Of preening parents and parroting children

I remember how, when I was a kid, it would take a horse-pulled cart to induce me to recite a nursery rhyme in front of an audience. Despite numerous fawning uncles and aunts, who expressed a keen desire to hear me do the parrot routine (read the Twinkle-twinkle, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and Little Miss Muffet rhymes), and who generously showered chocolates, candies, jujubes, and the like on eagerly-lapping-up-me, I would nevertheless refuse to spout the poetry, unless caught in one of my “exhibitionist” avatar days. On such days, I was unstoppable – yes. Otherwise, sunny-tempered me would disdainfully turn up her pretty nose, shake her flying curls obstinately in rapid left to right movements, and walk out of the room haughtily with pursed lips (and a secret smile), but not without first collecting my loot, and depositing it in my safe-box, away from my “usurper” elder bro.

So it was a heightened sense of déjà vu for me two days back, when a couple, accompanied by their three-year something daughter, traveling with me in the train, set about doing what most parents do – urging the tot to rattle off some verse. What started out as one poem, soon extended to more than half a dozen. Co-passengers, the very same ones who had earlier gushed praise for the preening child, soon settled back into their seats, their faces changing from glazed looks, to subsequent exasperated expressions.

The child, reveling in the attention of so many adults, soon realized that something was amiss, when the compliments became infrequent, and far in-between. The parents were not one of those who would give up so easily. An endless chatter ensued about their brilliant child, who was next to none, could put all the singers on various talent shows to shame, and for whom the word "prodigy" was an understatement. The poems soon changed their tempo into Hindi tracks from current Bollywood flicks. The parents kept pace with regular clapping, foot-tapping, and the odd shriek of appreciation. Next were regular impersonations by the child of the neighborhood postman, milkman, next-door uncle, aunt, watchman, and others of the ilk.

It must have taken the elderly lady, sitting with us, all her courage, to silence the parents and their reciting daughter, by a plea that she was suffering from migraine, and really needed to nod off.

Peace prevailed.

But not before many people gave silent looks of thanks to her, before she and most others drifted into happy happy slumberland.

Zzzzzzzz....