A wistful wish

My colleague AG often used to threaten to leave home. One day he did
after bellowing like a mad bull. The dramatic intensity was heightened when his nephew clutched hold of his knees and begged him to stay back while a verbal battle was raging between him and his parents. AG stomped out anyways and put up with two of his rebel friends in an incompletely built house. For a month they would drink tea which tasted like pig's piss and which was actually meant for the labourers at the site. And the food that they had were available for Rs 2 in an aluminium thali(dish). Sounds rather adventurous and something I would never have done (especially for the last few reasons).

For myself, I have never threatened to leave home, timid as I was. The only time I was kicked out was at 11 at night. I was in the Vth std probably and I had got a really bad spanking. Now I don't remember for exactly what. The plot next to ours was empty and hence full of wild undergrowth which was quite scary. I hated going past it after daylight. Next to it lived a girl whom I could never manage to like but whom my parents praised to the skies. Reason: She used to get up at 5 in the morning. Now after being beaten up thoroughly, I was sent out to her house to ask at what time exactly she would get up and study.

Couldn't have thought of a worse punishment. It was a nightmare crossing the dark wild stretch. With a tear stained face I rang her bell. Her expression when she saw me at the door was rather comical. But who would blame her. Imagine seeing your neighbour calling in the middle of the night to see when you get up in the morning. After she confirmed it was 5 o'clock, I bid her a goodnight quite nonchalantly.

Sometimes I wish I had left home and not returned for a month. I would never have received half the beatings I did. Usually it was like this: my mom would come rushing at me with her wooden ladle and I would stand in the middle of the room waiting for it to come cracking on my back. Only when I was a little older, did I start running round and round our oval table with her in my wake.

That was exactly how it used to be. And all I would do be to mutter ala Eliza Doolittle style, "Just you wait!"