My mother always dreaded our garbs after the evening long toil in the mud, inside chimneys and atop trees. How are the stains ever going to come off? How will the colors ever stay the same? She would chide and for a regular amount of time I was the target of her distress. The beauty of it all was (as I thought, then!) that even the sibling could not escape 😉
Once late in the evening on our way back home, realizing that the peach colored dress had almost turned coal, my brother suggested I slide through the rooftop quietly into the washroom and change, unobserved. For once, we shook hands on this. It is notable to point out, here, that in spite of our age difference we almost weighed the same (guess, I, a bit more). So while sliding down, I, but naturally, crashed on him resulting into a loud thud, when ma ran out of the kitchen yelling. I was already in tears and the poor guy, my savior, was the target of all the bashing. Till date, I do not remember what all did mama holler at us with, however, I remember quiet tears running down a little boy’s face while his sister stood behind him, protected!
I found – my Hero! My Soldier!
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