This feature is inspired by Elise at eliseblaha.typepad.com. I plan to write a letter each to Medha and Madhav once every month.
Your teacher tells me your writing has improved considerably. You’ve matured, she says, and I take that as a compliment. But have you grown enough, my little girl, to sing a poem of sixteen lines (in a group, of course) at the next special assembly? That is yet to be seen.
Clumps of hair lay around the house a couple of weeks ago. We guessed who the culprit was. Yes, it was You! To pass time, you had been cutting hair. But not yours, your baby brother’s! I’d have laughed at his uneven bangs in the front if the thought of you pricking his scalp or piercing an eye, unintentionally, hadn’t crept up on me! Now you’ve been warned never to try cutting hair, not even yours!
On a lighter note, I have turned you into one of the newest and biggest fans ever of the boy-band “One Direction” by playing their “Best Song ever” once. Now all you want to listen to are their songs.
We celebrated Diwali, the festival of lights last week. You looked forward to it for months. The day before, on Naraka Chaturdashi, as I applied oil to your body I began praying aloud to God to bless you with Knowledge, a kind heart, beauty…. You stopped me with “What about money, mama?”
“Money? What do you need that for?”
“To buy stuff!” Obviously!
I HAD to include that in my prayer.
You and I made a lantern to hang outside the house. I let you do most of the work: cutting, gluing, decorating, etc.
You beamed with pride at the end product.
But the firecrackers that were burnt as part of the festival just scared you and your brother. You both whimpered and cried every time there was a bang.
Celebrations involved buying and wearing new clothes, spending time with family, showing gratitude to God for the blessings and preparing and sharing sweets with friends and family. Something we ate did not go down well with us and we ended up with vomiting and diarrhea. You suffered the most, throwing up all night with only a few minutes of break between bouts of puking. But, you know what you blamed it on? My not reading a story to you the night before, because I was too tired to! You said I could stop the vomiting once and for all by just reading you a story. But then I was too exhausted marathon-cleaning your mess and without a wink of sleep to pay heed to your suggestion!