Thumb Sucker!!

I have to admit (albeit a little sheepishly) that I was quite a sucker of thumbs till a ripe age of 5... Now I can only imagine what my poor ma must have gone through in those few years. Stories go that she tried everything to get me out of the habit, the bitter stuff, the bandages/wraps etc, threatens to tell all my friends in school about it and so and so forth.. some of them worked for a few days but then one fine night, a bad dream or a fight with a friend would find the thumb back in the mouth.

my grandparents' house in the village was quite a huge and old one with a humungous backyard and all sorts of domestic life.. a few cows, buffalos tethered to the sapota trees, a bunch of hens clucking around with a hoarde of little chicken tripping between the legs, a few cats that were quite friendly with the hens and treated them as family, parrots, which were quite our enemies because they seemed to have a better knack of picking the ripe gauvas. Quite a delightful place it was. We spent most of our holidays (including all the festivals like Gandhi Jayanthi too) yonder at this place.. As a kid I loved running around the open spaces. You might think I am going at tangents, but I am coming to the point. The only thing that ever stopped me from my runs was the chicken-poop. I loathed it with as much might and hate as my little self could muster. A little poop on the ground a few feet away and I just froze in my tracks.

One day, after my bath in the roofless bathrooms, Ma wrapped me in a multi-colored towel and I sprinted out of the bathroom running after the hens, and suddenly I stopped at the threshhold in front of a mountain of poop. I whimpered and caught the attention of my uncle who was sitting in the armchair reading a newspaper. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes, guaging the situation. I waited on the other side of the dangerous line of control waiting to be rescued. He gestured me to
cross over and come and I let out a little wail pointing to the mountain in front with my plump little finger. My uncle, feeling mischevious, said, "step on it and come, its just poop" to which I let out a loud cry and tears flowed down my cheeks (the nightmares caused by it still continue). Ma, who followed me a little later, noticed this and lifted me in her arms and crossed this mountain in a single stride. Ma became my instant heroine and in Ma's mind a small plan started taking shape.

That night, after settling down in my little bed to sleep I very religiously put my thumb in my mouth and started sucking, ma tried to remove it and I protested. After a couple of mild requests she tried her weapon, she said "if you dont take it out, mama (uncle) said he will bring a truckload of poop and put your finger in it, I told him not to, but you know him right?". In a instant the thumb came out of the mouth and I shivered at the thought of it. That night I slept without the assurance of my thumb in my mouth. Ma, her plan working, felt victorious.

From that day onwards, everytime I tried ma used the very same sentence. It was a wretched time in my life as I watched the roads nervously whenever a truck passed by fearing that it could be my uncle. It took me a few weeks to get out of the habit completely and a few years to stop fearing/hating my uncle. Today a little pout in my lips still reminds me of the thumb-sucking days. But as for ma she believes there is no mountain that cannot be surpassed with a little effort.