Lolo’s Funny World

Chapter 1

My Clueless Family and Me

I was born into what I like to call a human zoo. We were 13 under one roof—Papa, Mom, three sisters (including me), one brother, Papa’s brother (Chacha ji) and his wife (Chachi ji), my two cousins, Grandfather, Granny, and Aunt Lata (Granny’s unmarried daughter).

Let me introduce myself and my siblings:

I am Lolo, the eldest one (only for the namesake).
Sonu, my brother (In India, being a boy is like being born with a VIP pass). He is a lousy creature—walks, talks, and does everything like a tortoise (no, slower than that).
Gauri (She can make you do her work while making it look like your idea).
Teepu (Surprisingly, being a girl, she lives on her own terms—thanks to the advantage of being the youngest).

My cousins:

Manu (Can inhale ten rotis in one breath. A bottomless pit with a sweet smile).
Suku (We call her the plastic hair girl. She washes and combs her hair without ever taking off her hairband. Eee…u).

In a house where slippers vanished mysteriously, toothpaste tubes cried for mercy. If you managed to eat your favourite snack without sharing, you were either extremely lucky or extremely sneaky.

and bathroom time was sacred, stinking…who to put blame on?

Grandfather made a special bathroom for my aunt, no one else can use it. Except a few selected guests……….

One day, Mom decided to teach me. (This was probably the exact moment my interest in school died a slow, silent death.)

Mom said, “2 + 2 = 4.”

I blinked. (How?)

She asked, “Did you get it?”

I gave her my best lost-in-space look and said, “No.”

Now she was louder: “Why don’t you understand? It is so simple 2…+ 2….= 4. !”

(Now my brain refuse to work)

Granny, who had been watching this drama from the corner, finally spoke, “You don’t know how to teach kids.”

Mom was pissed. So she gave me a tight slap. (Now my brain was not just shut down. It was declared officially dead.)

Mom and Chachi ji get up at 4 am sharp—granny’s rule. First thing, they must take a bath and report for duty in the temple room for the morning ritual. After tea with two biscuits, Mom heads to the kitchen. By 7 am, she has cooked breakfast and lunch for 13 people, packed tiffins for six children, and washed a mountain of dishes. And this is just round one. Lunch and dinner—more dishes.

Whereas Chachi ji? She’s on the laundry and house-cleaning squad. Sweeping, mopping, dusting—the whole giant house. In the evening, both Mom and Chachi ji iron clothes together, that is their best time to critizing granny. (Well deserving). And late at night, they help Granny bind books for Papa’s shop. Their duties swap on alternate days.

Yes… it’s a prison.

And Granny is the female version of Hitler.

Saying no to Granny? Impossible. And if someone dares, they’re punished—hanged till death. (No… that would actually be the easy one.)

Last week, Mom snapped. “Today I won’t cook. I’m a human, not a robot.” (Not according to Granny.)

Granny didn’t respond to her directly. Instead, she picked up the phone and began calling all the relatives. “Do you know what happened today?” she began, “Uma refused to work. Right to my face. Rudely!” (adjectives added.)
“She is so irresponsible, so lost. If I don’t manage this house, she will turn it into a disaster. I at the age of 65, have never taken a single day off. I handle everything! Even her husband’s shop (collecting his daily income)

I bind the books for her husband’s shop (Suddenly, her own son became her daughter-in-law’s husband.)

Even when mom does everything the way granny wants, she still gets scolded—for not paying enough attention to her children. So today, mom was teaching me.

When mom slapped me, granny made a face. Not because she loves me—but because she believes torture should be delivered mentally, not so obviously.

Mom, of course, enjoyed seeing granny mildly irritated.

She carried on teaching me, now more fiercely.
“What is so hard to understand? 2… plus 2… equals 4!” she yelled.

Granny jumped in again, “I will not let you teach Sonu!”

(Sonu—my brother, and the pearl of granny’s eyes.)

Mom snapped, “You can’t do that. He is my son.”
(Then make him the guinea pig, why always me?)

Granny fired back, “He is my grandson too.”

And while they were busy arguing—I escaped.

In the evening, granny assigned Sonu’s studies to my grandfather and Aunt Lata. Grandfather agreed at once—he always likes to keep granny pleased. After all, who wants to become the enemy of a crocodile living in the same water?

Aunt Lata responded with full grace, “I hardly have time… my work doesn’t finish until 11 pm.” (Busy doing nothing) She never fetch the glass of water by herself. When two full time made are available plus their children except Sonu.

Granny listened with all her ears and heart. (She loves only one person in the whole world—her daughter, Lata.)

Granny said, “I understand, but you’ll have to find some time. You know his mother—such a lousy woman.”

Aunt nodded, “That I agree. Fine, I’ll find time to arrange his school bag every day after 11 pm.” (Granny felt deeply obliged.)

Now, my aunt Lata completes Sonu’s schoolwork at night. After that, she arranges his bag according to the timetable—small notebooks in front, the big ones at back, and only the best stationery in the pencil box.

For me, it’s all much simpler. I just carry the lightest books to school. The heavy ones can enjoy their life at home. As for pens and pencils—I borrow them from classmates.

Notebooks? I don’t really bother. (Feels like a total waste of time.)

Teachers ask me every day, “Where’s your notebook?” I nod and say, “I forgot it at home.” That goes on for the entire year. Honestly, I just pick up my bag exactly the way I left it yesterday and head to school.

At school:

English Madam: “Where is your book, Lolo?”
Me: “Madam, I forgot it at home.”
She made an annoying face. “Now share it with someone.”

