“Mummy, I’ll not go to school from tomorrow”, proclaimed Vinod, Varsha’s eight-year old son. He was in class three. He had just come home from school. One look at his tear-stained face, and Varsha knew there was something drastically wrong, for her usually cheerful and naughty son seldom cried. The brat often had others in tears, when he drove them up the wall with his pranks.
Varsha well-remembered the time when Vinod had hidden his father’s spectacles in an empty flower-pot in the back-yard. Harshal, her short-sighted husband had blamed her for her negligence, then. He had said irately, “Can’t you ensure that my things are kept in their correct places. Now I’ll have to search for those damn spectacles instead of attending to some important files.”
Seeing his father’s face flushed with anger, little Vinod had wisely refrained from owning up. Though a frantic and thorough search of the house had been conducted, the glasses hadn’t been found. No one had even dreamed of looking into the empty flower-pot in the backyard.
No comments:
Post a Comment