A Reasonable Story

Of things that daughters do not understand, one thing perhaps too common is the occasional celebrations that take up their mommies’ entire attention, for a remarkably long time. Time, which is now donated to things called ‘plan’, ‘lists’, ‘phone-calls’ and ‘shopping’ soon turn in the veritable company of soft lights, constant music and many faces into all that the ‘plan’, ‘lists’, ‘phone-calls’ and ‘shopping’ ensues. It then gives away to ‘cleaning’, ‘complaining’, ‘leftover’, ‘hangover’ and 'more phone-calls’.

Amidst such a day of battle-fight between leftovers and hangovers, my little daughter, now fast growing up, in her winter holiday, was spending her time stuck to me, asking for no outing, no new clothes, no pizza, no chips (and that IS something) -- just a silent, nagging sticking, to the tail-end of my red poncho. It made me irritated because I felt miserable having to let her go through a day of my headache. So, I took a minute off, took her by her waist, placed her right on top of the dining table, as I hurled a Herculean attack on the fridge, and asked her, “What do you want, C? Why don’t you play with Tucks?”

She replied, rather demurely, “Story.” Might I add, the tone had a certain sense of determination of a win within. I was cautious to play it intelligently, you know, winning myself but giving her no sense of her loss. “C, why don’t I write you one and you read it to me at night?” I must confess here that her reading skills are as atrocious as her spellings. It wouldn’t be too wrong to say what she read, and she did it in stylish speed, sounded very Croatian, or Indonesian, or anything with some god-knows-what accent in far-sighted English. Safely into the trap, she agreed. “Ok, Mommie. Tonight. Promise?”

“Yes Love, promise. Only if you finish one page hand-writing. Now run and get me your copy.” 

I wrote in a fresh page “I will not tie a bow on Tuck’s tail” and asked her to complete twenty-five of it, managing to scoop in time, till lunch, of my own. The leftover has been well-spaced with my rather fine skills of organization, and the hangover is being taken care of by a fantastic Australian coffee called Moccona. As C laps in the sun in the verandah, on her stomach, pencil in her mouth, talking more with Tucks in her incoherent, adorable expressions of love (Igloo-Vini-Mini-Hoohaa-Poopaa-Lily-Tomato-Wrabble-Tucksy), rather than finishing her assignment, I try to live up to my promise:

Miss Behave had a friend called Bew Tea Fool. They lived in a small town called Reason Able. Everything about Reason Able was nice and easy. Far away from Mind, a nearby town, those who lived in Reason Able were not guarded by the cops -- Why, Who, Where, When and Which. No, it was not a land of Witch. Although Which sometimes did look like a Witch. So, in this beautiful land lived Bew Tea Fool. She had the nicest possible behavior and was often made fun of, because she was too nice. On the other hand, her friend Miss Behave was very rude and mean.

One day their other wise friend, Wiz Dom, as she passed on a slice of pizza to Miss Behave spoke to them, wisely, of a plan. This plan came to her when Miss Behave, on getting that thick and tasty slice did not even tell her a ‘Thank You’! How rude! Wiz Dom began, “How about you both change names for a while? You, Bew, will be called Miss Behave, while, you, Missy will be called Bew Tea Fool.” 

Thinking it would be great fun, Behave and Bew Tea agreed, just like they agreed to more ice in their Coke. But who were they to fool? People in Reason Able could not reason why people would name their children exactly opposite to what they were! You see, Bew Tea was hardly a Fool when she misbehaved and Miss Behave was not a fool when she did!

As we see, to stay true to your name, you must be beautiful as a person, but also misbehave, reasonably. 

I am jittery. C has high expectations. As for my expectations, daughters, although fail to understand the occasional celebrations in their mommies’ lives, they are the most forgiving when it comes to anything made exclusively for them, like this story. New words of three or more syllables ought to have been taught to her during the vacation. I delayed. I only hope I could make it up for her, now, reasonably.