"Vaa - pi - ano", chirped Daivik as he was getting out of bed one bright morning. This is becoming a pattern now. When something exciting is going to happen the next day, such as boarding a plane, he goes to bed with that thought in mind, apparently sleeps with it and springs to life the next morning with that excitement. This morning, that exciting thing was Vapiano. It is the name of the restaurant he was going for lunch, along with a bunch of his friends from the kindergarten. The restaurant houses a small pasta manufacturing unit. The kids were touring the factory as a part of their kitchen project. The idea was they will make the pasta themselves and then have it for lunch.
It was a cakewalk to get him ready for the day (why don't they take him to Vapiano everyday !). He was all excitement and was telling for the twenty fifth time about how they were going to make the pasta, with the details varying slightly each time. When we reached the kindergarten, the teachers had laid out a large map of the city. There was an excited buzz around the map. The kids were supposed to figure out the route to Vapiano. Daivik joined in. Here is another pattern. There was so much excitement in the air and Daivik was keen to share it. Only it was taking the form of a real time commentary, an obvious account of an event that you are watching yourself. (Ravi Shastri, anyone?!). "Mom, see, there is a map", "you know, we have to tell the teachers how to go there", "see, Frank, Judie, Kuby, they are all trying to find it out", "see, the teachers are checking if they are correct"...
I could only imagine the rest of his day. Of him identifying a partner, holding his / her hands and walking in rows of two to the bus stop, waiting there, boarding the bus, going to the factory, settling down, listening to the brief, wearing the 'uniform', watching them make the pasta, and then making and messing it themselves, settling down for lunch, returning back...But I knew I will not hear any of this from him. Here is another emerging pattern, a distinctly adult-like one. By the time I ask him about his day in the evening, the events will be long in the past. An exciting event is over, and along with it, that excitement too. A thing to look forward to losing its magic in the act of being attained.
Sure enough, later in the evening when I asked him about his day he shrugged and gave an impatient reply, "made pasta, ate pasta".
It was a cakewalk to get him ready for the day (why don't they take him to Vapiano everyday !). He was all excitement and was telling for the twenty fifth time about how they were going to make the pasta, with the details varying slightly each time. When we reached the kindergarten, the teachers had laid out a large map of the city. There was an excited buzz around the map. The kids were supposed to figure out the route to Vapiano. Daivik joined in. Here is another pattern. There was so much excitement in the air and Daivik was keen to share it. Only it was taking the form of a real time commentary, an obvious account of an event that you are watching yourself. (Ravi Shastri, anyone?!). "Mom, see, there is a map", "you know, we have to tell the teachers how to go there", "see, Frank, Judie, Kuby, they are all trying to find it out", "see, the teachers are checking if they are correct"...
I could only imagine the rest of his day. Of him identifying a partner, holding his / her hands and walking in rows of two to the bus stop, waiting there, boarding the bus, going to the factory, settling down, listening to the brief, wearing the 'uniform', watching them make the pasta, and then making and messing it themselves, settling down for lunch, returning back...But I knew I will not hear any of this from him. Here is another emerging pattern, a distinctly adult-like one. By the time I ask him about his day in the evening, the events will be long in the past. An exciting event is over, and along with it, that excitement too. A thing to look forward to losing its magic in the act of being attained.
Sure enough, later in the evening when I asked him about his day he shrugged and gave an impatient reply, "made pasta, ate pasta".
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