So the boy was run over (again) a few days ago. Not by another child, as he usually is, but by a mommy this time. Can’t blame her. She had trouble carrying her own weight and that of her toddler as she ran about in a game at a birthday party trying to win points for him. So what was my son doing in her way, one might ask? Why couldn’t I just look out for him? These things happen all the time, right?
Was she sorry? At least she didn’t say so.
I don’t understand kiddie birthday parties these days. Little girls are dressed like Kareena Kapoor and Priyanka Chopra and throw the same attitude. Little boys look like rap stars, their collars all fluffed up and hair rearranged asymmetrically. At a recent birthday party, one had Batman carved on his skull as his new haircut. Another had the Ghajini cut. There was Bollywood music (nothing wrong with that), but do two year olds really have to listen to Sheila ki jawani if you can help it? And the music levels would put any night club to shame. Is this decibel okay, I asked. Someone shrugged. Strangely no one was complaining. The parents seemed to be having as much fun as the kids.
One 3-year old girl put up a stellar performance of Munni Badnaam hui that would make Malaika Arora blush, and I was confused whether I should congratulate her (this could be the beginning of a great career in Bollywood) or have a word with her parents. I then realised I should stay mum, considering the enemies I have already made for voicing my opinion.
On the counter for the toddlers was coke, chips, pizza and burgers. Arguably, this was a fast-forward generation suitably fortified by fast food. Me and mine felt like aliens.
At another birthday party, a magician performed more pelvic thrusts than tricks (on more Bollywood), and pulled out baby mice and pigeons from his hat (PETA, are you listening?) while the children clapped. They clapped some more when he pretended to milk little boys (who happily volunteered) from under their shirts and fill imaginary water from their taps (go figure!) into his magic glasses, which he then drank (gross!). Everyone laughed. I shuddered.
Clearly, I have had a child in the wrong era. I vented this out to one of the sane mommies I know, and she said, “Grin and bear it. This is just the beginning.”
I am in a village now, trying to recover. Sorry for the break.