Abhi, say Hi!

Hi! I said with great enthusiasm to my long time-no-see-friends, Mala and Srini. "Say 'Hi!' to my friends", I asked Abhi, with whom I was frolicking in one of the neighbourhood parks. Abhi, with all the certainty of a four-year-old acted as if he hadn't heard me, in fact as if he didn't even know me. He screwed up his mouth and looked intently at a dog on the opposite side of the path.

u00a0"Say Hi!", I admonished him again and then decided to ignore him. "You know how kids that age are," I apologised to my friends before going on with our conversation. We chatted for a while before concludingu00a0 with promises of "We must meet again some time soon!" as we got on with our evening exercise.u00a0

u00a0After they had gone their way I spoke to Abhi. "Why couldn't you sat least say Hello, to my friends?"
u00a0"Why should I say Hello?" he challenged me.u00a0

u00a0"Because it is polite. Because it costs nothing... Because they are my friends." I said mildly.

He thought this over for barely a few seconds and came back with an answer. "You say Hi! to your friends. I'll say Hi! to my friends."

But at times Abhi could be overfriendly. There was a huge savage dog in the neighbourhood, whose favourite pastime was leaping at the top of the gate, snarling horribly.

Abhi was too small to be attacked over the gate. So he tried putting his hand through the bars. The hound, who was frothing at the mouth, almost pulled his chain out of its grouting in the wall

Don't touch it! I admonished him. But why, not? he responded. Because it has big teeth and it will bite you. He mulled this over in silence, but kept his little juicy hand outside the gate. He still wanted to see the final outsome... Then he came up with a solution. "Okay then, you touch it!!

Abhi always has a snappy comeback. I used to take him through the park on the way back from school. When he was determined to do something, which might not be good for him, my favourite prevarication (not quie an outright "No!" was to procrastinate "Not today! Tomorrow!")

Abhi was like a small recorder. No comment went unnoticed. They were all stored in that little re-recordable computer in his brain.

One sad day, a youngish uncle of his passed away. Everyone was busy. So Abhi sat on the window sill outside. The sill was decorated with oil lamps and Abhi occupied himselfu00a0 by throwing then down and watching them break into shards. Don't do that Abhi I remonstrated. Be a good boy. He looked at me speculatively (wickedly in fact), while the computer in his head whirred and clicked with yesterday's memories.

Then he found the right esponse. "Naaley goodu boy! Eevattu badu boy" as he threw the last diya off the window sill with a resounding ceash.