"Say 'Pencil'"

"Say 'Pencil'," said my little one as we traveled between cities in the car.

I knew the moment I said 'pencil,' she would shoot back with 'Teri shaadi cancel.' We used to play such games during my primary school years as well. I considered replying with it, but I decided to play along. So, I said, "Pencil." She immediately grinned and said, "Tera bura hona cancel." Now, I was very tempted to tell her what the original reply was, but I kept it to myself.

"Say 'Seven,'" she had the next word lined up already. This was definitely going to be 'Your pants have fallen,' followed by a giggle. "Seven," I said, with the innocence of a 5-year-old. "You are in heaven," this time she jumped a bit in her seat, mirroring her grin. "Damn," I thought to myself.

"Okay, last one. Say 'Eight'." Now, there was no doubt in my mind—it had to be 'You are always late.' I'd teased my school pals with that countless times. "Eight," I said. "You have good faith," she shot back, then turned to look out of the window with a triumphant and satisfied expression.

While it might be too much to read into, my immediate thought was how every line I thought of—and of course, it was based on my school days experience—was a negative statement. The fun was in mocking other kids with a mean line. Though perhaps it was all harmless fun and jokes, it was interesting that all her responses were positive. I'm not sure who she picked it up from at school, but it was indeed a nice upgrade from the things we used to say during our school times.

Positivity can radiate from the smallest of things, sometimes erasing even harmless negativity.

Nine. Hope your week is going exceedingly fine.

"...no, thank you. I am fit and in no rush, so I will stand in this queue,"

"...no, thank you. I am fit and in no rush, so I will stand in this queue," said the uncle, sporting a hat and a beard like Gandalf the White.

Last Monday, Mumbai went to the polls. I dreaded standing in an hour-long queue in the summer heat as I drove to the polling center. I collected the slip and entered the building to locate the polling room. There were about 15 people in the queue ahead of me.

A couple of minutes later, a gentleman joined the same queue. "Sir, you can come this side and stand in this queue. This one is for senior citizens," said the police officer stationed at the entrance. He was dripping in sweat in his khaki uniform and cap. That is when the uncle said what I quoted earlier. A few of us turned to look at the source of the voice. The uncle smiled, noticing the attention, and added, "I cycle across the country, and last year I cycled from Kanyakumari to Kashmir. I have relocated to Jharkhand but cycled down a couple of weeks ago to cast my vote since my name is registered here."

The guy standing next to him immediately asked how old he was. The uncle answered, "I am 70, but I still feel like 50. The day I feel like 60 is the day I will start standing in senior citizen queues. Besides, I have no urgency and nowhere to go, so I don't mind waiting in this queue." He then went on to narrate his cycling adventures. While talking about them, he said, "Paisa aur log aate jaate rehte hain. Accha khao, durust raho, khush raho, aaram se raho" [Money and people will keep coming and going. Eat well, stay fit, stay happy, stay calm].

The senior citizen queue only had four people, yet he waited in the general queue until his turn came. Interestingly, just a couple of days before, I had overheard someone in the office cafeteria say, "The VIP darshan queue moves quickly. It only costs a couple of hundred, but it saves so much time."

Here we had this gentleman who refused his right to a priority queue as a senior citizen, labeling it as a privilege. On the other hand, we often exercise our privileges without even realizing they are privileges, treating them as if they are our rights!

"...would you like some mewmosaas...?" asked the cat

"...would you like some mewmosaas...?" asked the cat in white fur on the screen, holding out a glass of milk, as V and I moved towards seats E6 and E7.

Yesterday afternoon around 2 PM, I was lying in bed after a heavy lunch, engrossed in doomscrolling, looking very much like Garfield after indulging in a few plates of lasagna. Suddenly, I felt my eyes shutting. I had a 3 PM meeting, so I decided to get some shut-eye for an hour. The next moment, I heard, "Papa! Papa!!". I opened my eyes to find my daughter, V, stooping over me. "It's 5 PM," she said calmly. "So what?" I asked, surprised since she never wakes me up. "It's 5 PM," she repeated. I was still lost. "Yeah. So?" I asked, a little confused. "We had to go to the movie," she said, concerned yet calm. I sprang out of bed like a man who had just spotted an inch-long spider.

I had booked two tickets to the new Garfield movie for a 5 PM show and had completely forgotten about it. Being a slave to technology, I rely heavily on reminders and alarms for almost everything in life. This time, I had forgotten to set a 3 PM alarm when I went to bed, which meant not only did I miss my 3 PM appointment, but I also overslept until the movie's start time! "Why didn't you wake me up a little earlier?" I questioned her. She didn't answer; she just looked at me with a sad face. "Let's rush now, get ready to leave," I told her. I dashed around the house like a roadrunner being chased by a coyote, making sure we were ready to move within the next 120 seconds.

Luckily, the movie was booked at a theater just a few hundred meters from my home. "We can walk there; it will take us 5 minutes," I had told V after booking the tickets earlier that morning. However, given the situation, a walk was a luxury we could no longer afford. We took the two-wheeler and reached the venue at 5:06 PM. 

"Sir, the parking is full. There is some repair work going on, so we have very little space for parking today," said the guy at the gate. "How can you not have space to squeeze in a two-wheeler?" I grumbled. He responded with a helpless smile. I knew I had only one option: to park outside on the road and hope it wasn't a No Parking zone. We parked the bike and rushed to security. I looked at my watch: 5:08 PM. 

"Tickets, please," asked the guard. I flicked my phone out and clicked on the ticket booking app. It did not load as quickly as I expected. "You guys really have a bad network here," I complained. Just then, the app opened, and we were let in. "Third floor, sir, go to the left," he said.

Noticing that the right side lift area was empty, we quickly ran towards it. We entered the hall at 5:10 PM, just in time to hear the mewmosa line. It was funny, and I knew what mimosas were thanks to a mimosa-guzzling friend of mine. But before I could smile at the joke, an usher asked, "Sir, where are your 3D glasses?" 

"You tell me!" I exclaimed. "Aren't you giving them out?" "No, sir, they were in a tray to your left when you entered," he explained. That's when I realized why we were told to go to the left. I felt like uttering a four-letter word but decided to keep it in my head. "V, go on and take your seat, I'll be right back," I told V as I ran down to get the 3D glasses. "You didn’t tell me to pick up the glasses!" I complained to the guy on the ground floor. "I did," he responded matter-of-factly. I grabbed a couple of glasses and hurried back to the movie.

Sitting in the cozy, air-conditioned hall with a tub of popcorn in hand, I had a moment of introspection. I realized how I had gone into flight-or-fight mode. None of this would have happened if I had set an alarm and left home on time. Instead of taking responsibility for my actions, I had been blaming everything and everyone around me for no fault of theirs.

"Did you like the movie, V? I'm sorry you had to miss 10 minutes of the beginning because of my mistake," I said, finally taking accountability, as we walked out of the hall.

Better late than never.