Sometime ago, totally eardrum pierced with the brat's incessant whining about various wants, including, "A new Beyblade, Lays Kurkure, Gems Surprise Ball," ad infinitum, I had decried to the brat that he would now on be endowed with a monthly allowance. Of a princely hundred rupees. I thought it was appropriate, given that his counting skills stopped at hundred and could not be forced to go any further despite my best efforts.
I also thought it was princely, given I remembered growing up in the dark ages, when exact bus fare was handed over to me every morning before I made the long journey alone from home in Goregaon to school in Bandra, and me barely a year older than what the brat is today. The brat, on the flip, had just been allowed independence enough to make the long journey from the 15th floor to the ground floor, with much trepidation, beating heart and standing outside the lifts watching to make sure it didn't get stuck at any floor, followed with a call to the lobby security to ensure he had emerged from said lift and was headed towards the park.I've got my rotors on overdrive on my helicopter parenting.
Anyway, I digress. As is the norm. The discussion was on the Rs 100 I had earmarked to be the brat's pocket money every month, which he promptly put into his blue and green Ben 10 wallet, slipped into his school bag and ended up dragging me into the supermarket to blow it all up on multiple surprise balls in the hope of getting some elusive character which inevitably would never be there, and thereby start the nagging for the next round of pocket money to be advanced immediately on the spot.
I think he didn't quite get the concept of pocket money and immediately cancelled the idea, informing him that pocket money was not something he was likely to get his mitts on for a while now given that he seemed to think he was owed Rs 100 by me for each day of the entire month. Much whining ensued and a stern deaf ear turned to said whining.
The brat, being the brat, he turned his attentions to the grandmothers and began wheedling out funds from them in order to fund his Beyblade habit despite mamma's protestations to the contrary.
A talk on the value and importance of money being in order, the brat was settled on the maternal knee for a discussion on materialistic goods and the importance of earning money to pay one's bills, and how he needed to earn his allowance in the same manner that mamma and pappa went to office to earn their money. Mamma elucidated on the potentiality of him getting cracking with his studies, making the ye olde maternal ticker burst with pride at him coming home in filmi style telling her he came "First Class First" in class, and she could crack her knuckles over his ears and do the thali with diya business around his face, taking care not to singe his overgrown hair. He listened gravely, in the manner that a brat mind ticking has.
"Okay, I will be responsible about my money." Mamma, reached for the earbuds to clean out her earwax convinced she was having auditory hallucinations. "I will earn my money."
Mamma continued to nod sagely, thinking about arrangements where room kept neat and tidy, homework done without mamma needing to break into song and dance of threats with wildly swinging rulers as deterrents to making Ben 10 sketches on home work sheets. "I will stop going to school and come wid you to offiss. And I will sit on d computer hole day and watch Justin Bieber songs."
Mamma decided the lecture on money and financial wisdom could wait a bit longer. As for now, mamma will continue to be the brat's wallet. And a sinking feeling tells her, this state is going to continue for a long while to come.