Sunday, 23 June 2019

Revenge Comes in Two Flavours





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.

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