" Happy Children's Day "

My brother and I have a sweet and sour relationship like all brothers do. We usually don't fight that much, but whenever we do we make sure it's for that last piece of cookie. I think WWIII would be fought because these companies pack an odd number of cookies in each packet. I'm two years older than my brother and I have absolutely no shame admitting that I just can't give away my share that easy.
Last night my father returned from Kolkata and brought some confectioneries he got during his last meeting. My brother was asleep then and I had seen where my mother hid the packet of our favourite cookies. She does that all the time because snacks don't last long in our house. I woke up this morning and my mother told she had some work to do so she had already cooked the lunch and gave me some of the most definitely difficult tasks ever. I noted them down one by one as I knew I would forget most of them if I didn't.

To Do.

• Take the milk, boil it.
• Give dirty clothes to the laundry.
• Turn the pump on, for exactly six minutes.
• Give breakfast to our maid.
• Iron my brother's shirt.
• Take the gas cylinder.

I kept on writing, till I heard about pressing my brother's shirt, I asked why ? She replied with, " o jabe Children's day picnic korte bondhuder songe " and I was like okay, today's is children's day and I don't care. I realised officially my childhood was over.
I pressed my brother's shirt and he left wearing my favourite perfume, I had no other choice than to give him as I owe him a hundred rupees as I was broke.
I took the milk, boiled it and made myself some tea. I gave the dirty clothes. I tried my best to remember to turn off the pump in six minutes but failed so I had to do the clean up task too. I served the breakfast to our maid. After all this I had this one unaccomplished task left, to take the gas.
It was around noon, I was home alone and I did exactly what a home alone 17 y.o. should do.
.
.
.
.
I like the way you're thinking but I was talking about " Lyadh khaoa ", a thing Bengali people are best at, the art of doing nothing. I was half sleeping, half awaken when the doorbell rang.

 Ting-tong!
" aaschi! "

I saw the gas cylinder cart, and went to open the door.
What I saw shocked me, He was like twelve or thirteen years old, with no hints of facial hair on his smooth face. Shabby clothes and weiry skin, with extremely strong shoulders even though he seemed malnourished.
I told him I'll bring the used one and to keep the new cylinder here, and he replied with " Are chalo na saab, kitchen mein rakh deta hu ", with the most genial smile one could ever see. I didn't stop him, he came upstairs and kept the cylinder and filled up the gas book and signed.
I asked him, " School jaate ho ? "
He said, " Nahi saab, hum jaenge to pett kaun bharega meri behen jaati hai, aaj bhi gai hai, woh kya day hai na ? "
I gave him the exact amount of money my
mother gave me, he asked for an extra ten rupees and my mother strictly told not to give even a penny more as it's not right.
I checked my purse and saw I was broke as hell but I wanted to give that boy that sum of ten rupees.
I checked here and there to find some coins but when he saw me struggling, he said " jaane do na saab, agli baar de dena ", with the innocent smile.
I saw him leaving, I asked him to stop and said,
 " Dost, ye lo "
and handed over the packet our favourite cookies, I knew I was going to get a good scolding as my mother would think I and finished it all alone, but my guts said it was worth it.
He gave a big smile and took it, his eyes beamed up with joy. That beautiful smile lighting up his childish yet mature face.
He was overjoyed to receive it.

" Thank you Saab ! "
" Aaj children's day hai, Happy Children's Day "