In difficult situations, the routine is simple—
Madam: “Where is your book, Lolo?”
Me: “Forgot it at home.”
Madam: “Go and stand outside the classroom.”
(See? So easy.)

But one day, our maths teacher, Anju Madam, said something magical:
“I’m also not in favour of maintaining notebooks, but the school pressurises me. In ancient times, children used just one slate—and I think that was the best way to learn Maths. Do it, erase it, do it again.”

Anju Madam is so sweet. I think I must make a notebook… just for her.

The next day, I bought one thin notebook, copied all the work from my friend Sonia’s notebook, and gave it to Anju Madam. My first and last notebook. (That’s the limit of my generosity.)

At home, every morning looks the same.

Sonu gets late for school… every single day. Grandfather runs to the bus stand and pleads with the driver to wait a little longer. Granny comes rushing behind, carrying Sonu’s school bag in one hand and his water bottle in the other. And finally, Sonu walks like a fat bear—cashews in one hand, paratha in the other.

I also feel lazy to get up in the morning.
From the kitchen, mom called out, “Get up, Lolo.”
I ignored.

Two minutes later, she shouted louder, “Are you up or not?”
I overheard.

Five more minutes…
She stormed into the room and gave me a good shake.
I got scared and slowly dragged myself out of bed.

She pulled me to the washbasin and rushed back to the kitchen.
I rested my head on the basin and took a small nap. (Very peaceful.)

But now, mom was truly angry. “If I keep my eyes on you all the time, who will cook for thirteen people? Why can’t you wake up like your siblings—at one call?”
(She disturbing me.)

Honestly, the toilet is a better place to nap. More privacy, and the seat is just right.

Five minutes later…

Mom shouted, “Are you still sleeping in the toilet?” (She knows me too well).
She added, “You’re late!”

I often wonder how my younger siblings wake up so early and are all energetic. Meanwhile, I’m always tired, even after a full night’s sleep.

I think school should start at 9 am… or maybe 11 am. No, that would be too late. Okay, fine—10 am sounds reasonable.

I took my sweet time, came out of the toilet, and glanced at the clock. It was 7:10 am.
I Panicked.

I speed up like a soul of a rabbit gets into the body of a tortoise.

I was ready in five minutes.

Brushing? (Barely.)
Bath? (Who cares?)
Combing hair? (A quick swipe.)
Ironing the uniform? (Total waste of time.)

I can be super fast when I need to be.

As I was about to leave, mom shouted again, “You’re such a late Kate! No time for breakfast now!”

I can be really fast if I want. When I was about to leave the house, Mom shouted again, “You are such a late Kate, left no time for breakfast!”

I saw Gauri, Manu, and Teepu finishing theirs. (How can they even eat? Are they really hungry?)

I said, “I’m not hungry. Pack my breakfast in the tiffin, I’ll eat it later at school.”

The moment I reached school, I felt relaxed—and very hungry. My stomach started growling.

But here’s the problem: if I eat now, I’ll feel thirsty. If I drink water, I’ll need the toilet. (Are you out of your mind? The school toilet is terrifying.)

Still, after assembly, during the very first period, my hunger became uncontrollable. I decided—eat, but don’t drink water. That way I might avoid the toilet.

I quietly opened the lid of my tiffin just a little. (Oh, paratha is peeking at me.)

I took a big bite. (Mom really makes tasty parathas. But I wonder—why don’t they taste this good at home?)

Picture

A jealous classmate, Renu, complained, “Madam, Lolo is eating in the class.”

Manju Madam asked, “Are you Lolo?”

I quickly gulped the bite. “No ma’am,” I said, my voice all crumbled.

She gave me the look.

Even though I’m scared of her, I don’t know why I keep landing myself in trouble.

But the taste of the paratha… irresistible.

So, I took another big bite.

Renu shouted again, “Lolo is still eating, ma’am!”

She was seriously getting on Manju Madam’s nerves.

Madam snapped, “Mind your own business, Renu!”

(I gave Renu a naughty smile with my eyebrows raised)

Oops. Manju Madam caught my eyes.

I tried to change my smile to an innocent one, but it was too late.
(Now Manju Madam hates me even more.)

Manju Madam said, “Lolo, how dare you eat in my class. Go and stand at the back.”
She ignored me and continued teaching.

I must focus now… outside the window.
The whole point of me going to school is to wait for it to get over.

The first three periods are so difficult to pass. Thankfully, eating secretly and looking outside the window is a good time pass.
The second period usually goes in punishment, standing outside the classroom.
And the third one? That’s where I have to be creative—playing with my friends’ geometry boxes.

The next day, Rohit, my classmate, was eating secretly in the first period, just like me.
Sanjay complained to Madam.

Madam asked Rohit, “Are you?”
Rohit said, “Yes Madam, I was very hungry.”

Madam smiled… and ignored it.

(What?? Now he is cute and not me? What is wrong with the world?)

Sonu, my brother, goes to an expensive school, and I go to a less expensive one. Granny doesn’t like to waste money. (And she is right.)

I also like my school—but for very different reasons:
• Picnics.
• Games period, when sir doesn’t make me run after the ball and just tells us to play whatever we want.
• Art period, when the teacher tells us to draw anything we like and still praises me.
• Dance and singing period—my favourite one.
• Celebrations at school, when we get free sweets.
• Recess time, when Sonia brings my favourite food.
• And the school bell—when it rings at the perfect moment, just before my punishment.

READ CHAPTER -2