I am sixteen. Not years – months. I am a gentle soul with a kind heart, a keen brain and hands that can conquer the world : I mean the house.
Mom and Dad adore me and serve me round the clock. They take it in turns. Mom, of course, keeps disappearing, for several hours during the day. I have often thought that she is rather irresponsible. Consider this – I spit out my food, just as she is walking out through the door and the only thing she says is, “Aww, Dad will clean you up.”
That is so mean. Poor Dad already does an awful amount of work. But then, I better not be judgmental. That’s a word I overheard Mom use during a conversation over the phone. Oh yes, I do know what a phone is. It is something through which you hear and see people. And yes, it is something that brings home things. You need to do some stuff on it and things reach home. Mom does it a lot – and trust me, a lot of things that come are for me. So, I have decided not to be judgmental.
I usually love the things she gets for me, but there was one time when she got me something that I abhorred at first sight. You see, she thought she needed to get my feet covered. And guess what – she got me these horrible yellow things with stripes. She called them shoes and thought they were super cute. My foot!
It happened one evening last month. I had just woken up from a nap and there she was, beaming with love. She bent over and lifted me up, all the while murmuring some utterly incomprehensible gibberish. She then proceeded to the hall.
Dad was on the couch, flipping channels. Mom joined him. Family time, I thought to myself. Just then my eyes fell on a box on the centre table. I knew instinctively that it was for me.
“See what Momma got for you?” she cooed and proceeded to “unbox” it. A few moments later, a garish yellow thing appeared.
“We got you this, baby,” she whispered excitedly and began to shove my right foot into the hideous contraption.
I protested. I do that often. It starts with pushing away what I am being forced to accept, hitting out and squealing and finally transiting into a bawl.
“Aww baby, let me put these on for you,” she cajoled.
Dad joined the bandwagon. He picked me up and pointed to the fan. Lord, I am sixteen – not two ! Who gets enthralled by three whirling blades at my age!
Mom continued with her onslaught. I shrieked louder than before. The struggle continued for the next five minutes.
“Leave it,” Dad said, smoothening my curls and wiping my perspiration ridden face. He took me towards the mirror sprawled across the wall beside the door. I stared at myself. I was red and honestly, I looked ghastly.
I turned to look at Mom. She was in tears.
“Burberry shoes. How can he not like them?”
“Try putting them on later,” Dad suggested.
I yelled. Dad shook his head. “Give them away.”
Mom was crestfallen : I elated.
We made our peace soon after. Later in the evening, I was curled up in her arms, my eyes half drooping. She was typing something on the phone. She then showed it to Dad.
He read it aloud.
For Sale : Baby shoes : Never Worn.
“Selling it? ” he asked.
“We have to,” she said. “It cost us seventeen thousand.”
He nodded.
“I am posting it in all the groups,” she said.
I blinked and then dozed off. The chapter soon became a forgotten story.
……………
A week later, we had guests – a couple and their baby. The lady was Mom’s friend, I learnt. After a cup of tea, Mom brought out a box. I squinted, peered hard and recognised it. It was the box with the shoes. The couple opened it and gushed over it. The lady then took out a shoe and slid the baby’s foot into it. It fitted well and the baby burst into an ecstatic blah blah.
Just then, something hit me – hard, very hard – because, all of a sudden, I found the shoes attractive. I let out a scream.
“Hush, baby,” Mom admonished me. “I just fed you.”
I squealed louder this time.
“Those are my shoes,” I tried to say.
Dad picked me up and showed me the fan. I bawled.
“He’s been a little fussy today,” Mom said with an apologetic smile. The couple nodded and looked down at their progeny with pride.
I was outraged.
Hell! You ain’t giving away my shoes to that nincompoop. I want them back!
To no avail. The deal was struck and they were now the proud owners of a brand new pair of baby shoes that they had wilfully snagged. The baby threw a diabolical chuckle my way. Tears streamed down my cheeks : my little world was collapsing and no one seemed to care. So I did what I needed to.
I lunged forward towards Mom who welcomed me into her arms under a delusional spell of infant love. I then turned around, bent over and brought out the milk I had consumed a while ago. The sparkling yellow shoes were now embellished with thick, wet patches of white.
– Jaya Pillai
Image : Monica Grabkowska (Unsplash)
