My Mom Ran Toward A Monkey To Save Me — No Hesitation
Six-month-old me, fast asleep on the cot in the backyard.
Inside, my family sat around the kitchen table, deep in conversation over lunch. Uncle Gulzar finished eating earlier than the others, pushed back his chair, and glanced outside.
That’s when he saw it.
A monkey.
Perched right beside me on the cot, staring at me—closely, intently, unnervingly.
And in the most unbothered, casual way possible, he said:
“Shoo, monkey, shoo.”
Nobody flinched. Nobody turned to look. Because, of course, they assumed he was talking about me.
Which wasn’t completely unfair—apparently, even as a baby, my reputation for mischief was already well established.
He tried again, this time louder. “Shoo, monkey, shoo!”
And that’s when my mom finally noticed the sheer terror on his face—terror that hadn’t quite made it into his voice.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Uncle Gulzar didn’t take his eyes off the cot. “There’s a monkey on the cot.”
In a split second, my mom was on her feet, rushing outside—instinct overriding reason, fear discarded in favor of saving her child.
She says she never even hesitated, despite the very real chance the monkey might have harmed her too.
Since then, this incident has become her favorite story to tell—always retold with exaggerated suspense, always met with laughter.
And yet, to this day, I still wonder—what was it about me that made the monkey stay? Why did it sit there, gazing at me like it was looking deep into my soul?
Your Friend,
Abd Sid. xx
6th, September 2024.