Fidget spinners and childhood stupidity

You know, sometimes you have this sudden pang about the lost days of sweet, innocent childhood -- when  your mom fed you, when your dad tied your shoelaces, when you eagerly awaited Sunday afternoons for Shaktimaan, when Harsha Bhogle looked older and bald, when you randomly roamed about the house and meddled with your elder brother’s drawer and found his secret mobile phone and asked him what it was and when he told you it was a dangerous insect, you ran out of his room screaming and didn’t go there for another four days and the fifth day you entered reluctantly wearing sacred ash on your forehead and clutching a big broomstick ?

Ah, yes, the good old days! You wish you can be a child again, no?

No.

Childhood, I tell you boss, was nonsense. You believed everything that adults told you without ever questioning anything. Like the existence of God, the possibility of him poking your eyes if you spoke lies, the threat of one shady fellow coming to get you if you didn’t eat cabbage and the promise that Hrishikesh Kanitkar will help India chase down Australia’s 250-plus target after Sachin got out.

(Okay, the last bit was just added chumma: usually after Sachin’s dismissal, dad immediately switched off the TV, mildly complained about the dinner, advised me on how I must not waste time on this useless game and instead focus on studies and went to sleep.)

Anyway, once when I was returning from a neighbourhood shop after buying spinach (yuck!), curry leaves, and a piece of ginger that ammamma asked to get, I saw this old man blowing a vuvuzela-type instrument and carrying on his right shoulder a three feet bamboo with a chunk of white-pink confectionary on top. There were a lot of excited children huddled around him but only one or two had money for a purchase. On seeing me gaping at him from outside the huddle, the genial old man called me, took my hand, plucked some of the soft, elastic sweet, stuck it around my wrist like a watch and smiled at me. Seconds later, he took the twenty-five rupees from my hand, waved at me with a smile and hurriedly left. Trust me, dear readers, colourful confectioneries coupled with a vuvuzela-type instrument is the easiest way to lure children. You can check for yourself if you don’t believe me (albeit with the risk of being arrested on charges of pedophelia).

When I narrated the incident to ammamma, she was silent for a few seconds, and then reacted like Shobana in Manichitrathaazhu when Suresh Gopi asks her not to go jewellery shopping. She told me how even Boobesh, the seven-year-old neighbourhood kid (I was nine, then), was smarter than me. I immediately disagreed, saying, I was the one who told him that Pedigree can be eaten by humans as well. This made her quiet again for a few seconds. Then she called me an idiot and proceeded to make evening tea.

Seven years after the incident…

I realised I was cheated by that old man.

Eight years after the realisation…

Fidget spinners.

BLOODY, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU GUYS WHO ARE GETTING IT FOR HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS AND MORE?

If you have black money, to which demonetisation could do nothing, then, spend it on something more useful like good books or food or clothes or other things, no? Or, if you want to just throw it all away, then make big bets on Delhi Daredevils winning the next IPL.

Why fidget spinners? They are like those bedbug killing machines that Vadivelu sells for Rs. 100 apiece in a comedy scene.

While fidget spinners’ efficacy in helping ADHD and other mental illness is still being tested, few of you are like “Boss, you know ah? They are therapeutic and calm your mind. You can also play catch and catch with them.” This is also acceptable. But some fellows are drilling holes into their i-Phones so that they can turn them into fidget spinners. Idiots.

Wish ammamma was still there to facepalm with me.

P.S. About Pedigree, I think nothing will happen if you have a little. But if you’re planning to make biriyani with it, you might have to check with the FDA or FSSAI or whoever.