Brat Race

I8217;M going to be evil8217;. That8217;s been his agenda these days, hope he doesn8217;t give you too many problems,8217;8217; said S...

I8217;M going to be evil8217;. That8217;s been his agenda these days, hope he doesn8217;t give you too many problems,8217;8217; said Shyamyo Goswami. Her regular babysitter had taken an off and four-year-old Archisman would be under my care.

Call me old-fashioned, but I freak out over babies, collect baby pics, and baby-talk with my family and colleagues. I even judge my crushes according to their how-would-they-have-been-as-a-baby quotient.

However, it8217;s not always a mutual thing. There have been trying, squelchy, splattering times with an assortment of these adorable mini-humans.

Which is why I ran through some professional babysitter tips before heading over to pick up Che that8217;s his nickname from school. Be patient, keep a close watch over the kind of toys he plays with, be firm but not stern8230; wise words from people who earn around Rs 3,500 a month.

I reach Kangaroo Kids ten minutes behind time. The kid, dressed in denim three-quarters, is a little smiling angel. But the next moment, he shoots through the school8217;s gates onto the street. 8216;8216;Oh f8212;8217;8217; The first half-syllable of that four-letter word escapes my mouth, but, not wanting Che to pick up any swear words, I drag the second back in. The ride home, though, is uneventful.

I pick out a blue tee and red shorts; Che8217;s okay with it, but sends me out of the room while he changes. When he emerges out of the room, the little thing holds my hand and guides me to his play room. Phew! The ice looks like it8217;s breaking.

Car-shaped cushions, Pokemon balloons and big posters of Che Guevara greet me. But mom8217;s hero isn8217;t quite little Che8217;s. 8216;8216;I know him,8217;8217; he said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

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Che lives, breathes, eats and spits Spider-Man. I don8217;t quite like the web slinger. So before he gets out his Spidey dolls, masks, metal miniatures and even a web, I try and steer the conversation towards more familiar terrain.

8216;8216;Tell me a story, Che,8217;8217; I coax him. The little one starts off with an amusing lisp: 8216;8216;Once there was a boy called Pether Parker8230;8217;8217; Damn that costumed joker!

I quickly change the topic to nursery rhymes. 8216;8216;Spider-Man, Spider-Man8230;8217;8217; he sings. I float into mild exasperation zone. Do you watch teeveee? 8216;8216;Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends,8217;8217; comes the reply.

The Life of Spider-Man dominates for the next 15 minutes, until I put an end to it. Okay, baby, what do you want to be when you grow up?

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The kiddy promptly hangs off the curtains and tries to launch himself across the window, almost giving me a stroke. I leap across and wrench him off bodily, before somehow managing to sit him down with a colouring book.

Three hours have passed and it8217;s lunch time now. Determined not to force-feed, I patiently offer him spoonfuls of bhindi. Thuu! 8216;8216;Yummy chicken8217;8217;, papad and buttered rice all meet with the same response.

Suddenly, he leaps off the chaise lounge. 8216;8216;Daddy8217;s back!8217;8217;

I sheepishly return the bowl of food to his mom. There8217;s rice on the carpet, bhindi on the lounge and chicken gravy on the table. 8216;8216;Don8217;t worry, I still can8217;t manage to feed him without messing up either,8217;8217; she consoles.

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As I get ready to leave, Che grabs my finger. 8216;8216;Stay with me na,8217;8217; he pleads, the sweetie pie.

A sloppy kiss lands on my cheek. Now there8217;s rice on my face too. But I don8217;t mind. I still love little tots, just as long as they don8217;t grow up to be Spider-Man.