Walking with the Moon

Uncle, aapko pataa hai? Sheetal invariably prefaced a narrative with her favourite catchphrase. She is only seven, but has already mastered a fundamental principle of effective story-telling. Secure the undivided attention of the audience before launching on to the story proper. No eye-contact since they were walking alongside, uncle keeping an eye on his dog, and thinking about other matters, she knows, and hence her demand for focus on her narrative of the day.

Every day, she has something new to share, a story she hadn’t told before, something that happened at school, or of Lakki’s mischief at home: getting hooked to the mobile, and watching stupid serials, and not listening to Papa and Mummy, not even when Papa beats him once in a while.

The first time she called him Uncle, he was a little amused, for he is older than her grandfather. Who taught her to address him as Uncle, he wondered? Maybe, her parents.

Tough Ma’am

Uncle, do you know, Lakki’s Hindi Ma’am is very tough. For anyone who behaves badly, her punishment is severe. She hangs the mischief-maker upside down from the fan, and switches it on.

Have you seen that?

She was a little hurt that Uncle seemed to doubt something she believed to be true.

No, but I’ve heard it from the seniors. Well, she has a big stick, too, and the very bad students are often thrashed. That I’ve seen. She also summons the shaitans to the Principal’s office, and pinches the ears so hard that the student returns to class with a flaming, crimson ear.

How’s your Ma’am? Has she ever punished you?

Yes, but she gave me a very light whack with her cane, and it didn’t really hurt. I’m good at my studies, don’t chatter in my class, and don’t get punished. Uncle, do you know, as soon as Ma’am leaves the class, all the students create such a din that sometimes she returns to warn with a loud ‘Ooyye.’

(Sheetal and Lakki)

Shilpi

Another day, she began her narrative with her usual preface, Uncle, do you know ….

Shilpi has become ganji. Yesterday, her father took her to the barber shop for a mundan. That’s why she is at home and has not come out.

Go and call her.

Sheetal persuaded Shilpi, but she came out most reluctantly, with a cap on her head.

Hi, Shilpi, did anyone tease you about your tonsured head at school?

No, but a boy wanted to play tabla on my head.

Why didn’t you ask him to play tabla on his own head? Or on his sister’s head?

If he’s so keen on playing tabla, why doesn’t he ask his father to buy one for him? Shilpi put in her own brilliant suggestion.

'When I was in school, I had a few boils on my head, and my father got me tonsured. Someone played tabla on my head without my permission, and I kicked him for it. But I permitted a few friends who   gently slided their palm on my skull to feel the bristles,' Uncle shared his school-days memories.

Should I kick anyone who touches my head, she asked doubtfully?

No, don’t. Just ignore if someone teases you. Tell them: Soon, I’d have a thick crop of shining black hair. Anyway, it’s my head. No need for you to bother.

(Shilpi)

I’m NOT your mother!

When uncle stepped out of home for evening walk, Lakki couldn’t wait to share the Break-in-News, ‘Uncle, aapko pata hai, Sheetal ro rahi hai?’

Why, he asked?

Mummy told her, ‘I’m NOT your mother.’

Sheetal was hiding in a corner of the garden and uncle could hear her sobbing.

‘Go, wash your face, and we’ll go for a walk,’ he said softly.

She was inconsolable, in no mood for walk or talk, and ran to her home. Lakki joined uncle for the walk, and they chatted about this and that, maybe he asked a few questions, and uncle tried to explain things to him. After about fifteen minutes, Lakki went home, and Sheetal came out, her face a little swollen from weeping.

Did you tell Lakki a story?

No, I didn’t.

A concerned brother had used ‘story’ as a bait to draw her out of home, and out of her sadness. He had told a lie, but for a good cause.

‘Well, I asked Google your question, and I got a prompt reply.’

She had asked the other day: Uncle, the moon walks with me, and it stops wherever I stop. Do you know why?

Uncle explained to her about speed and motion and illusion of motion of near things, and non-movement of things far away in as simple words as he could, by giving example of her travelling in a car or bus (she hadn’t taken a train ride yet). The moon is very far away and it also moves, but it seems to be in the same location and following you wherever you go, he added, hoping that he made sense.

In less than ten minutes, the moon, her pretty companion who walks with her and stops when she stops, had helped her to forget her great sorrow of the day, and had restored her charming smile. The moon is indeed soothing and a balm for sad souls.

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