Munni, on the other hand, had settled in very well. She drank her tea every morning in the drawing room with the slice of toast that Thamma broke into little pieces. Then she went back to her room for a nap till lunch. Lunch she ate in her room with Thamma in attendance, cutting up her food, feeding her like a baby, then wiping her clean afterwards. Dinner was outside again. On the sofa with a high table that had been bought especially for her.
The table came right up to her chin, so she had to eat with her mouth almost disappearing into the bowl. But Ma said that was the most convenient arrangement. A lower table would mean that she would have to bend too much and it would hurt her tummy. Every time she ate, she got food all over her mouth, her chin and sometimes even on her nose, but no one seemed to mind. After she had eaten, she would chortle and gurgle and Thamma would clean her up with a pleased smile and Ma would say, “Good girl, Munni!,” which made her gurgle even harder so that the spit dribbled down even more.
“Like a pig at a trough,” muttered Mishti, viciously. She knew what Ma would say if she tried to eat with her chin in a bowl. “Behave yourself, Mishti! You’re grown up now, Mishti!”
Only no one cared that Munni – who was grown up, even old – didn’t behave like a grown-up. And to top it all, she crawled. Never before had Mishti seen a crawling grandparent. And one that loved to explore. After those first few days, she crawled everywhere. Regularly and at an astonishing pace.
From her bed to the sofa, back to her bed, then to the bathroom. And even to Mishti’s secret cave. A week after Munni’s arrival, Mishti had gone back to her favourite pastime of making a cave under the dining table with a mat and some old sarees. The dining table also dated from Thamma’s wedding, so like the bed, it was old and high and made of sturdy teak. And very convenient to turn into a cave because it had so much room underneath.
Of course, the cave was only ever a temporary one, but sometimes, Ma let it go on being a cave for a while if she was in a good mood. And Mishti with her favourite book, the cushions off the sofa and her stolen pack of biscuits could read in there for hours. But today, she had hardly got past the first chapter when there was a thud! outside and some scuffling noises.
The next moment Mishti screamed as Munni poked her head inside.
“Lo-lo-lo-lo!” “No,” said Mishti at once, “you can’t come in here – go away!”
“Lo-lo-lo-lo!” Munni crawled right inside, right up to her waist.
“No! No!” said Mishti loudly, flapping her hands. “Go away, go away – shoo-shoo-shoo!”
Munni broke into a wide smile, her eyes disappearing into her cracked face and her broken teeth gaping wide. “Hell-lo! Hell-lo!”
“Go away!” Mishti sat upright, nearly hitting her head.
“This is my cave! Mine!” She pointed at herself. “Mishti! Mishti! Mishti’s cave! Not yours – shooo!”
Munni blinked as Mishti’s flapping fingers almost caught her nose. Then “Mit-ti –” she burst out grinning hugely. “Mit-ti! Hal-lo-lo-lo!”
In the end, it took Thamma and Ma and Baba together to persuade Munni to leave. She seemed to be having such a good time. She crawled out, still booming ‘Mit-ti!’, her big bottom waddling in time to her cries. Mishti felt like crying. Her cave had been spoilt, just when she had settled in peacefully.What was that word they had learnt in the English class? Idyll – that’s the one; the idyll had been broken. And though Munni had left, her cave was now full of Munni’s smell.
Because Munni had a smell. A strong one. Very early on, Mishti had noticed it and remarked on it and been shushed up. But that didn’t take the smell away. It was a mixture of sweat and food and other nasty bathroom-type things. A very Munni smell. It went away when Munni had a bath, which was not very often.
Munni hated baths and there were yowls and shrieks and roaring every time Thamma tried to give her one. Then Thamma would come out wet and tired and crying, and Ma would make her a cup of hot tea and pat her on the shoulder and say, “Never mind, Ma, never mind!”
Ma had taken to Munni like a duck to water. She petted her and patted her on the head and fed her little treats that she would never allow Mishti to have. Extra chocolates, for example, or the last sausage off the plate. Munni loved sausages. Thamma said she’d never eaten them before but they had become her favourite food. Cut up into little pieces, she would pick them off her plate and eat them daintily with her matchstick-like fingers.
“What beautiful fingers she’s got!” Ma had once said admiringly. “Slender, tapering.”
“She puts them up her nose,” Mishti butted in loudly. Which was true; more than once, Mishti had seen Munni with her fingers up her nose, digging. Why did no one else notice? They would notice in a flash if Mishti was the one doing the digging.
And even if her fingers were beautiful, which Mishti very much doubted, her feet were absolutely awful to look at. Withered, twisted and dirty. With thick brown knobs of skin that stood out on her knees and heels and the sides of her ankles. Her toenails were filthy too, filthy and chipped. Yes, all right, she was crawling all the time, but no one told her to clean up afterwards. She was half-scared, half-excited about Riya’s visit. The grown-ups didn’t know about the “Munni Hatao, Mishti Bachao” plan, of course, but Riya was very confident of her own powers. Almost as if she could do magic!
Excerpted with permission from Munni Monster, Madhurima Vidyarthi, Duckbill.
