And Bozo did it too, ...

One afternoon, Bozo and Mini had just come back from school and were playing a bit while I got the food heated up and put on the table. Mini sat quietly (!!!??) on the divan, giving her doll her feeding bottle. Bozo played with his dinky toys - he had these itsy-bitsy models of various makes of cars and trucks.

Well, there I am in the kitchen and I hear his cries, alarmed and desperate -

My FUCK! My FUCK!

WHAT?! Says I

My FUCK! My FUCK! Ma, I can't get my fuck!

Mystified, wondering, SHOCKED, I leave kitchen, walk into lounge. There he is, on hands and knees in front of the fridge. His bum's in the air, his face is to the floor as he peers underneath the said fridge, little arm stretched out under it to grasp something. All the while yelling, My FUCK! My FUCK!

Ki holo? Says I. (What's happened?)

Aamaar fuck chole gaeche! (My fuck has gone!)

So I go down on hands and knees beside my six-year-old boy, reach behind the fridge and retrieve it for him., ...

Did any of you ever notice that Bozo had a problem with his 'R's? Well, he did! Harare was Hawawe, Fire Engine was Fangine, etc, etc! So now, who can guess what had gone behind that fridge?

There's a prize to be won for the first one to guess, so be quick!

MINI, SHH-SH-sh-sh-sh!

Snapshot: Three Little Words

She's 3 and 5 months. Her first day at school dawns. She's all set and eager. Armed with brand new school-bag, brand new pencil-case, with brand new pencil, rubber and other implements, she goes forth to face the outside world. When we reach the school gates, she lets go my hand and runs off into the grounds. I watch with a twinge of regret. What? No crying and clinging to Mommy, as Bozo had done for days? Not even a hug and a 'Bye, Ma'? But that was ok. She'd been rearing to go to school ever since he'd started and it had been difficult sometimes to get her away when we'd gone together to drop him off! So I let her go. I watched as she joined up with Tania and Pum-Pum and said hi to Titli Didi. And then, Miss Rita scooped them up and took them into her playgroup.

She came home that day a tired but happy little girl. The crisp new uniform of white shirt and red gingham tunic was not so crisp or so new any more and the white socks and little black 'ballerina' shoes were well-soiled, but she fell asleep over her lunch and only awoke around 5.

That evening, we were all sitting in the lounge, generally chatting, Bozo and Mini happily playing with their Lego blocks. Suddenly, Mini began to shout something out, in a loud, strident voice. She kept shouting three little words as she got up and clambered onto the divan that stood under the switches. We watched in shock and horror as we realized what she was saying. "Shuck-a-Fuck! Shuck-a-Fuck! Shuck-a-Fuck!"

Obviously, we were stunned and didn't know what to say or do for a bit. Obviously it was something she'd picked up in school that day. She carried on her chant as she stood up on the divan and switched the fan off. And then, she stood there a few seconds, looking VERY pleased with herself, almost looking for approval. Then, she switched the fan back on and wordlessly returned to her brother on the floor.

We grown-ups sat there non-plussed, wondering what it was all about. Then I asked Mini. What was that you were saying? "Shuck-a-Fuck! Miss Rita bol-lo, Ingriji te fan off koro ke bole, Shuck-a-Fuck." (Miss Rita said, in English, 'Switch off the fan' is Shuck-a-Fuck.)

We grown-ups were even more mystified. Miss Rita? Chaste and a virgin, religious, 30-something Miss Rita? Did she even know the word, let alone teach it to her 3-year-olds?

It was Bozo who put our minds at rest. Apparently, instead of saying Switch off the fan, dear Miss Rita preferred to say Shut the fan.

Obviously with so much else having happened on that day, it got just a little bit twisted as little Mini remembered it!

Mini Bus, Bozo Bus

With only one week of school holidays left, I thought I'd get some 'snapshots' in.

When we were in Sahagunj, where Dunlop had their factory, we'd travel every other week to Cal to visit Arup's parents. Often, the whole 3-hour-or-so-journey would be by car but sometimes we'd take the local train and then a taxi from Howrah station to Dover Road.

Whenever we were on the go, I'd mostly have the kids VERY close to me. - Yes, both of them! - Mini propped up in one arm and Bozo perched on one knee. Sometime he'd slide off onto the seat, but still keeping pressed to me, his hand clutching my knee...

Well, I did say 'mostly'. If we were by ourselves, no other Dunlopian travelling with us, for him to talk to, Arup would have Bozo on his knees and talk to him. If Subir (Sengupta, Subir Kaka) was travelling with us, Mini would sleep in his arms - and do unspeakable things to him.

I was in the habit of talking to them all the time if they were close by, and getting them to respond. They'd be wonder-struck by the most mundane of things. "Look at that tree. How BIG it is!" "Watch out! There's another train going in the opposite direction, flashing by us." "That's Howrah Bridge. Why do you think it's there?" (Bozo's answer? "So people don't have to get wet if they want to cross the river.") "That yellow car's a taxi!" ('Tah-sheeee!' Bozo'd say.) And his favourite was the mini-bus. They were all brown in those days. Our Mini was a late talker (and did she make up for that!) so she'd just chortle and chuckle and gurgle and bounce up and down on my knee when she began to sit there. Each time we saw a mini-bus, there was much excitement.

On retrospect, I doubt if they knew why it was a mini-bus. Obviously, they only associated it with our Mini. Maybe they thought it belonged to Mini. Or maybe they decided it was the name of the bus - one bus that mysteriously appeared all over the place, just because it WAS another Mini, so had to be part of us. Who knows what deductions such little ones make from things we grown-ups take for granted, so don't bother to explain?

One day, Bozo came up with the clincher. I suppose he'd deduced from his learnings at school what a 'bus' was, and what 'mini' meant. So he brilliantly put the two together and on one trip, he shouted out, "Oi to! Oita Bozo-Bus!" "There it is! That's a Bozo-Bus!"

It was one of the usual, larger buses and most pleased he was when we agreed heartily...

And from then it was "Mini-Bus", "Bozo-Bus" all the way home!