There’s no end to the woes that mothers face come summer vacation. All the children are at home. When they’re not in front of the TV, they’re either climbing the guava tree in the front yard or perched on the compound wall. What if one of them falls and breaks an arm or a leg? Then there’s the crying, the laughter, the punishments they inflict on one another based on some arcane system of justice … This was why Razia’s headaches worsened when the summer holidays started. The nerves in her temples throbbed, her hot head felt like it would burst, and it seemed as if the veins at the back of her neck might snap at any moment. One after the other the children rushed in with their complaints, crying and screaming … and then there were their games … abbabbaa … battles with swords and machine guns, bomb attacks … !
Enough is enough, she thought, and lay on the divan cot in the hall with a piece of cloth wound tightly around her head. She couldn’t bear the noise. The TV was on, though at a low volume. She had warned the children sternly, and was just beginning to hope that she could finally relax and put her feet up when one of them wailed, “Doddammaaa … Doddamma, she’s pinching me!” Fuming, Razia jumped to her feet, silently cursing them.
Her husband, Latif Ahmad, entered the room just as she was thinking, Six brats are already here. Each brother-in-law has twotwo … three-three … and all of them have landed up for the holidays. And my two younger sisters’ children are here too—for God’s sake, what am I supposed to do! Seeing the state his wife was in, he grew alert. She had always been allergic to children. There were the terrible headaches, to begin with, and the noisy children only rubbed masala on the wound … Glancing helplessly at them out of the corner of his eye, he mentally counted … one, two, three, four … eighteen in all, all between three and twelve.
Before Razia could say a word, Latif Ahmad scolded them: “Ey, sit down quietly, all of you—anyone who makes noise will get nothing!” Hussain appeared with a basket of mangoes from the farm. As the children shrieked and swooped on the basket, it was Latif Ahmad’s turn to take fright. He gave his wife a forlorn look and walked to the bathroom. Unable to stand her headache, Razia grabbed one or two of the children within reach and whacked them, … The prospect of unending torture all summer made her decide that bed rest had
