So, the nephew runs in my mother’s house at Mach speed, enroute stopping at the sofa to throw two cushions at me.
“Sweetie, do you want dosas? Ammachi has made the batter for you.”
“Dosaaaaa. I am SO hungry.”
My sister told him, “We need to go to the house and have lunch in an hour. So don’t eat dosas here and make ammachi cook.”
He was insistent and this went on for a while – “I want dosas. I am hungry. Ammachi, can I have some dosas?”
So my mother made him a dosa whilst my sister took a break and went downstairs. He wolfed the first down as if a pack of wild dogs was chasing him to partake of it and went back to the kitchen for another.
“Ammachi, can you give me another one before mamma comes back?” (His mother still hadn’t give him permission)
My mother’s heart, of course, melted for his innocent button eyes and she gave him another dosa. In the meanwhile, his sister was eating cupcakes.
He immediately decided he needed a cupcake. “Ammachi, can I have a cupcake? They are so yummy.”
My sister came back and my mother went to report the success of I-made-your-son-eat-food-so-hah plan. She’d, by then, seen her son munching on the cake and turned to my mother saying, “You have spoilt his appetite”
Meanwhile the scamp had decided he wanted to get out of any (prospective) trouble with his mother. “Mamma, ammachi gave me cupcakes. I don’t know why.” Again those innocent I-don’t-know-why-people-give-me-stuff eyes, just a little let-down by the fact that he was still eating the unwanted cupcake.
Everyone laughed, which gave him a little courage. So he went downstairs to the car and told his father, “Please wait, dadda. I am having my cupcake.”
Everyone laughed again, which pleased the little clown no end. By then his cupcake was over; so he turned to my mother, raised a little finger and declaimed, “Next time, ammachi, listen to my mamma.”
This is what is known as having your cupcake and eating it. I see a bright future for him as a politician.