G wants wings so she can fly. Green wings (Environmentalist, that she already is), to be precise. This emanated from a conversation that went something like this:
“Mumma, see mermaid" (pointing to its picture on her fancy glass).
I smile and give a pseudo-excited look with a ‘Hmm’ while trying to shove a spoonful into her mouth.
“Mermaids fly in the water?” (never imagined, but worth a thought now)
“No, Baby, they swim under water.”
“Then, only birds fly?”
With a ear-to-ear grin, I say “Yeesss”. (Hoping I had sealed the Q&A session and could get on with the never-ending dinner.)
“Why do they fly?” (Oh no!)
“Because they have wings.” Then a quick quiz, “What else can fly? Tell me, tell me.”
“Plane (With a very distinct Duh, Mumma! look). You can also fly, Mumma?”
“No, I don’t have wings.”
“Why don’t you have wings?”
(Err ummm…) "Because God didn’t give me." (Ok, P, gerrout of the Standard mode and get a wee bit more creative now, willya?) I need to be very careful what I tell G, because, the Resident Lawyer decides to catch us off-guard and cross check every once in a while on certain circumstantial arguments provided to her. And the midget has an elephantine memory. So God help you if you retract or tweak your arguments.
G, very authoritatively, “Tell God to give you wings and me also(sic). OK? I want green wings. You get blue and Puppa will take red! OK?" (shaking the index finger at me)
Wings in myriad hues to take us all where we want to go. How I wish, such wishes were granted. Philosophy was never my cuppa, so instead of indulging in it, I’ve been wondering how to grant G her wish, indulgent Mom that I am. The first thought was to call the Fleeting Fairy for a solution. But she has exams and papers to deal with. Then I considered my very own, 911, the Lilting Lark. But she, I thought would be busy making pasta or solving her anagrams. So wracked my utterly non-creative, useless brain for a change. But alas! I don’t have a green dupatta to make-do with. (Digression: In fact, my wardrobe is devoid of green. I hate the colour as much as I hate the smell of a rose.) So for now, I settle on the wings of poesy (the oft-recited nursery rhymes) and take her on flights of fancy either on Alladin’s magic carpet or on the Prince’s pristine white horseback.
Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax are waiting in the wings with the broomsticks.(P.S.: I just realised, our blogs are becoming very incestuous)