Sunday, April 24, 2011

How the humble crow came to our help in an hour of need

It constantly amazes me how the simplest and most straightforward of activities that you could just pull off without a thought before you had kids now seem like the greatest of challenges and get done either not at all or with much pain and procrastination. As an example, the light in our bathroom has been out for (I'm not kidding) over a month now. The particular tubelight that fits this rare holder is apparently only available in Sikanderpur - which is worse than a sharp pain you know where at the best of times. To go there with kids evokes such horror and fear in both me and my husband that we have happily lived with the alternative for over a month. We have chosen to live without a light and stumble along in the dark arms outstretched looking for the pot when we want to use the loo at night. We have taken baths in the light of our cell phones or little candles and even told ourselves that candlelit baths are romantic. Granted, we don't have a tub or jacuzzi and we haven't had glasses of wine and glossy magazines for company but hey, with two kids, you take whatever you can get, right?

Anyway, last evening, I had finally reached the end of my patience with make believe romantic baths and midnight stumbles just to pee and I really wanted a light in my bathroom damnit! Of course, one of us could have gone alone to buy the tubelight but we (believe it or not) wanted to spend the whole weekend together and this would be such a waste of time alone. So we gathered up our courage, made a list of all the other things that were not working in the house that we could get from Sikanderpur, got the kids and their water and the diaper bag ready, fed and walked the dog, and did all the hundred things one does when leaving the house with kids for even a little while. We felt so brave, finally on our mission to get things done, take control, sieze the day, and all that (of course it's that big a deal!)

So we get there and since Tara has fallen asleep on the way, I wait in the car while Vijay and Vir head into the market with the list of things to buy. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as Vijay gets into the shop and begins to tell the shop keeper what he needs, Vir announces that he wants to poop. Loudly in the store, "papa...potty aa gayi. Zor se potty aa gayi..." Really? Poop? In Sikanderpur? Plonk goes the whole sieze the day idea. Now it's just about buying as many of those tubelights and other things as possible before things get out of hand. Vijay hurriedly picks up some random bulbs and tubelights while telling Vir to try not to think about it and wait a little bit. Meanwhile, the shopkeeper is visibly tense because he has a business to think of and little boys who want to poop right in the middle of his shop can't be good for that. He urges the sales guy to hurry the hell up and get these people what they want already. Vir isn't helping at all with the non-stop "papa-potty-potty-papa-potty" chant.

I have no idea all this is going on and am just happy thinking of all the things I can strike off my to do list when I get back from this trip. So, I'm not too happy to see a not too happy Vijay rushing towards the car with a not too happy Vir. (Tara is happy, but only because she's asleep.) I get the jist of what's going on through Vir's chanting and Vijay's muttered grumbling. We're at least 25 minutes away from home and a clean loo. Trust kids to want to poop at all the wrong times. I try to tell Vir not to think about it and wait a little bit - that's been done before and it's not working, says Vijay.

Suddenly, when things are really on the verge if you know what I mean, Vijay remembers what worked for him when he was a kid in a similar situation. A little poem his nanny taught him. It's in Assamese and the protagonist is a crow or a kaori. The jist of it is that the crow is being asked to take away the poop and bring it back at a more opportune time. Vijay teaches Vir the poem and Vir earnestly repeats it. He forgets all the other lines after the first time and all we can hear is a very trusting little voice going "kaori-kaori-kaori-kaori-kaori." "Is it working, Vir?" says Vijay, "Is the kaori helping you?" (We're really hoping kaori is not sleeping on the job today since we need him to get us out of Sikanderpur.) "Yes," says Vir, "kaori-kaori-kaori..."

Phew. Turns out kaori really knows what he's doing because not only did he take away the poop, he also got Vir to fall asleep before we reached home. It's 16 hours later as I write this and kaori has yet to return :-)

 As for my tubelight? Let's just say we have a few more candlelit baths to take before I can report any success there!


Anonymous said...


Okay. I cant stop laughing. Heheheheh! HAHAHAHAH.

This is by far the only entry on this blog that has a bit of EVERYTHING... adventure, comedy, black humour, drama, a moral and a lesson, romance, and a nail-biting finish!! HAHAH! And trust you to be able to relate it all... :*

Bhavna said...

Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

I am surprised that Vir didn't demand to see, inspect and use the shop's bathroom. Another one added in his repetoire of bathrooms ;-)

Anonymous said...

ROFL in an extremely extreme way right now!! Can't get over the situations you guys get into!!! God bless you all. You want me to buy and courier the lights to you? Might be easier. Am serious. Let me know if you do:-)

Manika said...

Hee hee! Thanks,'s a tempting offer but would be a new low, don't you think?! I shall overcome, don't worry:-)

Swapna Raghu Sanand said...

That was really very funny! The kaori bit in particular!

Mist-wrapt said...

And I thought my little one was the only one who didn't know the meaning of an 'opportune time'
kids, I guess
I also wanted to ask you if you know of some good homeopathic doc in ggn. Thanks.

Manika said...

Hey Mist-wrapt - there's a Dr. Gosain that I had taken the kids to last year. He's pretty good. His clinic is near sec 14. I'll try to find his number and let you know.