The Naughty kid in Me

“She is naughtier than a boy!” Many ladies in my colony told my mother when I was a kid. Not wasting even a second once the school bell rings, I rush back home, pull out my socks and shoes, belt and tie, and choke some milk and snacks down. I go door to door gathering all other kids of the colony to play hide& seek; color-color; chain and what not. Deeply engrossed into playing, I have always breached all the deadlines set to return home. To escape my mother’s anger, I have often extended my play time so that I can wait till it is the time my father gets back from the office because he never beats me. Many times, I haven’t even returned home after school playing with the kids who come to sell guavas, candies, ice golas, etc. My mother says searching for me in the entire colony was her daily routine and at least a mischief a day was mine. I am sure it will be a tiresome exercise to count how many times my mother used broomsticks and sticks to beat me. My sister, however, has been one of those siblings whose obedience will only add fuel to the fire. Even at school, if I remember correctly, I was never punished for not completing homework, or not answering in the class or scoring fewer marks, etc. But, I have been asked to stand on the bench or outside the class, make ‘goda-kurchi’ and ‘murga’ positions numerous times for all the mischief I did. My mother and I can recollect endless stories about my most happening childhood. Today I sit in my lonely room and wonder when no punishments can ever bind me, what will it be like reliving the naughty kid in me.