For Better or Worse

"Didi, I don't have my napkin."

"I'm not allowed to have ice cream, Didi."

"You come in N9, no, Didi?"

"HI, DIDI!"

"Didi, you won't have ice cream?"

"You're a member of Roshanara Club na, Didi? I saw you!"

"I don't [slurp] like [slurp] chocolate flavour, Didi."

"Didi, Samridhhi has potty!"

Two years back, I was here. Not exactly telling on my classmates' toilet training skills, but still being the annoying prat who loved dissing the school, the play, the presentation, the kids who would play Mother Veronica, and their invariable fainting on stage. The five rupee orange bar we used to get morphed into a twenty rupee Cornetto with the Indian economy progressing. But then, I'd still crib. Something had to be wrong, eh?
Another day, another time. Life smacks you in the face, with a past-you looking at the present-you in the eye. And you're on the 'other' side now, the one that takes the dissing patiently. Not just that, but everything that comes with it. Authority, responsibility, accountability; I don't like [=P]. Sigh. Growing up is no fun. Two years of growing up now on display, live and exclusive. Go play.

Oh, and by the way, in an evil twist of fate, I didn't get any ice cream this year.