*(Children's Day Special)*
Busy on laptop but simultaneously side-glancing 24x7 how my children, now grown-ups, tackle their own children on their various demands, I recall how as a young father I handled my children's request to participate in the Shankar's International Painting Competition. Hindustan Times published it on 28 April 1983. *Painting Competition? No thanks. *That is what I said to myself this time when last year I saw my elder son in tears having failed to locate me at the venue after the competition. So, when the famous Shankar’s *On the Spot* Painting Competition was announced this year, I kept the news away from him. But it had hit the headlines in his school bulletin board, and he came home brimming with enthusiasm at the prospect of participation. I was not totally unprepared for this either. "I shall take you to *Gandhi* movie, instead." I suggested. He refused flatly. "All right, I shall buy you ice-cream, your cough notwithstanding. How do you like that," I asked him switching over to his favourite item. It did not sell either. "Well, I am prepared to revive the subscription to Champak, Tinkle, and other magazines' (I had stopped them pending his annual examination). But that too did not click. Finally, after making a few more offers warranting greater financial outlay, I gave in - as usual. Since my parental prestige would be at stake at such an abject surrender, I stipulated two conditions and sought agreement of both of them (yes, the younger son had also got interested in it by then): (1) I won't buy them anything whatsoever to eat on the way, and (2) they would manage the show with their existing incomplete sets of colour boxes. The arrangement at the competition was that the participating children were taken to an enclosure where parents had no access. So, having let loose my sons into the arena, my next worry was to locate them and keep a constant watch over them (so that I did not repeat the previous year's tearful performance). After fifteen minutes of frantic search, during which period all the hitherto reported kidnappings and other related incidents converged upon my mind, I spotted them in the arena. I said to myself that along with the On the Spot Painting Competition for children, the organizers should hold a 'Spot Your Child' competition for the parents. Soon the competition was in full swing. Secret messages in Hindi, Punjabi, Bengali, Tamil, Malayalam, and even French were being passed on to children by parents from outside the fence. "Madhabi, draw the kite small the boy big, and not vice versa.', came a Bengali voice. 'Sonu, if you want you can draw a jhoola, a see-saw and other things in the park,' suggested a sophisticated voice in Punjabi seeing her son draw a lifeless park. "Paint the sky blue, Unni, not yellow," came another prompting in Malayalam. At the end of the function, I took safe custody of my children and headed home - my sons merrily licking ice-cream and I carrying their next-in-line eatable in one hand and, in the other the new colour boxes and card board that I had bought for them earlier outside the venue of the competition. As we walked, my elder son said, "Papa, thank you for all these and for promising to revive the subscription. As for 'Gandhi' film, please don't bother; our school is arranging the show for all of us on payment." An old Malayalam saying came to my mind: "Eettu edukkan poi, eratta pettu" (went for abortion, returned home with twins). V.V. Sundaram Phoenix 17 November 2011
