The Goo Goo Dolls

The scallywags. The cute pumpkins. The adorable rascals. The goons with twinkling eyes capped with pronounced eyebrows. The diminutive little beings who know when to smile so bystanders pamper them, whom to cane with cricket bats so that their beatings aren't returned with thanks, when to announce the occasion they want to take a leak or answer the longer call, how to make their grand-dads dance to the tune of the latest Bollywood hit, master the art of evading shrill calls from their moms, garner attention thanks to their inborn innocence (albeit feigned, at times), bring the house down with their 300db yells, psyche family-folk out making use of their inherent ubiquity, keep that smirk going on their faces even after a post-mischief thrashing, release all those pent-up feelings in a language none can make sense of, keep those rosy lips sealed, resistant to spoonfuls of baby-chow, jump right on the bellies of sleeping uncles and climb up their shoulder in a trice, get people howling by running into them on their tricycles, assume a sense of smugness while still chewing their thumb, incense their mothers by running around the household in their birthday suits, bark "Paakkadhey" ("Don't look at me!" in Tamizh) at interested spectators watching them er....do their daily duty into the diaper, hum tunes in parallel with sketching God-knows-what diagrams on paper and insisting they are a new species of elephant (this is when you get suspicious of him - you dont know if its the truth or he's caught on with the others and mimicking your frame), usher you away from the computer just when you've gotten online and expecting to bowl a few over with those wacky status messages (more on this later ;) ), make faces at your sis who's on webcam with you and take monopoly over the keyboard and mouse, ask pointedly for the pick and pull the strings of your guitar with such force you're reminded of stories you heard as a kid about Arjun wielding the Gandiva, throw probably everything they see (including junk food) right at your forehead (its a wonder, but baby boys never miss their mark), share the dining table with you and line up for the chapatis, take walks with you and remind you of those days you spent walking back in college - you notice their small strides and are reminded of someone particular, watch the "Love Thing" video like that's there was nothing better about Joe Sat than his Ibanez (his hairstyle finishes a close second in his perspective)...

Kids.

If his looks could kill, we'd all be six feet under by now. A first hand look at him will convince you that dictators needn't necessarily possess that intimidating mustache or an impeccable military uniform. No, not even that thunderous voice that sends shivers up the spine. He's small, sprightly, and never short of energy. He addresses everyone by their first names. His prattles light up the place and you marvel at his attempts to string words together. He’s a package you can’t help but love. He loves The Corrs and Joe Satriani. He’s your nephew after all.


Credits: Ragav, my nephew who turns three today.