my five-year-old granddaughter neha, running along the quiet lane in our colony, had a fall this morning and badly bruised her knees.
she was running ahead when i was walking to my friend radhakrishnan's home just 50 metres up the lane with her nine-month-old brother kunhikuttan in my arms.
it is our routine nowadays to go there first thing in the morning to see dicky, the white pomeranian, who never barks and likes chocolates and toffees.
neha often takes a bar of chocolate or a piece of toffee to dicky and the three of us--neha, myself and kunhikuttan--would watch her nibbling the offering gleefully, wagging her fluffy tail and running all around us excitedly. my grandson would be jumping in my arms giggling all the while.
this morning, before we reached my friend's gates, neha had this fall gamboling along the tarred lane.
that she was in extreme pain was apparent from the expression on her face, although she was not crying.
"did it hurt," i asked her as her mom cleaned the bruises with cool water preparatory to applying some healing ointment.
she looked up gallantly, her eyes overflowing, and said: "appooppa, it's just that i didn't cry... brave kids don't cry."
her hero is chhotta bheem.