The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 3

Pic courtesy S. Libert 

When I was about five years old, I had gone with my parents to our native village. This was a month or so of very hot summer vacations. I was the youngest of four children and was born very late to my parents. Even though I always felt I didn't have any luxuries growing up, I know I was very lucky compared to my older siblings.

During our vacations we stayed at the homes of our relatives who lived all over the state of Kerala. I remember being asked to walk with my parents in the hot sun. For some reason, I was very cranky. Probably thirst, hunger, the heat and the travelling had gotten to me. I was walking alongside my father and my mother was a few meters behind us. All of us were sweating a lot. The heat was omnipresent and there seemed to be no cool, shaded area on our path. 

Suddenly, I started feeling really upset and asked my father how far we needed to go. He was someone who was very calm and he smiled and said, "not far". I continued walking for what seemed to me like an eternity. I caught up with my father and asked, "can we talk a bus?". He replied, "We are nearly there". We walked on. I turned to look at my mother, who was very slow and probably felt as hot as me. I thought of walking back to her and trying to get her to find a faster solution. Even though I was very young, I knew that my father would decide what we were to do at that moment. I repeated pleading, " Can we take an auto-rickshaw?". I was only five years old, but I knew my parents never took any public transport that cost a lot of money. I don't remember getting into auto-rickshaws as much as getting into trains and buses. 

As expected my father said "No". There it came, the No. I knew that once my father said No, he rarely ever gave in. I knew that I had lost my chance of getting what I wanted. On top of that the heat was now unbearable. In normal circumstances, I would have just not asked him anything anymore. But I found myself in this fit of rage, hunger, tiredness and overall uncontrollable helplessness. I started throwing a tantrum. I jumped up and down on the side of the road. I screamed on top of my lungs. I went on for long enough for my mother to reach my father and me. My father had not stopped walking, he just had slowed down, turned around, looked at me once and not said or done anything. 

I was now in a fatigued state of having given out the final drops of energy that were left in me. I asked my father, sobbing, "Can you at least carry me?". He didn't say anything. He continued walking. I dragged myself behind him. The world was so unjust, my daddy is ignoring me. I now felt that the top of my dress was wet with a mix of sweat and my tears. I had stopped wailing, I was just sobbing, there were sad sniffles in between each breath. I asked him to hold my hand. He didn't. I started wailing again.

We were now on the street near my uncle's home. My uncle's family lived in an independent house which had a porch which led to a front door. But on the side, there was a stairway that led up to the terrace of the home. When we reach the gate, here, my dad held my hand and firmly led me upwards towards the terrace. My aunt had noticed us enter. She saw my face all shrivelled and my father's silent and stern look. She sort of understood something was amiss and started following us upwards. I looked back towards her and beyond. I saw my mother enter the gate of the property. She looked at me. I didn't think she would follow us up as she was already exhausted. 

I was now crying with a sort of fear and foreboding. I wanted to run free into my aunt's arms. But when we went upstairs I knew I was alone in this. No one would be able to help me. My father had been the father figure for everyone in our family. He had brought up even my uncle. I saw my father switch on a tap at the side of the terrace. He looked at me and I looked at him, howling. He filled the bucket and switched off the tap. 

I was unprepared for what was going to happen next. My father lifted the bucket of water and poured its contents all over me. I stopped crying. I felt cool and nice. I was stunned. My father walked away into the house and I felt my aunt’s arms around me. All was calm again.

Note :- I would like to add that I never felt that any of the punishments my parents ever gave me were traumatic. Their intention was very clear and my naughtiness was constantly at heads with their idea of proper behaviour. I share these stories with a lot of love for my parents.  

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Read Part 2 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-2.html

Read Part 1 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html