A Not-so-Tall Story

My little one is of the kind old school is -- does not like the mention of school, does not take to studying, picks up a fight with other children at parks over who gets to the swing first and slyly likes to showoff her new frocks and the zips and ribbons in them. She relishes a gorash of boiled rice and potato more than a slice of pizza, and certainly loves watching momie sometimes get scared of stray dogs over winning points on 'stooopit compewturr gaims'. Thus said, what makes for the most concern at having such a charm is never to be able to go out of stories for her, especially at bedtime, when I am not writing, or she is not colouring. She often demands one, "I want a story with me!"

Of all your two and a half feet, what stands tallest are your questions. On such a day of your waking up from your sleep, you asked me, with your brown eyes full of more sleep, "Momie, if I was sleeping on this bed, who was under that tree?" 

"Which tree?" asked I.

To which you sat up, bent your knees and pulling the pillow from under your head to now on your stomach, said, after a thoughtful pause, "I don't know." 

I realized I had to tell you where you were.

One day, little one, when the snow was deep and the cold was high, you walked off from the hostel, you are yet to join, into the woods. The snow was left with completely adorable tiny footmarks of your big-big boots. You walked to a certain tree which stood alone at the end of the garden greens. It was a used pine tree, sitting neglected, after a row of fresh pines. One of the many Christmas discards, may be. Anyway, you walked to it for as long as months and made friends with it, touching the angular curves nearest to the ground and often finding a red satin ribbon, or a golden ball, or a chocolate wrapper which would suddenly make an appearance. All of such surprises you ably collected in the front compartment of your school bag and brought home.

Like a traveller who has just returned and is efficiently segregating the gifts for all those who matter, you did too. The red satin ribbon "is for Tucker tail", the gold ball "for Granny-D" while the chocolate and the wrapper you handed me to hand over "to M". 

"Did you get all these from the tree?" I asked. Momie is 'stoooopit', forgive her, little one. Of course you got them all from the tree. And, "what tree is it, dearest?"

"A Chocolate Tree."

Right. Of course. For, what is a Not-so-Tall story anyway? One which has you in it!