Shobhaa De in Politically Incorrect | India | TOI
They call them the Terrible Twos. I can confidently confirm that. My neighbour has a cuddly grandson who just turned two. I have been observing him closely — not only because he is their first grandchild, but because, he was born at about the same time a brand new political force came into existence. The grandson took over our hearts. The political force took over the country.
Last year, around this time, I was watching the neighbour’s kid take his first few baby steps. He fell, got up, fell again. I clapped. I encouraged him to try again. I rewarded him with hugs, smiles and kisses. Occasionally, I dangled carrots as incentives. He was cutting his teeth. He was nearly potty-trained. There were a few accidents. But he could tell from our reactions that we wanted our Bharat to be swachh — starting with the drawingroom carpet. We indulged him. Bachche toh bachche hain, we said, as he ran around, refusing to stay put in any one place for long. We noticed he was more willing to make friends with strangers than with his own folks. He’d meet new kids in the garden and promptly invite them home. He was keen to share his favourite toys with padosis but not that keen on sharing the same with his brothers. He liked all the foreign kids he met in the park. And they seemed to like him, too. Except when he hugged them, squeezed them and refused to let go till his pictures were clicked. This led to a few embarrassing situations. While American kids reciprocated, sort of, European bachchas gave him the cold shoulder. Especially, the Italians. We told him not to feel bad. He was too inexperienced to understand how far he could go with foreigners and those bear hugs.
His popularity in the neighbourhood was high. If one overlooked the usual dog-in-the-manger attitude kids display when their playthings are being snatched. Several kids attended his birthday party that first year and everybody had a ball. You see, an elaborate magic show had been orchestrated for the benefit of guests, and the clever magician was busy pulling all sorts of wonderful things out of his hat. The kids were mesmerised and thrilled. They wanted the magician to reveal how he performed all those fantastic tricks making objects — and people — disappear. Of course he didn’t oblige. The kids were most disappointed and started chorusing “Cheater! Cheater!” Kids can be very blunt, and very cruel. Adults are more accommodating. They know exactly the sort of tricks magicians play on gullible audiences.
Then there was the other big problem faced by our two-year-old. He couldn’t — and still can’t — separate fact from fiction, fantasy from reality. In his mind, there is only one version of the truth — his. Idle bystanders accuse us of being intolerant when we try and correct him in public. We are not happy with these interventions, since we believe we are entitled to our opinions when it comes to an obstinate two-year-old who refuses to see reason. But then we are always outnumbered!
Actually, it’s fun being a two-year-old. Zero responsibilities and lots of noise! Two-year-olds are compulsive attention-seekers. They love the spotlight on them and are pretty good at hogging the show. Of course, they are selfish and selfcentred. A toddler gets away with virtually anything! People nod understandingly and say, “Give some more time… be patient. Wait for improvement.” Our little fellow is a fast learner. He knows he has to compete and beat that kid next door. The dimpled cutie who is still a mama’s boy and, gulp… is still learning how to talk. But he has the best toys in the neighbourhood — Italian choppers, etc.
Our kid does talk. But not to us. He prefers to talk to himself. Last week we overheard him muttering “achhe din… achhe din” over and over again. We clapped and patted him on the back. Next week our kid has a big test to clear. It is an entrance exam to get into a good primary school. Stiff competition is posed by aggressive rivals. But our two-year-old is super confident. He has armed himself with a big stick to beat those who stand in his way. Once a brat, always a brat, they say.