Being eight wasn't fun, Kabir was sure of that.
Everyone treated him like a child. But they didn't know that he knew quite a bit. And understood even more.
He knew his parents were fighting. And he even knew why. His mother wanted to have another baby and his father didn't. Much as he loved his mother, he agreed with his father on this one.
The doorbell rang just as he was mulling this problem.
It was Amazon, with yet another parcel. If his mother had a fault, it was that she shopped too much. That's what Kabir thought.
The delivery person, having handed over the parcel to him, rang the doorbell at their neighbour’s, who lived in the apartment opposite to them. Kabir had closed the door but not fully, and continued to peek through the gap. As he had thought, nobody came to answer the door.
He thought for a bit, then opened his door and told the delivery guy that the neighbours were on vacation and that he would hand over the parcel to them when they returned.
The guy readily agreed and Kabir was left holding two parcels. He kept them carefully on the table next to the door and returned to his room.
All through the day he kept thinking about the parcels. There they were, as he went out to play. Sitting comfortably, unmissable, as he got a drink of water from the kitchen. They seemed to call out to him as we went to answer the intercom.
His parents were going to be late returning from work that day. So he had a bit of time, and soon a plan formed in his mind.
He sat at his dining table with the two parcels stacked next to him. He picked up his neighbour’s first, hesitated for a moment and then started to open it carefully. As he had expected, it had a couple of shirts - Zodiac. Must be Mr Agarwal's. His mother's had a pair of football shorts. Kabir remembered how she had told him she was going to get him new ones.
That gave him pause. He did need new football shorts, the stitching near the pockets was coming loose and they were now a bit tight around the waist. But then he remembered the book he had recently read on the life of football legend, Pele, and how as a kid, he had had to fashion a football from bits of paper stuffed inside a sock.
He, Kabir, could do without new shorts.
He dragged a suitcase out from under his bed, and placed inside the two shirts and the pair of shorts his mother had bought, carefully, burying them underneath everything else.
He was on edge for the next two days, practicing nonchalance for when people would inevitably start asking questions, but strangely, no one asked anything.
Later that week as he was returning from football he saw another parcel on his floor, this time from Myntra. It was as if someone had carelessly flung it at the door and left in a hurry. The young couple who lived in this apartment must be at work.
Kabir looked around surreptitiously and then picked it up. He walked quickly to his own house and once again, looking around but finding no one, snuck inside quickly.
This continued for the whole week and parcels of various kinds found their way into the suitcase under his bed. The stolen stash grew to include socks, earrings, a skirt, a silky pair of trousers, and even some underwear from Jockey.
He returned the books, the frying pan and a bottle of Rosemary hair oil. Those were okay, in his opinion.
Even though he knew why he had embarked on this delinquent path, truth be told, Kabir didn’t like secrets and this one was weighing heavy on him.
Finally it was Friday, the day his parents returned early from work. On his way home from football, Kabir resolved to tell them everything.
But as he walked towards his home, he saw the door ajar and a jumble of shoes outside. His heart sank.
He was right. Every seating surface in the living room had a neighbour on it. They all looked at him as he entered. His parents bore shocked looks on their faces. Mr Agarwal coughed, then smiled at Kabir and suggested they all leave.
As the last of them left, his parents turned to him and then looked at each other. More than himself, Kabir felt sorry for them. He decided to go first.
“Mom, Dad, I did take their parcels.”
His mother burst out. But why? His father held his tongue, with some difficulty, it looked like. Kabir hastened to enlighten them.
“I did it for the environment”, he said. “Our teacher told us that Fast Fashion is killing the planet. And the people in this building are always buying things.”, he finished with a hint of accusation in his voice.
His parents looked at each other again, more puzzled than angry now.
“Oh and I kept everything. It’s all there, in the suitcase under my bed.”
And that was that. The verbal lashing he had thought was coming never did. But they did immediately make him retrieve and return the contents of each parcel. His mother came with him and after Kabir had apologised, added her own apology and that she would explain later.
Back home, over dinner, they spoke about the environment and the harmful effects of certain industries on the planet. Kabir felt relieved at being able to voice his worries to his parents.
He hung his head in shame when his mother gently rebuked him for taking what wasn’t his. He understood now that his way hadn’t been right. But what was the right way to do it then?
His parents once again exchanged a glance, and promised to read up on it and come up together with a way that was better.
Kabir, satisfied, chomped away the last of his Paneer paratha. All was well.
Later that night, snuggling into bed and as his mother turned to leave, he said, “Mom, I also wanted to help you and Dad have a baby.”
His mother, taken aback, asked him what he meant.
“How can we have a baby when the AQI index is so poor here. I thought we could improve it and then bring a baby home.”
His mother sat still for a moment, then kissed him. She told him that it was a great idea and that they would speak more about it.
Kabir felt lighter. Definitely less worried. His parents did understand him.
Being eight wasn’t so bad after all.