As a child, I asked a lot of questions. All kids do. My parents played the passing game with me. My mother would say “Go ask Papa” after answering a couple. My father, a great follower of Greek philosophers, aggravated the tendency by answering a question with a question. It was like that funny riddle we asked each other as kids “What maaney kya” (what’s the meaning of what?”) and the other answered “Kya” and you smirked and said “Kya?”
I know, lame one. Forget it!
Then after he tired of it, he would send me right back to my mother.
Yeah some questions …
1. How did the aloo get inside the pakora?
2. If God created us, who created God?
3. When I cry, my nose runs and my eyes swell up and get red. Why doesn’t Meena Kumari’s?
She was my mother’s favorite heroine. God! I had to endure a whole lot of sob movies of hers!
4. Why do grown ups ask stupid questions like :-
a) What is your name?
b) Which class do you study in?
(As if they care!)
c) Who do you love more, Mummy or Papa?
(Why should I answer? I’ll hurt one of them if I’m honest)
d) What do you want to be when you grow up?
(Dude, get a life will you? Will you be around then?)
5. Why did Kabir write so many dohas for us to memorize?
6. Why do I have to close my eyes and pray? Will God swallow my spirit if I look around?
7. When we die, where do we go?
8. I have a mother and father, so does my friend. Does God have parents too? Do they spank him?
9. Why is water wet?
10. Saved this for the last, when I asked this after a couple of weddings in the family. It got me into trouble …
People wear each other’s rings, have pheras and then go into the room. They then have babies. Is it the ring or the pheras?