Words...

Ri is now at that stage of his life where he repeats everything we say. He also tends to pick up words that do not matter; keeps them locked in some corner of his mind and blurts them out in the least expected situations.

 A few days ago, there was a truck standing just below our balcony and creating a racket in the utmost uncouth way, ever, in the existence of trucks. When it finally drove away after almost two hours of uncanny performance; my mother-in-law uttered, “Chole gayche; baachaa gayche” (translates to chala gaya; bach gaye). Ri heard that; registered that.

 

A couple of days later, my husband and I were down at the park with Ri when one of our really nice neighbours, Rajib, came to have a chat with him. (Rajib reads my blog posts occasionally. No, that is not why I called him nice. He is nice.)

 

The conversation between Rajib and Ri was something like this:

 

Rajib: Babu, where is your leg?

Ri: (pointing to his leg) eta

 

Rajib: What is your name?

Ri: Chinan Mukejee (Shrihan Mukherjee)

 

Rajib: What is your babas name?

Ri: Chubo Chaka Mukejee

 

Rajib: What is your mammas name?

Ri: Mamma

 

Rajib: What colour is your shirt?

Ri: (Blank stare at Rajib. He does that when he does not want to answer)

 

Rajib: What did you have for lunch?

Ri: (Blank stare again)

 

After a couple of more questions from Rajib; blank stares from Ri and apologetic smiles from us, Rajib bid goodbye and left.

 

Ri looked at us and said with an impish smile, “chole gayche; baachaa gayche”

 

My husband and I looked at him with utter shock; turned around frantically to check if Rajib was out of earshot(Sorry Rajib, if you are reading this now) and then turned towards each other eyes wide open. We walked off pretty amused and dazed.

 
 

 

We need to be very careful about what we speak in front of him, especially me. Inappropriate words tend to slip-off my lips more that often.

 

We heard Ri utter “Oh fuck!” last evening while playing with his cars K