DRIPPING WITH LIQUID HAPPINESS (Memoir series – Story 4)

Why I love Aunts and not Uncles

Mummy’s left me in the house of a family friend. And one of the hosts is unfriendly, unsmiling, and unrelenting.

I’m in Titus Uncle and Aunty’s house for the day.

Uncle has his head buried in the newspaper. He’s playing hard-to-get. I want to say Hello and shake hands like Mummy has taught me. But from what I can see, his Mummy hasn’t taught him good manners.

That’s fine by me because my friend is Aunty anyway.

She not only shakes my hand but also gives me a warm hug smelling of freshly baked cookies.

She’s gratified to watch me lick my lips after I devour the cookies placed before me. And now that the plate is empty, I open the new Tom and Jerry comic book that Mummy bought me. Books are so much fun when they have the “new” smell. 

I’m engrossed in the thrill of the chase with Tom and Jerry. And the newspaper rustles as Uncle finally folds the paper and drops it on the table.

From the corner of my eye, I notice him inching toward me. Like Tom stealthily moves toward Jerry in my book.

He clears his throat noisily and our conversation commences.

“What’s your name? He asks.

“My name is Mohan Mathew Chacko.”

That’s how I must say my name to elders (According to Mummy).

“Where are you from?”

“I live at 63 Karaya Road, Calcutta,” I answer with well-practiced confidence.

“But where are you from?”

Now, I’m fumbling for words. And Aunty smiles. She prompts me to tell Uncle where my native place is.

“I’m from Kerala”.

“Oh, so you’re a Carolinian?” he asks in his jaunty stylish manner.

“I’m from Kerala”. I repeat in a slow modulation so that the poor man can read my lips.

“So are you a Keralian or a Keralite?”

Aunty blinks her eyes at me discreetly. Uncle is relentlessly striving to get to know my roots.

Once and for all, I reassure him – “I’m from Kerala. And I’m a Keralite”.

Later, exuding an air of condescension, Uncle goes off for a short nap. And Aunty vanishes into the kitchen.

Left to my own devices, I look around for something to entertain myself.

That’s a cute little bottle on the shelf.

I’m impressed by its feel and texture. So I give it a little squeeze. And a fragrant liquid squirts out.

Wow! I’ve always wanted something like this.

So I scurry across to the veranda and squeeze it again, and the liquid squirts out in a stream. The more I squeeze, the more it shoots out.

So I refill the bottle with water and squirt it on the plants. And repeat the process until all the plants get watered well. And their leaves drip with liquid happiness.

I’m happy for the plants and Aunty. 

Now that I have saved her the trouble of watering her plants, I’m pretty sure that Aunty will give me some more cookies as a reward for my responsible actions. And as evidence of my hard work, I show her the empty bottle.

She gasps with bulging eyes. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, she confides that the bottle had contained Uncle’s expensive medicine.

While I’m still struggling with the daunting immensity of the situation, I’m flinching at the thought of what Mummy is going to say.

Aunty reads my mind, and says – “This will be our little secret”. 

Greatly relieved, I give Aunty a tight hug. And the smell of cookies makes me hungry again.

Back home, while I tuck myself into bed, Mummy reads out a story from my book of 365 Bedtime Stories. 

Little does she know that there’s a thrilling story that Titus Aunty and I have kept to ourselves.