R — mum, 39, slow-moving, thickly plotting, many moled (toddler interjects: “mamma, you mean, One Mole Digging a Hole!”) woman about to formally enter her Middle Ages
S — grandmum, 69, serene, annoyingly beatific and eternally patient, supermum of the first order
T — daughter/grand-daughter, nearly 3, wild, talkative, charged with energy, unbridled enthusiasm and a never say die spirit who is almost always humming or singing (her version of songs) — the original, pre-teen rockstar
Location: A spacious, three bedroomed, ground floor house in South Delhi that was famed in some circles for being aesthetically appealing with some quiet, Laurie Baker touches, now quickly coming undone under said toddler rockstar’s ferocious and high speed plunderings.
R addressing S: “Maybe we could ask M about that sweet young girl who helps out at Mrs N’s place…
T interjection: “Mamma! Mamma! WHAT are you SAYING?? You know I slid slides and swung swings all day and then Dhoorva came and…”
R counter-interjection: “T, I was not talking to you, I was trying to talk to my mum…could you please not interrupt me when I have not even finished what I was thinking of saying?”
T: Unimpressed. Surly. Starts to bang noisily on bed. R leaves the room in a dramatic huff.
T immensely pleased, quickly recovers her dynamite, impervious rockstar toddler self.
T to S: “Havent I told you so many times before? DONT interrupt, I mean DONT INTERRUPT me when I am trying to have a conversation with MY mum!!!”
S trying hard to hide and suppress giggles, turns away, puts on her reading glasses and says: “Oh, alright little one, of course, of course, I shall not, ever again, interrupt you.”