My two-year old nephew has suddenly picked up on violence.
We don’t shout at home (well, at least not in front of him),
don’t display any violent behavior (thankfully, not even outside the periphery of
his nearly all-pervading gaze). His parents (my cousin and his wife, who have
never participated in or ignited a brawl and can probably count the times they
have really been madly angry) aren’t sometimes able to gauge how to tackle the
situation. When denied what he demands, he not only throws a fit but also throws
fists at whoever is in the vicinity.
One day, when he was punching his mother with the expertise of
a trained wrestler, I decided to give him a piece of my mind. So, I hatched a plan
of inviting him to our house, alluring him with all the things that he usually
loves to do when he plays with me. I knew exactly how to execute it.
So, just about when he’d be busy painting away abstract art on my
sketchbooks, especially in the journals that I try to keep away; I’d play his
favorite song. And as he is lost in the pleasure of unmindful creation and the
pleasant environment, he’d look up to show me his scribbles, I will display all
my teeth in an evil grin. Poor thing, he’d gloat on my display of affection but
only I will know what upheaval is surfacing next.
Kaboom! With the speed of light, I will quickly grab all his
toys and playthings and run away and lock him from outside!
Boohahaha! Finally, I will have taught him a good lesson.
You’d think, how does all this add up? As in, how on earth
leaving him alone howling in a closed room could make him ponder on his unruly behavior?
Well, to appreciate the brilliance, you’d have to hear about the second part of
the plan.
So, at that moment, when unable to understand what has
happened and what to do next, he howls his tonsils away calling for his mother,
I would show her in. But only gradually. When he is saved out of the misery, his appreciation
of her will automatically grow and he would not dare to pounce on her again. Voila!
“Kids mostly don’t have a conscious memory of actions until
they are 3-4 years old, so he’d probably not remember all that and still punch
her when his demands are not entertained” my voice of reason woke me up from my
revelry.
I scrapped the plan.
Believe me, I was so disappointed that I couldn’t even bear
to look at his face from then on. And every time the munchkin came around dragging
his car, calling for me, I wanted to just run away. Oh, the pain and agony! My scrupulous
plans had been washed away just because he doesn’t remember like any normal
vengeful adult!Pity..sheer pity!!
Pah! So, there goes my story into smoke. His mother still
takes the beating just like someone else I know, who used to get punched like a
sandbag while feeding her dear one. Well, I’ve known her since I was a toddler
and even through those days when I’d not get up for dinner half sleepy.
Hers was
not the womb that I knew for nine months before I knew this world. And even
though I don’t recollect everything well, I do remember her arms, where my
sleepy combat had landed on several days; the arms that held me close and fed
me while I chewed and swallowed my mouthful in a state approaching deep slumber.
We remember the ones we punch, literally and figuratively, don’t
we? More so, the ones that take the beating and still care for us, teaching and waiting patiently for the loving rage
to turn into raging love.
And so, I hope my nephew, more than remembering these
episodes, learns to love. Because funnily, even though he’s practically of no competition
to me, I have started taking the punches while resisting him.
No, not because I
love him to bits but because that love is far exceeded by a love that I had tasted.
A love that called me exactly as I am, at times judgemental, biased and shitty. It
hung my punches and madness on a cross and cheered me on when I took even the
smallest step to learn to love.
And as I started taking the next step, it opened
my eyes to all the gestures of love around me that I had never realized or acknowledged
before. It’s about that time when I first realized that…
Revenge comes in two flavors; one is karma and the other is
grace.
