‘Back in Time’. Imagine, one fine day, you wake up as a 5-year-old child and not as a grown up! What will you do then?
My post is titled, ‘Life of a five-year-old..Back in Time’ and hope you folks will like it.
‘Life of a five-year-old..Back in Time’
I crawl on the floor, stretching my hand to pull off the fridge plug. Shoo! I can hear her Mom’s footsteps and see Dad reading the newspaper, watching news on NDTV. I smile to this cute, French cut hair lady who often smile to me and fight with loads of uncles and aunties. I think, I like her. I often hear people shouting, ‘Barkha! Barkha!’ I wanna be like her, reading news.
Now, why do parents need to shout their lung out and calling my name? Can’t they leave me in peace in the house. Dude! I am five and I need my space. And, those parents should go to jail, you know? They spank me on my bum for no reason and calling me naughty. Me and naughty. You must be kidding, dude. After, what do I do? Throw the remote on the floor. Now, tell me why the remote is not a tennis ball to play with? Now, I need to hide and pray when they will go out. I just found something and need to strain my neck..ouch it’s hurting. My eyes is fixed to this jar on the cup board on top. But, how to get there. Wait! There is a stool.
Parents! Oh! Parents! Why they always fight with each other, arguing that no one is having a look at me. I wanna break free from them. Mom is lying on bed and yeah, the cricket match starting which means the dude I call father will not look for me. Bless my lil heart. The stool has been placed, right in front of the shelf. I push my tiny body, catching hold of the shelf, trying to maintain my balance and reach for the jar containing Murraba. I hear Mom calling for me. She just frightened me. I freaked out and the glass jar crashed on the floor. I stand, unmoved on the stool like a statue and freezing with fear.
My mom start shouting and pulls me down, making me sit on the floor. She whines to Dad, “Now, you and your cricket. At least see what this lil demon is doing. I am so tired of him, touching and breaking everything. First the remote and now the jar.” Dad is amused. Mom brandishes her hand at me to slap me, “Listen, now you sit on the sofa. I don’t want to move. Is that clear?” I fake tears and turn my face away.
Oh! Lord! Now, I have to sit in front of the boring TV to watch some men in blue with something they call bat and ball. Now, I want to get this bat and the ball to play with. I am already plotting my revenge. I wanna get at them for scolding me and making me sit in front of stupid TV. I sneak out of the house. Oh! I curse destiny. Do they always do that to five-year-olds? Harassing us. The whole world is doing dharna, protesting on the streets. I guess, I need to find some guys in school and start a dharna against parents, sit in front of the parliament in Delhi. By the way, what those guys discuss in this thing call parliament? Can’t we five-year-olds sit and discuss our life in this thingy call parliament? But, yeah, I want to do dharna with my friends, telling how parents force us to gulp food, force us to sleep at 8 and make us go to stupid, boring school.
I wanna fly planes, sit in train, become actor like this dude in Taare Zameen Par. How I wish I had a teacher like Nikumbh Sir! I would keep drawing and school would be fun. I hate this stupid Ma’amn who keeps shouting in class. I want to be adult now and now. I can see Dad coming with a stick. What’s wrong with them? Cruelty to kids. Now, I gotta go back to this jail they call home. Five year old! Oh!!! I loove my age. At least, no tension, nothing. I will go to bed now. Before that, I’ll play in water, splashing myself in the bucket, throwing water inside the bathroom. Let them wash it. Yay! In the morning, I will throw away the milk they force me to gulp outside the window. I hate milk.