Only an adult could say children don’t understand. And the fact is we say it often enough. But if you ask me the problem is the older we become the more we forget how much we knew when we were young. Of course, that’s indubitably true of knowledge. At 50, I’ve forgotten most of what I learnt as a schoolboy or as an undergraduate. However it’s even truer of what it felt like to be a child. Of that I remember nothing.
Yet children understand far more than we realise. In May 2001, when Kapil Dev cried in an interview he gave me for the BBC, his daughter, Amiya, was just five years old. Romi, his wife, tried to prevent the little girl from seeing the programme. But she wasn’t successful. Later she told me how Amiya had watched a repeat broadcast in silence and commented “Yeh papa ke dushman hei.” Many others — although, fortunately, neither Kapil nor Romi — thought the same.
Decades earlier my cousin Arjun hit the nail on the head with a similar canny remark. It happened when he was five and howling. Ordered to bed because of school the next morning Arjun, if the story that’s become a family favourite is accurate, put on a command performance. To begin with he refused to budge. He just hollered. Finally — and no doubt exhausted by his own efforts — he gave in. But as his ayah marched him off he turned and left his parents with the following warning: “Aaj mein school jaonga lekin bade hoke daftar nahin jaonga!” I daresay many of us think of office with the same distaste!
We call such displays precociousness but in fact the winning part is their intriguing mix of innocence and wisdom. It’s a combination only children are capable of. The rest of us have long forgotten how to manage it. But I wonder if we ought not to ask a further question. For the truth is whilst the comments kids come up with can be dead accurate I can’t work out whether they realise this themselves. Are they merely clever or are they also wise?
{{/usCountry}}We call such displays precociousness but in fact the winning part is their intriguing mix of innocence and wisdom. It’s a combination only children are capable of. The rest of us have long forgotten how to manage it. But I wonder if we ought not to ask a further question. For the truth is whilst the comments kids come up with can be dead accurate I can’t work out whether they realise this themselves. Are they merely clever or are they also wise?
{{/usCountry}}Born into a family of elder sisters, I grew up with the comment “Shhh not in front of the B-O-Y” ringing in my ears. I can remember the careful precision with which these simple letters were enunciated by the three of them. As they spoke their faces always had a knowing if somewhat mischievous look. One day, to their incredible surprise, I replied.
“I know what B-O-Y is!” I was gleeful if not actually triumphant.
“What?” one of them asked, her disbelief only too obvious. I was barely 3 — if that — and no one could accept that the letters in question might mean anything to one so young.
“Boy!”
Of course I was spot on but I have to admit I didn’t have the faintest idea the word referred to me. In fact I probably didn’t know what it meant and it’s even possible I did not realise I was a boy! After all, three-year-olds are hardly aware of their sex.
These days, however, three year olds are very different. They’re not just aware of politics but also the spins and prejudices their elders put on it. In 2003 my colleague, Ashok Upadhyay, and I visited Pakistan. It was Ashok’s first trip. We were there to interview Khurshid Mehmood Kasuri, the Foreign Minister. On our second morning Ashok, homesick for his little son Anu, telephoned Delhi.
“Papa, aap kahan ho?”Anu asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
“Islamabad mei bete.”
At the time I wondered if this would mean anything to little Anu. I was wrong.
“Papa, papa,” came the immediate anxious response from Delhi, “Musharraf se bachke rehna.”
Ashok insisted on claiming credit for his son’s wisdom but I suspect the little boy is much more than just a chip off the old block.
So are children truly wise or are they simply clever? I know that at three I was only being clever. In fact the Hindi word chalak might be a better fit. But what of Amiya, Arjun and Anu? It’s not so easy to brush aside or explain away their comments. Frankly, even at my age I’d be pleased as punch if I had spoken them. The better question is would I have thought of them.
Ask it if you want but don’t expect me to give you a truthful answer!