On 17th birthdays and glimpses of the adult


Image by Ed Schipul/Flickr

So, here I am very early on Godzilla’s 17th birthday, resting on the corner of Testosterone Lane and Horsepower Road. Having two teen boys in the house means a lot of muscle flexing, boundary pushing, and territory marking. They wake with teasing exchanges that rapidly morph into the rat-tat-tat of suddenly flared tempers. And before long, like two elephant seals, they’re bumping and jostling each other over the most trivial of things. Left to their own devices, I’m sure they’d find a way to argue over two flies climbing up the wall.

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No More Streamers

Blowing Candles ©Asha Rajan

No more streamers littering the floor.

No more shining cachous skittering across counters.

The fairies have packed up their bread and departed.

Saggy, flaccid balloons leer lecherously at disemboweled party poppers, as football and pirate cupcake wrappers tango in mismatched pairs.

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Running Behind Elephants

When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he is trying to run away, it’s best to let him run.

~ Abraham Lincoln

A strange thing happens between mothers and sons in the teen years. The chubby fingers of childhood loose their grip, the adoring eyes fall less often on you, the gifts of rocks and sticks and feathers become fewer. A distance insinuates itself between you.

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Welcome to the club

“Oh god. Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod-ohgod.”

A thick ooze of rich scarlet stained her knickers. Sunita sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, knickers around her knees, nose dripping, tears streaming down her cheeks, not knowing what to do, and terrified of telling Mummy. She winced and clenched her fists as another cramp ripped through her.

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