That's mischievious me!

That's mischievious myself! 

  October 12th marks my 17th birthday and I hesitate to speak about my age.Ofcourse, no girl would like turning old.It is either the wish to remain in her ravishing and heart throbbing teen years or the want to be a kid again.Years have gone by and I plead to return to them.Those were the years I would call-a cocktail of innocence,mischief,play and so much more.Mischief ?? Did I say that ? Well,deduce the first 4 years where my memories were blurred and the next 4 years when I was in India where my parents were always stopped from hitting me by my saviours-grand parents,uncles,aunts or any adult for that matter.That makes it to 9 years of adventurous Tom and Jerry play with my mom.Why 9 years?The play has not come to a halt even now except for the new improvised version where the cane has lost its role in this drama.In those days, the moment I realise mom's temperature rising,(I bet it would blast the thermometer,)I look for various means to escape.Tuition?Dance class?Or is it drawing?No time to spare!Flee!!Mom rushes to the kitchen to take the cane which she carefully treasure beside the cabin just above the oven because she knows no matter how hard I try,I wouldn't reach there in an attempt to hide the cane in her absence.There is never a day when the cane is allowed to rest in the cozy place offered.The cane had been so overused that splinters stand from its end.At times my wicked mind wouldn't fail to give a thought on those splinters piercing my mum's fingers and she rushing in search of bandage rather than chase me.I may not be well in sports but at those  crucial moemts all I remember is wearing slippers as  a preparation to run and  flee at supersonic speed to vanish in a jiff to my neighbour's house who apparantly happens to be my aunt,seeking refuge.Sympathising this poor refugee,my aunt whom my mum believes is the source for my spoilt nature would comfort me and assure mom that I woudnt attempt on any more mischief.Wearing an outraged mask,my aunt would question me before my mum,"will you do that again?"I would stare at the transformation in her mood  and nod my head uttering a valueless "no" which is purely inaudible.Few months later,my aunt flew to her native place for her first delivery.When she returned,I went to meet her baby and her,but  was never comfortable at her place like before all because I wasn't willing to share the attention I recieved at her house long before,with her baby!!My visits to her house shrunk,gradually.Soon,I found a new place to hide.My very own sweet washroom!Dad had removed the lock of the other rooms fearing my little brother would lock himslef up and he didn't want to imagine what chaos that could create.I knew the other rooms wouldnt suffice my need because I wasn't strong enough to keep the door shut when mum tried to push it from the other side.However my new refuge offered none to cool my mum.So all I did was lock up myself in the washroom and wait for a few minutes or so till my mum chilled.And then I would open the door slightly giving space just enough for my two little eyes to peek through and when I sense the situation has calmed and the weather in the house is pleasant,I step out without leaving the door knob as a matter of precaution in case mum appeared at the battle field from nowhere.And then I would take  few steps further to spy on what she is doing.And heave a heavy sign of relief at the sight of her resting elsewhere after a series of failed attempts on hitting me.