Sattu’s World

Today was nothing out of the ordinary. I was sipping tea with a comforting aroma of elaichi and saunf, made by my landlady. Although I first tasted the combination of these spices  when I shifted to Delhi only a few months back, more specifically when I met my current  landlady, it has grown on me quite a bit. It is rapidly becoming one of my very few sources of comfort in the daunting new city. 

My landlady, I called her Aunty, made it for me at 7.30am and at 7.30pm everyday. A lot used to happen during these 12 hours, with my new job, new colleagues, and so many new things happening around me. While my daily quest to adjust to living in an unknown city had its highs and lows, the interesting combination of spices in the tea and the consistency of it really helped. The newness of it worked so well for me that I hadn’t had the heart to tell Aunty that I took my tea without sugar. I didn’t want to find out the taste of the tea without Aunty’s touch of perfection. 

Today was no different as I started basking in the wonderful aroma of the precious tea, about to take the first sip. That was when I heard 3-4 taps at my door. I didn’t need to look up to see who was at the door but I did it anyway. Sattu had recently learned to knock after his mother insisted very firmly on several occasions that he should not enter my room without permission. Sattu had somehow learned clumsy knocks, however, he hadn’t completely understood the idea of waiting for permission to enter. I didn’t mind it though. 

It took some time to get used to it. I was not used to sharing my space with children since my little cousin started going to school 17 years ago. So, when I met Aunty’s 3 grandchildren for the first time, it felt like unfamiliar territory. I slowly got used to it over the period of 3 months. By now, I am used to the routine of Aunty’s oldest grandchild, who was often in the mood to mingle between 6pm to 8pm. Having recently turned 10, his inquisitiveness was thriving more than ever. In the evenings, while his younger siblings played or watched tv, Sattu preferred to spend his summer break having adult conversations with adults. Being a fairly new adult in his circle, particularly from a different part of India, made me one of the most sought after adults for Sattu. Being new to the city, barely having any friends to engage with, I didn’t really mind the conversations with Sattu. It was like a breath of fresh air at the end of a very tiring day. So, for the past 10 days, we had fallen into an easy routine. 

I would come home at around 7.15pm. By 7.25pm, I would have changed and would be sitting on my bed with a hot cup of life-saving tea and 2 pieces of rusk. By 7.30pm, Sattu would have joined me for our chai pe charcha. The first day, when Sattu had walked in and initiated a conversation, he had nonchalantly picked up one of my two rusks and dipped it in my tea. Needless to say, I was fully distracted in that conversation and wasn’t sure how I felt about sharing my tea at the end of the day. The second day onwards, however, Aunty realized what was happening and gave me a little extra tea if Sattu ended up having most of my first cup. 

Clearing my thoughts to come back to this moment, I saw Sattu had already come in and settled in front of me, lost in his own thoughts most likely forming the question of the day. So, I quietly waited for him to finish that process. It was always heartwarming to witness the passion and curiosity with which children formed and asked questions. I enjoyed the first bite of my chai-soaked rusk. 

Oh…So good…

My musings were interrupted by Sattu. Having done this almost every day for the past 2 weeks, I really shouldn’t be this surprised by Sattu’s questions anymore. 

“Didi, who do you want to be when you grow up?”

Yet I was. 

My first instinct was to be flattered that Sattu thought there was still some scope for me to be ‘someone’ when I ‘grow up’.

Someone…

It made me feel nostalgic. It had been quite some time since I had asked myself who I wanted to be. These days, I mostly ask myself what I want to do after two, three, or five  years. I found myself  basking in the warmth of the innocence of this question, innocence that I likely had long parted ways with. I decided to give it a proper thought at the very least, to respect Sattu’s inquisitiveness. Also, I didn’t want to crush his spirit with my ‘adultness’ by laughing it off. 

So, I thought about the question again - not what I wanted to do after 5 years but who I wanted to be when I grew up…

All the answers that I had ever associated with that question throughout my life came to my mind. 

Dancer? Hmmm…

Doctor? Huh…

Teacher? That one is still a maybe…

Social worker? Interesting…

As I began skimming through all these options, I realized how complex the question is through my eyes. I took a deep breath and looked at Sattu again. Sattu was probably tired of waiting for my answer by now. His young curious mind moved to the next best thing sitting in front of him. I saw him dipping the remaining rusk carefully in the teacup. Who do I want to be when I grow up?

Curious

Kind

Intelligent

Passionate

“You”.

Sattu looked up at my abrupt answer, rusk stopped halfway in the journey towards his mouth. Oops. Already aware of this pattern by now, I knew the rusk didn’t have a lot of time to continue on the trajectory to his mouth. 

I gently nudged him to finish eating while I said,

“I want to be you when I grow up”.

Sattu’s face showed a mix of confusion and flattery. He kept looking at me to see if I was joking. I continued to keep a straight face. He giggled.

“Noooooo…Be serious…”

I felt convincing him just how serious I was would be fighting a losing battle. I ended up saying, 

“Well, I don’t know…who do you want to be when you grow up?”

Sattu answered proudly, without a pause, “Story manager!”

“Hmm…very interesting…what will you do as a story manager?”

“I will curate a huge collection of children’s stories. I will collect bed time stories, play time stories, stories for children who are feeling sad or scared, and storybooks for children who can’t have books or can’t read.”

I was amazed. As he spoke, I wondered where all of this came from. 

“How did you come up with this?”

For the first time reminding me that I am having a conversation with a 10 year old, Sattu just shrugged.

“I just did.”

I decided to respect his thought process rather than probing further. Afterall, this story was his to curate. I easily moved on and looked at the cup of tea sitting patiently between us. As I was taking a sip, I heard, 

“You can be my assistant.”

I was caught by surprise. Maybe it was offered out of pity or kindness but I saw it as an invitation, an invitation into his world of stories. Looking at his face filled with wonder, I realized there is no one else I would rather be. 

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Good”, before I could say anything else, he got up and moved to leave my room. Before he reached the bedroom door, he looked over his shoulder and said, 

“I will ask Nani to give you more tea, Byeeeeee.”

He left as abruptly as he came. I kept looking at the door with a faint smile. 

Assistant to the Story manager…

I better start preparing for the role.