Read at your own risk.
My mil was recounting to my boys how raising five kids was no cakewalk.
Shall I tell you the story about how your dad spilled two litres of oil in the living room, and how the cleanup took FOREVER?
Or shall I tell you about your aunt nearly got kidnapped while coming back from school…?
Or shall it tell you about I accidentally overdosed your eldest aunt with cough syrup and she didn’t awake for many many hours when she was a baby?
Or shall I tell you about how your uncle swallowed a dice thinking it was vazhakai roast?
“Yes that last story, paati,” asked firstborn.
“The boys, your dad and uncle, were playing ludo while eating vazhakai fry, and your uncle popped the dice inside his mouth thinking it was vazhakai. And there was hell to pay. The neighbours said his stomach would get misshapen and he would get all sorts of strange diseases, unless the dice was removed ASAP. So we fed him half a dozen bananas, every hour. I had to check his poop with a stick and finally we all cheered when the dice came out.”
There was a long pause as they digested the story, grandma blasted out from the past.
Only firstborn broke the silence with his rather pertinent q.
“But Did anyone play with that dice ever again paati?”