Kicha

He is the tiny little entertainment package of the house. He transforms seemingly boring moments to pleasant, laughable ones. Today Kicha got up at 6am and was already begging his paati and amma at the kitchen to be let out to play. He made sad innocent faces at his grand mom who sat cutting keerai(spinach) and vendakkai(lady’s finger) on the aravamanai, a knife like instrument, while his mom was busy cooking by the stove. His paati kept mum knowing Latha, Kicha’s mom, would get wild if she protested for Kicha. She knew Latha would reason out that it’s too early and Kicha would fall ill if he over-exerted himself during the weekend and then end up bunking school on Monday. To his grandparents, Kicha was the apple of their eyes. They adored him and found every little act of his; be it his antics or his little arrogant replies, intelligent. They constantly revelled on how intelligent their grandson was and lost no opportunity to talk about Kicha in front of strangers, relatives and friends alike. If paati was his slave incarnate, thatha, his grandpa was Kicha’s friend and playmate. While paati bathed him, fed him and also saved him from the wrath of his parents, thatha played with him, dropped him at school and told him nice stories.

Today Kicha was clad in his favourite arai-baniyan and shorts. Arai-baniyan was a thin half vest which was quite comfortable given Madras’ humid climate and made a perfect play-cum-night dress. Further since he wore it to school inside his uniform, he just had to remove his shirt and change his shorts. Kicha himself was like an overgrown brinjal – round, smooth and plump. But he was extremely light on his legs and could give you a tough time if you were to chase him while playing games like freeze-n-melt and hopping and catching, though his personal favourites were street cricket (when he was included as OP by the street “annas” or the bigger boys) and WWF card games. For a four year old, Kicha was tall and intelligent. He had inherited his father’s good looks and his mother’s plumpness. On school days Kicha would get up by 7:30 am after being shouted at by his mother and cajoled by his paati and then thatha. But weekends were different altogether. Kicha waited for weekends and loved all the time he had for playing. Not that Kicha hated school, for he was quite good at studies as well and had a happy-go-lucky attitude. He surprised his mom by getting brilliant scores without studying a bit, but like all mothers, Latha wanted him to spend more time with the books. “What would happen when he reaches tenth standard if he continues at this rate?” she would reason out. “He surely can’t pass board exams if he has such a carefree attitude!” she would argue. Lakshmi paati could never win such arguments with her daughter-in-law and would give in to her reasoning. She would lament but agree that these days one cannot survive with normal grades and Latha after all wanted the best for Kicha.

Kicha continued begging his mom and paati. Now he started focussing on his mother knowing well that paati is not going to support him this morning. After all, she just made a sorry face at him and gotten back to cutting her keerai. He reminded his mom of a promise she made last Wednesday when he had done his maths omerk without protest. Oh by the way, Kicha had his own lingo, and omerk in Kicha-tongue meant homework. His paati adored his mazhalai while his mom corrected his accent and pronunciation. Paati would say these things would change automatically but Latha, the “convent educated girl” never bought her reasoning. She would painstakingly correct Kicha’s english pronunciation and for some strange reason ignore his tamizh mazhalai and let them be. So, after Kicha said “homework” while paati’s forehead cringed a little, Latha went back to reminding him of how the deal was on, only if he completed his homework on Friday night and also practiced his violin lessons first thing in the morning. Kicha thumped his leg in agony and began wailing. He accused his mother of being a real bore and told her how Harish’s mom never compelled him like this.

Now, Harish was Kicha’s best friend and Harish’s mom also adored Kicha. Sheela aunty, Harish’s mom was a housewife unlike Kicha’s mom, and cooked tasty lunches for Harish every day. He even reminded his mom of how Sheela aunty treats Harish with toffees when he gets good grades. Latha continued garnishing the milagu rasam and started washing the rice while the water in the pressure cooker started boiling. She then set the rice inside, closed the lid firmly, set the cooker weight while Kicha continued his ranting and all of a sudden turned to face Kicha. Kicha edged towards the door and stopped talking midway. Drying her hands on her cotton saree, she gave Kicha a meaningful glare. “Kicha, if you want to go out to play then you have to drink your complan, do your homework and violin lessons. I am not going to hear you out anymore. Do you want me to wake up daddy?” She asked. Kicha knew this was it. He always knew when his protests failed and ‘shall I wake up daddy’ threat was the ultimatum. He thumped his foot and walked out of the kitchen and cuddled next to his grandpa on the easy-chair where his thatha sat reading his paper while sipping his sugarless filter coffee.

Thatha gave him a knowing look and whispered something into Kicha’s ears which lit up his face instantly and Kicha kissed his thatha, slid down from the chair and ran to his room to get his fighter plane even as paati entered the room with his glass of complan. Sadness never lasted for more than a moment in Kicha’s life.