While organising my folders, I came across this old post of the L&M and the Brats series, which I had missed sharing. So, here goes!

We all know that anger is bad, whether you are the one raging or are at the receiving end. Counting up to 10, drinking a glass of water and such tricks are supposed to diffuse the outburst. It is another matter that most of us never bother with these wise steps but just fly off the handle. How horrible!

So, as part of my new year’s resolutions one year, I decided to turn a new leaf. No more random yelling at the L&M and the Brats as in — if the mixer conked off, or if the plumber didn’t turn up, I wouldn’t blow my top at them on some reason or the other. Noble, would you say? Well, the intention certainly was. In fact, I wanted to do one better, and stop my outbursts completely. Little did I know then that it was a naïve idea at best and an impossible one at worst.

On New Year’s Day, I woke up with a smile, and humming a tune, went to prepare tea for the L&M, even though it was his turn to make it. Don’t they say that we can set the mood by acting it out? He rubbed his eyes in disbelief when I took it with a bright smile plastered on my lips, cheerfully wishing him a Happy New Year.

As I proceeded with my morning routine, without once losing my temper or enlisting his help, he must have seriously started doubting my sanity, for I saw him conferring in undertones with his older son about the unreal apparition that was moving about the house. The older one, for his part must have himself been perplexed. No screaming wake-up call, and no nagging to get going. Surely it couldn’t be his mother?

The smile was getting a bit forced, and my lips were starting to go stiff, but what the hell! One didn’t make resolutions every day and it was worth the effort to see the incredulous faces of my family. By now the little fellow had also woken up and it appeared he had made a resolution too — to crack my composure and get a rise out of me at any cost. But I refused to take the bait, no sir!

When he wanted to be carried for his bath, I obliged with a smile and let him select his own clothes for the day, which he did after turning the contents of the cupboard inside out. I winced but didn’t let my resolution slip. Even the choice of the outfit — which normally would have had me screaming blue murder — did not irritate me, so what if it was blue shorts and red Tees with a loud motif?

The older one had also got into the act by now – of bugging me, that is. He insisted on drinking just a glass of milk for breakfast and refused anything more than a couple of wafers in his lunch box. He defiantly stared at me, ready to rant about me being too hard on him the moment I uttered the word ‘No’. Again, I resisted the urge to take the bait.

My nerves were getting a bit frayed, but I stuck to my resolution. When I replied ‘yes beta’ to whatever he said, he didn’t know what to make of it all. After packing him off to school with his wafer lunch, I turned to find his little brother up to his waist in flour. I ‘gently’ dragged him for a vigorous wash, and he selected his own clothes yet again. It was a good thing that I had not had time to put back the clothes. So, he rummaged in the pile on the floor and picked out — a green shirt to go with yellow shorts. Sigh!

He is usually dropped off at playschool by his father on his way to work, but that day, the little brat insisted on me taking him. I hurriedly changed and instructed the L&M, who was happily immersed in the newspaper obviously enjoying a chore-free morning, to keep an eye on the milk, set to boil on the gas. I shouted over my shoulder to wait for me before he left for work. Hoping he had heard both instructions, I ran to the nursery with the kid in tow, the plastic smile still plastered on.

Half an hour later I was back to find the house locked. The neighbour gave me the key, saying the husband had left for work ten minutes earlier. A strange smell assaulted my nose as I entered. There was an ominous hissing and sputtering as I neared the kitchen. The gas was on, and the milk had boiled — many times over. The vessel was empty and charred black. The great man had forgotten all about the milk and my request for him to wait and had coolly left for work! It was apparent that he had not even heard my hurried instructions, leave alone following them.

I realised that if I had only shouted at the kid to go with dad or else, or at least insisted that the L&M got up that instant to keep an eye on the milk, as I would have normally done before my confounded New Year resolution, this catastrophe could have been avoided. Served me right!

But I still wouldn’t accept defeat. With the last reserves of my will power I tried to grin, which must have looked like a grimace had anybody been there to see it, and burst into what I thought was a light-hearted laughter, but which even to my own ears sounded hysterical.

The doorbell rang at that precise moment. The maid had come to collect her pay and go to her village. She had been doing this on the first of every month for over a year. But the sight of her smiling face and expectant look really was the proverbial last straw. Out went my ill-conceived resolution of not losing my cool, or taking it out on someone who had done nothing to set it off. It was as if the dam had finally burst as I let loose a tirade against all the ungrateful people of this earth, and generally gave her a talking-to, which she would not forget or forgive in a hurry. She did the work in stony silence and collected her salary without a smile or word of thanks.

Suffice to say, that was the last I saw of her. And now I am desperately looking for a maid! If only I had never made a resolution to control my anger! Sigh.

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