My Little One My Master

My little one, My master!​

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At school, I have often snored through when my English mam taught us Wordsworth’s poem of the child being the father of man. And of Lord Muruga chanting the pranava mantra into his father’s obliging ears.

And now here is my three year old son who has unwittingly taken upon himself the task of tutoring me through the ups and downs of life while he still wants me to brush his teeth and spoon feed him and tuck down his trousers for his visits and hug him to sleep.

I have a little bit of the hot temper in me that sizzles and boils over at the least given opportunity. Everything that goes out of plan-husband searching for his socks from the laundry bin when I had just chucked them into the machine, my son protesting over his glass of milk or refusing to let me brush his teeth(when he is late for school) or the maid not turning up in time, everything makes me irritable.

When I screech my husband either ignores me or says a caustic comment in response but do you know what my son says? He looks at me calmly and says, ‘Amma kochukaadhe (don’t get angry), amma. Yean katherae (why do you shout)?

I wilt like a salted snail when he says that. I feel very foolish, so very childish for screaming at the most unimportant things. And I laugh and say, ‘I am sorry. I will not shout again.’

Only yesterday I was back to muttering to myself and he stood behind me in the bathroom and said, ‘Only yesterday when I asked you not to shout, you said you will not and you laughed. Now you are shouting again.’

And he stood and waited patiently till I started laughing again and then he too laughed and walked away.

And this morning off we went again till husband retired into the bathroom and shut the door.

My son cycled very close to me (he loves to go from one room to another pedaling his orange tricycle) and whispered, ‘Amma don’t shout at appa.’ His eyes looked so earnest, as if he did not want to tick me off in front of his father that would have made me score less and he waited till dad disappeared into the bath to come and tell me to shut up in his own sweet way.

And a week ago he was skipping along happily down the road home from playschool and as we were talking he said, ‘Madhav beat me today.’

I was shocked. ‘Did you tell your teacher?’ I asked

‘No, amma. But auntie (teacher) said, “No Madhav” and he went away.’

‘But he should not have hit you,’ I said.

‘Amma, he beat me only for fun.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Ella amma chumma thaan adichaan.’

Now I don’t know how to react to that. Do I tell his teacher to stave off beating Madhav from beatific Vigneshwar, or do I ignore the whole thing, if my son himself is ready to let beating boys lie?

Nowadays whenever I smell opportunities to a little temper flaring in my subconscious rings a sweet childish voice that says, ‘Amma kochukaadhe!!.’

And I try to control myself at least for the sake of that sweet voice.