I hear the distant roar of a bike thundering into the night. Then comes the faraway sound of a clock striking two. The kids are asleep near me, but I am wide awake. Armed with a bat, I lie still, listening... knowing they are about. I try not to breathe, for that might alert them to my presence. They come near, and I swing my bat - no one harms my children.
Liana sits up and says, "amma, neenga enna mosquito nu nenachi adichittinga. (mom, you thought I was a mosquito and hit me with the mosquito bat". Oops, true Pink Panther style! "Sorry, precious. Sleep, baby". Silence ensues. True silence. Perhaps good times are dawning. Filled with love that a mother feels only for her sleeping children, my always faster-than-brain-thinks tongue whispers, "I love you pretty sleeping baby," and she says, "I am awake. Tell Story, amma."
And all this time the mosquitoes continue to wage their wars. To combat them I have used various commercialized repellents. My mom left the room saying she was allergic to mosquito repellent while the mosquitoes continued with their wine and dance.
Now and then I hear, "amma,story" to which I tell her that I am trying to recall a good story. Fed up of waiting she wants only bad stories. And finally I hear her gentle snoring. Don't mosquitoes need to sleep too? I desperately need mine. After a while, I must have sent them all to the dark side, for I find myself drifting off to sleep.
In my dream I show Ryan a tiny Ant. "See, Ryan, " I say. "Ant". He smiles, goes swiftly to it and steps on it with his shoes. I wake up to find both my children up. Ryan is leaning over me with a big grin and catches my nose and pokes my eye. Liana is looking out of the window and eagerly says, "amma, come and see. I'll show you a coconut tree." "Really?" I yawn, feigning excitement. It's almost 6 o'clock; farewell sleep.
What a huge responsibility are we bestowed upon as parents. The modern parent has to be smart, updated and while bringing up little know-it-alls, be there to protect them from the vices of the mortal and the virtual world.
(
Photo: A smiling Mr.Bug who stepped in.)
And the dream disturbs me. I have often seen Ryan step on insects; so did Liana as a baby. So by instinct, are our babies destructive? Without provocation they hit, break, kill and hurt. They need to be taught to be gentle with other children; with pets, taught that its bad to break and tear, and that it is wrong to cause pain to another.
Do we unlearn them only to relearn them as adults under the mask of power and politics and salvation?
