It
all starts in a pretty way – your Son demanding to have the Lego set & an indulging
parent that you are, you complying with it. Pretty, simple! What’s the risk? It’s
expensive, but when the credit card is there, the interest & the premium
will pain you later. It is creative nonetheless & in the ways of amateurs,
visionary too.
The
promise of your Son, doing magic with the Lego is intoxicating, your dreams,
far surpassing the child’s imagination. The child has already showed you the
Lego Transform-ers and you believe in him. The Lego, your Son, the
Transform-ers – Time meets Einstein meet Universe.
All
so grand, all so good, all so euphoric, all so cute. Just that your child is
called Modi…The Lego is unboxed in no time amidst the claps of the proud you
& the child sets to work. You expect nothing less than Ram Setu really? The
red pieces for economy, the greens for polity, the yellows, your favorite for sense
& the blues for the society. The creator & the pieces get to work diligently.
Night & day, day & night, the boy is at it and you can never get over
the joy of his sheer dedication, his single-point calling in life. Destruction
being the Papa of creation belief at heart, the child makes & breaks the brochure
structures like Planning Commission in an arrogance of the one truly gifted.
All too good, all so unique! Your boundless bundle of irrational exuberance! The
red figurine toppled there, the orange figurine installed here, the GST blocks
moving like Rubik’s cube that you have zero know-how of, the belief that the
boys knows it all. The demonetization structure looks twisted, and your
stretched out rationality is curbed because the Ram statue is grandiose. It’s
your child after all, keep clapping on. & he has a partner in crime/play,
the BFF all kids must have, the affable bully next door. The two of them
together, the bulldozer & the architect, move the pieces with the zeal of a
bull in a china shop and you, face painted in the tri-colour of nationalism,
patriotism & religious fervor look-on, cheer-on.
