DON’T GROW UP!!!
The telephone has become my lifeline. One that I cling to with all the desperation of a person drowning in the sea of loneliness (Morbid I know, but then today is Monday so I am entitled). I call everyday. Two calls for sure. One call to my parents and the other to hubby dear.
I am sure Reliance is looking at giving me a life membership on their Board of Directors since I am positive they would never find another member who so religiously uses their services every single day.
The ring of the telephone at my home in Bangalore is a precursor for cataclysmic events. Anyone who is standing makes a mad rush to the phone. And the person responsible for this whole sequence of events is my two year old. He, being much smaller than all of us and being able to maneuver through all the obstacles like the sofa, the half open door and his toys lying strewn upon the floor, usually gets to the phone first. He picks up the phone and says, “Hello?” and impatient fella that he is, immediately puts the phone down saying, “Cut ayi poyi.” (The line has been disconnected). This leaves all of us in a quandary. We do not have caller ID so there is no way of figuring out if that call was from our maid servant telling us she is on a death watch (yet again) or if it was from one of those banks asking if we wanted yet another credit card.
In the rare instances that both me and my son get to the vicinity of the phone together, both of us fall headlong onto the bed in the mad scramble to reach the phone first. And the fact that I am bigger (wonder how long that will last) and stronger, I simply drag him back. But it is no good. Because he lets out a yowl so loud it is impossible to hear the person on the other end. I bet the people who call us are sure that the World War III is being fought in our living room, what with all the blood curdling yells and murderous threats that they can hear in the background. The grand finale is usually when my mom comes charging out of the kitchen brandishing a weapon of choice (usually a spoon, knife and in one instance even the skillet) ready to attack anyone who is hurting her beloved grandson. After a whole lot of lectures on “act your age,” I finally get to talk to the person on the phone. This only happens if the person on the other end has the patience of a saint and is used to this whole drama being played out every single time without fail. Usually the person on the other end hangs up in frustration.
So, imagine my surprise when I called home today and my son picks up the phone. I said hello, and I could actually hear him say, “Ammuma, amma vilikyunnu.” (Granma, mom is calling). I was stuck speechless. He still remembers his mom’s voice and he knew I wanted to talk to my mom!!! When did you grow up so much???
I am sure Reliance is looking at giving me a life membership on their Board of Directors since I am positive they would never find another member who so religiously uses their services every single day.
The ring of the telephone at my home in Bangalore is a precursor for cataclysmic events. Anyone who is standing makes a mad rush to the phone. And the person responsible for this whole sequence of events is my two year old. He, being much smaller than all of us and being able to maneuver through all the obstacles like the sofa, the half open door and his toys lying strewn upon the floor, usually gets to the phone first. He picks up the phone and says, “Hello?” and impatient fella that he is, immediately puts the phone down saying, “Cut ayi poyi.” (The line has been disconnected). This leaves all of us in a quandary. We do not have caller ID so there is no way of figuring out if that call was from our maid servant telling us she is on a death watch (yet again) or if it was from one of those banks asking if we wanted yet another credit card.
In the rare instances that both me and my son get to the vicinity of the phone together, both of us fall headlong onto the bed in the mad scramble to reach the phone first. And the fact that I am bigger (wonder how long that will last) and stronger, I simply drag him back. But it is no good. Because he lets out a yowl so loud it is impossible to hear the person on the other end. I bet the people who call us are sure that the World War III is being fought in our living room, what with all the blood curdling yells and murderous threats that they can hear in the background. The grand finale is usually when my mom comes charging out of the kitchen brandishing a weapon of choice (usually a spoon, knife and in one instance even the skillet) ready to attack anyone who is hurting her beloved grandson. After a whole lot of lectures on “act your age,” I finally get to talk to the person on the phone. This only happens if the person on the other end has the patience of a saint and is used to this whole drama being played out every single time without fail. Usually the person on the other end hangs up in frustration.
So, imagine my surprise when I called home today and my son picks up the phone. I said hello, and I could actually hear him say, “Ammuma, amma vilikyunnu.” (Granma, mom is calling). I was stuck speechless. He still remembers his mom’s voice and he knew I wanted to talk to my mom!!! When did you grow up so much???
posted by newatthis at 12:50 PM
4 Comments:
hey sammy, Blogrolled you.
now you will have page hits from mine, and its one entry to the fellow blogs.
i need my commission though.
and please remove the word verification please.
your son is growing up yes ...but am i getting a bit retarded ????
yes thats for sure!! maybe we need to get you checked out for Alzheimer’s what with your wonderful memory!!!
'time n tide wait for no man... ' women and children included :) ... sam he's growing up. dont miss out on it if you can...
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