See on the other side of the week

Its Ganapati time again in the Manral household and as usual things are chaotic. Mamma spent the entire weekend hosing the house down top to bottom, cleaning it inside out, albeit with the help of two additional hired help and two existing hired help and found at the end of all the back breaking work, which included, hold your breath wiping down all the walls top to bottom, shifting beds around and cleaning under them, cleaning out the lofts and hosing down the balconies, that the house looked exactly the same as it did when she started out, minus of course, the curtains which were removed for hosing down purposes.

The brat, now that he seems to understand the enormity of the occasion, is adamant on wearing not his fancy schmancy Diwali sherwani that makes him look like a right royal prince, but current favourite outfit which is being worn incessantly day in day out, and already has threads unravelling, aka, the Spiderman outfit.

"I be Spiderman when Ganapati comes," he tells me. "Everyone tell me, Krish you looking very handsome..."

Mamma will cross that bridge when she comes to it.

Saturday was yet another budday pahty and Mamma being wrung out to the bone with the work of the past few days, was sitting peacefully in a corner gathering her thoughts to herself as much as thoughts could be gathered in the face of ear splitting music. The kids were dancing their feet off at the other end of the room, and the view to the dance floor blocked by adults watching on adoringly. Suddenly she hears the games host announce, "And the prize for best dancer goes to this little hero....whats your name?" And then, unhesitatingly, bold and clear, pipes up the brat's voice, amplified on the mike, "Krish Manral."

Mamma springs up like a pin poked her in her ample butt and runs throwing the crowd aside to get to the fruit of her womb. "My son, my son," she says, like a loony tune jingle, to people stepping aside quickly to make way for elephantine woman running amok. And goes and hugs the brat, who she sees, has clambered onto a spare table and is dancing a la Om Shanti Om.

At that moment, I knew what parental pride is, the feeling that your heart is swelling up in your chest and about to burst with joy because your child has, on his very own, done something that proves his talent. And with no dance classes, as most of the other kids in his class attend. On his own. The third best dancer prize this past month.

Anytime you need some table top entertainment for your parties, just holler. He comes cheap. A Spiderman costume should be incentive enough for the performance of a lifetime. Or a Diamond Head or a Four Arms action figure.

See you over the weekend. Ganapati Bappa Morya.