This is one of the many new highrises that have come up on EM Bypass near Garia. I was visiting a friend. The first thing that I noticed was the crowd in the lift. It was different from the one that you meet inside a peak-hour Garia minibus. Young Calcuttans were taking the elevator to their homes in the sky.

As I walked into Abhijit and Mahua’s home, it seemed a natural extension of the ambience in the lift. The furniture was ethnic and chic. Home-embroidered cushion covers blended effortlessly with the pastel shades of the upholstery. The 29-inch TV set loomed large in the vicinity.

Our conversation was unastonishing. Pleasantries were followed by a discussion on home loans and EMI, common acquaintances, summer heat in Calcutta vs Delhi, et al. At this juncture, their barely two-year-old son entered the drawing room. I had seen him earlier in the nursing home crib — hardly a place to get acquainted.

So my efforts to get to know him started. Like most children of that age, his interest in a grown-up like me was minimal. He was all too consumed in his tricycle. That certainly would be the most accurate description of the personal transport of Ayush, a bubbly kid with megawatts of energy.

I tried to inch closer to him by talking to him about his tricycle. Ayush has not yet been introduced to dictionaries and thesauruses. He did not understand what I meant by tricycle. All he knew was that I was showing interest in his prized possession. He said, “Amar motorbike”.

It is then that I started noticing the difference. Yes, there were three wheels and it had to be pedalled to make it move. The similarity with a tricycle ended there. It had fenders and mudguards painted in bright red and yellow. Like the real thing it had a number-plate and a spare tyre. The steering resembled Kinetic Honda more than a tricycle.

I was impressed. So I praised his — this time I did not make a mistake — motorbike. For the first time he smiled at me. And then said — “Tumi boro hole amake boro motorbike kine diyo (when you grow up please buy me a full size motorbike)”. It was possibly his attempt at paraphrasing a parental promise. Yet, the tinge of disappointment was unmistakable. He really wanted the big thing.

The million-dollar question is how on earth does a two-year-old acquire the desire to own a full size motorbike. Even logically, wanting to own a Maruti like his father would be more fathomable. Talking to Abhijit and Mahua provided some clues — the sound cues of a motorbike, watching a friend’s son ride a conventional tricycle, neighbour taking him for a ride on his Kawasaki, etc.

Possibly the real answer was given by Ayush himself. He drove his motorbike towards the TV, got off and made a noise that was pregnant with a thousand words: “Hush”.

Today, David Ogilvy would have said, consumer is not a moron, he is your kid. A two-year-old at that!