Letter to Daughter XII

ChikumPlumpypum,

It is rather unbelievable that this is the first letter to you, this year. Forgive me for writing a joint one to you and Chhuti, earlier. I was happy and wanted both of you to share it with. That's about it. Mum's ageing, honey, as are you, and thus you must not be always throwing tantrums about she being around to share some joy in our little lives, sweetheart. That done, this is the dozenth letter to you! By the time you read all these, I may be rattling in rocking chairs, or rocking the mountains, or battling the average daily-ness of daily living. 

My mom never told me many stories, nor wrote me any letters, she is a strict follower of the hit-and-rule regime. In bringing you up, I have differed. I have showered all the pampering that I am capable of, and told as many stories as I could think of. I have also, mildly scolded you, when you misbehave with Tucks, and are in one of your frenzied state of free hand dancing under the shower, singing songs I have never heard of -- "I wan to three foe", "Jungli pugli billi doggy", "Gems in my pocket / Where is my locket / I fly a rocket" (this one is my favourite). C, you must know one thing today. Just like the letters chose me, I chose you. So, even though it melts my heart, your rare pearl-drop tears when you run away from me into the balcony and sit by the wall, holding Tucks, or your more ruthless screams, "I no go ischool!", "I no do homewok", "I go Granny-D", I cannot but scold you. Chinkles, a wrong-doing is a wrong-doing. It must be brought to notice to be rectified and remembered not to be repeated. Immediately.

Why am I writing this letter? Because when you are back from school, you are in for a show. Chinky, I found my old specks, the one you promised you had no hand in losing ("I no do to choshma, Momie! Anythin'."), in two symmetric broken bits inside one of your lesser used pencil boxes. I also, to my utter shock, found my once-upon-a-time white earphones, which I so long thought I had misplaced, well-chewed (perhaps Tucks did that), the wire without the microphone serving as a chain to your beloved Cindy, the doll Mishi gave you. In fact, inside the bathroom, beside the laundry basket, I also happened to locate the handle of my broken, blue coffee mug. 

How lovingly you convinced me of your innocence! What tremendous talent, C! Each time. But guess what, baby, Momie is pretty smart. Still. You will be made to practice handwriting twice a day -- "I will not fool Momie" and "I will miss Nutella because I was naughty". You will not be given your post-dinner spoonful of Nutella for a week. Momie will spank you, and not take you for your favourite soup or cake thereafter. 

Trust me child, even as I write these, I feel bad. I know how you will suffer. Oh, I will also not permit you to lock the bathroom door on Sundays. But, sweetie, what must be done, must be done. Fast.

Don't hate me. One day, I promise I will listen to all that you felt when you met my punishments. I am curious about how you would plan to escape them, too. All is fair, C. 

I love you, very, very much. Though, right now I am very angry with you. I hate you too.

But then, oh, I love you,

Momie.