Monkey-giri

If you ask my Mom which animal best described me as a child, "Monkey" she will say without missing a beat. “Not just as a child, even now she is a Monkey”, she will most likely add. No, no, she is not abusing me, she is just making it easier for you to imagine. Getting the head or hand stuck between two window bars, jumping from about 5-6 feet and missing the target, etc were some of the highpoints of my career as a monkey.

As a child, I found myself in weird situations while actually doing nothing. Something as simple as walking through the narrow corridor would end up in me bumping into the walls, hurting something or the other. And this happened almost everyday. Twice I have got my head and leg stuck in the window bars. On both occasions, I was too proud to ask my mom for help. So, I have ended up sitting/standing on the window pane for a couple of hours before my mom came to know the reason for my sudden inactivity.

The good thing that comes from this is stardom and popularity. Your stories will be told to other kids in the family/neighborhood. "One day K was looking out of the window. She did not listen to her mother and then...."So what if at your expense people will have a good laugh.

There's one memory that is particularly vivid. I was in class 1. I had won a prize in a drawing competition and we (K2, K3 who was a baby then, my Mom, uncle and me) were seated in a hall for prize distribution.

For chairs we had a fiber-seat fitted on a steel frame. There was enough gap between the seat and the frame for a tiny hand to slide through. My mom had told me to sit quiet, with folded hands and not get into any trouble. Despite that my hands kept on sliding through those gaps. And then my left hand got stuck in the gap. For 5 minutes I tried wriggling it free. Then my mom, my uncle took turns pulling my hands, pushing the chair, huffing-puffing in between and of course scolding me all the while. There were occasional "Phatacks" on my back. Then my name was announced. Innocently I suggested to my Mom that I could go with both of them holding the chair behind me. My Mom paid no attention to anything and kept at wrenching my hand out. 5-7 minutes later my hand came out free, red and sore. No, I didn’t miss the limelight. The organizers called out my name again.

At home, when the monkey told the whole thing excitedly to her dad with the shiny trophy in her hand, she had forgotten all the embarrassment and "Phatacks".