He sat there, sated. Oblivious to the strife and heartburn he was causing. His toes strumming the keyboard, his fingers gesticulating wildly, he leaned back against his aunt as she fed him spoonfuls of nachni at regular intervals.
Meanwhile, two six-year-olds vied frantically for his attention. One took off her numerous bracelets to flash them in front of his eyes and entertain him; the other tried to key in some notes on the keyboard to try and grab his attention. But he couldn’t care less. He enjoyed the plethora of colors the bracelets presented and swayed to the musical notes keyed. While the two girls sparred.
The girl in the violet said that he was her first cousin. Therefore, he was “hers.” The girl in pink, not to be outdone, retorted, “But he is my friend. I play him with every day after school. So he will play with me now also.”
“But he is my brother. And I don’t want to play with you.”
Words soon gave way to blows. They only stopped because their nails would have hit his rosy cheeks as well. But he continued enjoying his meal and the music. Oblivious to the advances of the two girls fighting over him.
They eventually made up, even become friends and thereafter, playmates. Tossing him aside, they went to rummage through the pink girl’s toys and finally parted on good terms. Or so we thought.
A fortnight later, the girl in violet visited her cousin again. She enquired about the girl in pink. Heaved a sigh of relief when she was told that Pink was in school. She wore the smug smile of a victorious lioness and went in search of her cousin.