Baby's Milk Bottle

Jaya hated milk. She considered that it was meant to be for infants in their mother's arms; not for someone who would be going to third grade soon.

Cows did not go around nudging calves to drink goat milk. If milk was so 'good', why did it taste yucky? Babies had no choice - with a smorgasbord of options available to her, milk had to be 'retired' from daily menus.

These thoughts were but silent mutiny. For all that she never raised her voice, Mommy had her own ways of ensuring discipline.

Jaya too devised counter measures:

Dawdling until it became cold and needed re-heating. If one timed it just right, the bus would be honking at the corner before the milk was done. This worked better on the maid. Mommy had a sneaky way of having another glass of warm milk all ready.

Or 'accidentally' overturning the glass. Here too, it was the maid who got distracted by the mopping up process and the soiled tablecloth. Mommy would put down a large wide mug of milk, surely containing more, with such an irritating air of solicitude.

Today Jaya rotated the glass on the bottom rim, swirling the contents; one wary eye on her mother's back. She knew Mommy had one eye in the back of her neck.

"Jaya, have you taken your homework-book?"

One could see the lightbulb in Jaya's mind.

"No, Mommy. I'll just go get it."

The waist length plaits swung in an eager spiral as the slight form raced up the stairs. Some diligent slamming of drawers later, she raced back down just in time to head out the front door in milk-less victory.

It wasn't my fault. Mommy distracted me and I 'forgot' to drink it

To her surprise, there was no rebuke waiting on her return.

That's strange, she never lets me get away with anything.

The next morning Jaya's bleary gaze registered a sky outside her window that was a darker hue than normal. Surely it wasn't time to wake-up yet? The clock confirmed her suspicions; it lacked a half-hour to her routine time.

But there was her mother's voice again, "Jaya, hurry up and have your bath. Breakfast is ready."

When she got down, she found her mother had awakened her out of 'concern' for her constant tardiness.

Jaya's indignant stare was met with a bland but firm look.

"Since you didn't have time enough for the milk yesterday I thought I'd wake you early. Don't worry darling, if you ever forget milk one day, I'll be sure to make up for it the next.

Sure enough, there were two glasses of milk on the counter-top.

Jaya toyed with roping in her father. He was ensconced behind his newspaper, oblivious to the nuances of the battle.

Good, he's not heard Mommy.

Pramod looked up from the paper and folded it again, exclaiming something.

Daddy is pleased about some eggs returning to re-re-season levels. Sen's eggs. Maybe Mr. Sen down the road has started keeping a chicken and they are returning to roost.

Now what he said was, "Good, the Sensex

the index of share prices, based on the movement of certain stocks

is returning to pre-recession levels."

Even smart little girls of eight get things not quite correct.

Whatever it was, he was in a good mood and hence malleable to cute-daughter-faces. She unleashed her most pleading look on him.

"Daddy, since I am early today, can I ride to school in the car? I can play on the big slides then. Otherwise, I never get a chance."

Mothers have antennae for such things, but Pramod was a mere clueless man; he nodded his head and just murmured that they had to leave immediately.

When Padma came back into the dining room, two white sentinels told her of her daughter's battle-winning move. One call to her husband gave her the tactics.

Padma stifled a sigh, she only asked in a dulcet voice if the driver could be spared to her for one hour or so.

"Sure, I'll send him home right away." Pramod knew the tones of a cooing dove heralded turmoil, not peace, in their house. Sending the driver would grant him a reprieve.

Taking up the offending glasses of milk, Padma poured the contents into a wide-mouthed glass jar. It had a secure lid which she screwed tight. She wanted to ensure not a drop was spilled.

Sam was given specific instructions and asked to repeat the gist.

"I go to Baby's school" Being an old retainer, he still called Jaya that, although she had outgrown that status.

"And?"

"I wait for long break." He picked up the rush basket which had the jar nestled in a cocoon of towels to secure against tilting or a glancing blow.

A look told him to hurry up with the recital.

"I give Baby this jar and tell her she forgot to drink the milk."

"Be sure to tell her I sent it."

"Yes, Madam." A sketchy gesture of one hand served as assent and salute.

He reached just as Jaya's classmates were milling at the door of the class, jostling each other to be the first at the tuck shop or playground. He could not distinguish his beloved 'little Baby' in melee of children, all in similar garb; he raised his voice in a stentorian call.

"Baby!"

The conglomerate broke up into startled faces with one scarlet-faced girl trying to shush him by hand signals.

He had to do his duty. He brandished the jar.

"Baby, your mother sent your milk bottle!"

There was a pandemonium - a flurry of jeers and catcalls, a swelling tide of laughter and hoots.

Jaya had lost the war.

She always drank up her milk after that.



Word count: 963