to enumerate kids who did not have younger siblings. I heaved a sigh of relief.
I then suggested we would get Zamaan, Zaheen’s little brother, home for sometime and my suggestion was met with a high five from Naisha.
Imagine having another baby and landing up with twins again.. Goosebumps!
Scraped knees at 40
Life with kids is fraught with danger and if one of your kids is a boy.. well God save you. Being born in a small mohalla of old Lucknow precluded much outdoor activity for me through most of my childhood. (The popular games then were kite flying and marble playing.. both of which I didn’t quite take to). I was a nice quiet little girl, reading my Nancy Drews and Little Women, playing Chinese Chequers and Carrom.
I learnt to ride a two-wheeler in my thirties.. so no falling of bikes either. The only violence I ever remember was getting into physical fights with my sister and cousins — the hair pulling and whacking. How we dwelt upon those miniscule scratches! The ‘hurts’ was examined endlessly and reproachful glances exchanged for ages till we finally made up. No scraped knees and elbows for us all through childhood.
Cut to now… there’s hardly a day when my twins come home without a scraped knee or a bad elbow. Yes.. well I know that’s part of growing up and I’m cool with it as the kids quite seem to take it in their stride. (My daughter will say “see mama ‘bread’ is coming out, but I’m not crying”).
My problem begins when I’m made to join in these games. Coming home with scraped knees at four is fine but at forty.. well it’s a bit strange.
Yesterday I was playing ‘catch and cook’ with my son. I was running with my eyes on him and suddenly zoooooom…. and there I was standing with one leg upto the knee in the gutter. Fortunately the dirty water reached just upto my ankle. I pulled out my soaking wet foot and didn’t even have the luxury of examining how hurt I was.. because my son stood there saying, “Catch me mama, catch me” while my daughter (in total imitation of me) came up with a, “Mama toh brave hai, strong hai.. mama dust your hands and get up quickly” ..Damn!
Then there was the time when my son was learning to ride his bike. He insisted I run with the bike… I would have been okay with it had he been in any real danger but he was riding with side wheels for godsake.. how dangerous could that be? But then who needs logic at three? So there I was running with the bike and then he decided to take an impromptu turn and I tripped royally. Down we went the kid, bike and I. This time I didn’t even think about whether I was hurt — jumped up, picked up the bike then hugged him. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt at all through his jeans.. I on the other hand was limping around for a week and admiring my blacks and blues for days together.
All I hope is that I get better at all this… sooon, or that the kids grow up fast and leave me in peace with my books and my laptop.
Missing papa
Changing homes/cities is always traumatic but with the kids it takes on a whole new dimension. Next week we pack out bags for Pune. Sunil has been there for two months now and it’s equally tough handling the kids on my own.
They rarely talk about him or the fact that they are missing him, so I assumed they just didn’t think about him. However I was proved wrong today. The milkman came to take his money and Hrit ran to the door saying “papa papa papa”. Trying not to let the embarrassment show I said with a very straight face, “Beta it’s not papa.” And what does Hrit do? Does he go back quietly? Nope.. he just stands there staring at the milkman repeating like a parrot, “Papa.. papa… papa.” Finish your food, I say with as much firmness as I can muster under the circumstances. He looks at me defiantly, then looks at the milkman and launches into a, “Papa aa gaye,, papa aa gaye,” Thankfully the bearded, bespecaled milkman went along with me and pretended he couldn’t hear Hrit at all.
They rarely talk about him or the fact that they are missing him, so I assumed they just didn’t think about him. However I was proved wrong today. The milkman came to take his money and Hrit ran to the door saying “papa papa papa”. Trying not to let the embarrassment show I said with a very straight face, “Beta it’s not papa.” And what does Hrit do? Does he go back quietly? Nope.. he just stands there staring at the milkman repeating like a parrot, “Papa.. papa… papa.” Finish your food, I say with as much firmness as I can muster under the circumstances. He looks at me defiantly, then looks at the milkman and launches into a, “Papa aa gaye,, papa aa gaye,” Thankfully the bearded, bespecaled milkman went along with me and pretended he couldn’t hear Hrit at all.
Sunil really needs to come home.