My dearest friend was having a birthday cake with two roses on it. It was a time when cake cutting wasn’t so famous.
I looked very eagerly towards the cake and those beautiful roses.
The cake was cut and was cut into many pieces, two roses were cut into two different pieces.
One was given to the birthday baby and the other was given to me.. What else could bring joy to a little kid than being made special?! 😃
I love watching movies but not so much of the genre similar to Jurassic Park. It might be due to my reaction watching it the first time.
In Jurassic Park, there is a scene towards the end, where the kids are chased by dinosaurs and the kids get into a lift. Just when it’s to take off, a dino almost catches a kid. The kid has to pull in the leg to be saved.
I let out a loud yelp and pulled in my leg. And people next to me started consoling me rather than watching it, for I was that scared.. 🙈
In my childhood days, I don’t like to write much.. Which my mother has reminded me so often enough, until very recently..
The reason I don’t like to write, is not because I don’t like to write, but I don’t like to repeat..
Allow me to explain..
In those days, the school work mainly consisted of repeating parts of what’s available in the text book. And the exams asked to vomit the mugged up parts of the text book. So I didn’t write those essay type questions, which was to be answered to score marks above the required pass mark. But I did attended the questions which required answer in just few words or lines. And also attended all the mathematical problems and would score above 90%
It took them a long time to understand that I hated repeating while I never stepped back when it came to any activity that required original content.
So the girl who hated writing becamea pseudo writer and blogger! 😜
I’ve an undying love for electronics. It all started with a video game named UFO.
I was about seven years, when I went for a walk with my father, spotted an interesting-looking-odd-shaped-violet-colored object across the counter of a shop.
As I asked my dad about it, we stepped in and enquired about it, the details of which are insignificant background noise, while I was engrossed in admiring the object’s odd shape and the tiny little buttons on it.
All I remember was that, it was not something meant for me, as we were not buying it right then. I was disappointed only little bit, as it looked like something too costly and also I was not so sure that it was meant for someone as young as me.
We returned home, and dad called me back for another walk immediately. Still I didn’t understand the meaning, until we reached the same shop.
Yes, I was gifted that video game and that was my first video game! It was a very simple game, where you ought to catch / shoot the falling objects. Not all, just the wrong objects flying disturbing the UFO.
I still have that game with me, it may even work, if I fit in a proper battery. It’s like those Andy’s toys in the toy story movie. Always having a special place in the heart of it’s owner.. 🙂
While I was a kid there were many friends to play with and a huge open area to play as we wish.
We used to play many games. The evenings started with games involving lots of running and moving around. With that we would be drenched in sweat and while we are near exhaustion, we will shift to games played by sitting around.
So whatever our energy level, we played and played, till we were dragged to our homes by our parents.
And the level of animosity between neighbours was far less. We could knock any door of the neighborhood for a glass of water and they would also care for all of us.
There were few houses who let us play full time in their home. There was an aunty, who always has some craft or something to keep us engaged during the sunny hours. She also lovingly made popcorn and sometimes noodles for all of us.
There was an uncle who was living in a sparsely furnished portion. And he had set no limits for playing anywhere in the house and he would also join us playing hide and seek. He always entertained with some interesting conversation where he taught us something new in a playful way.
Life is beautiful when people interact with people, face to face, rather than when everyone finds their temporary deluded moment of happiness, within a small pixelated window!
Over the terrace, I mentioned in my last post, was a large mango tree. During summer, the mangoes were hanging low enough, from the part of tree spilling into the terrace.
They are low enough for kids to pluck them without much struggle. Yet, we kids were always reminded to stay away from the tree, for there might be tiny insects and I was so allergic to them.
Yet, the allure of those tasty raw mango are far more inviting than the constant reminders. So we decided to pluck it. And we did it.
No, there wasn’t any insect bite or any allergic reactions or no cause to question our safety.
But we, me and my cousin, didn’t dare to go into the house shouting our victory. Though we were safe, we were not sure that about the scolding we might receive. It was a small mango and we thought of finishing it in the terrace itself and throw away the seed.
When we were almost half through, grandpa came onto terrace in search of us. We were caught green-handed, I mean with mango in our hands and I sort of panicked for a moment.
As he was about to question about it, I volunteered that the mango fell by itself, as some squirrel or parrot might have nibbled and dropped them.
Though we were spared from any scolding, we were to give away that mango! For it might not be properly cleaned. Sigh! Our heart was already content from half of it and we parted with it. But soon afterwards, it was nicely cleaned up and cut into small bite sized pieces and given back to us!
One of the happiest memory of childhood is the time spent on terrace after dinner. Sometimes even for dinner!
And those night outs require some prep work done by evening. We have to splatter water so that it is not so hot for relaxing later on. This is one of the favorite chore on the summer vacation. As we get to play with water, while we also get some work done.
Regressing, I wonder how our well was up to its maximum capacity even during summer and the idea of water scarcity was not even so remote in the ideas. Also, the water comes from well, that is self replenishing, whereas the water waste from bath and kitchen goes to water the plants and trees of the garden.
Still, I think I might not be watering the terrace just for cooling effect, while the water is becoming much more precious day to day..
Anyway, twenty years back, that’s the only source for cooling as air conditioners are not so common and also the electricity can’t be trusted at all times for fans.
I’m moving away from the main idea. Getting back to it…
Those night time gatherings are so great memories, for that’s the time the entire family gathered together and shared much more than stories. That’s where the creativity is kindled with riddles. That’s where the knowledge is passed on through generations. That’s where we counted stars and believed we could finish it some day. That’s where we learnt stories of our parents as kids and it was always a pleasure to see the parents be kiddish, which makes them more likable even if they reprimand us for our pranks.
So that’s where life was at is jest, happiness breezed along, cheerfulness lingering like the distant train’s passing, and smiles were abundant, while making the childhood best of times!
In days of my education as well as career, I take leave, very often.. Like once in a month at the very least..
Do you want to know why?
Simply because, I wasn’t feeling like going to school on that particular day..
I say the very same reason to my parents and they do allow me to avail that. For they believed firmly that if you don’t accept the real reasons, even if it doesn’t sound so correct by societal norms, it lead to telling lies. So they encouraged by accepting the simple fact that I don’t feel like going to school..
So it got ingrained in me to take a little while to enjoy the vacation amidst chaos of the routine..
And now I wish I could avail a leave from blogging, but there is something else that drags me back to post every day.. And that’s when i realise that I’ve never loved my school as much as I love blogging!
❤
There are so many collectibles around to collect and I’ve had many hobbies including stamp collection and coin collection.
But there is one weird collection amidst that which even I don’t understand as to why I started collecting them.
To this day, I couldn’t throw out the collection from almost a decade back.
Oh my collection is bus tickets! I commuted through bus during my college days and if I could date them, I might check my attendance to college.
Alas, I don’t keep them organised in any way. But there are about three boxes fully packed with those.
To this day, I could never fathom the meaning of why I did, what I did nor have the heart to throw them away. I know I should definitely declutter my useless keepsakes.
I have started throwing away most of the useless things despite great memories. But, this is one thing I couldn’t throw away yet.
I’ve stopped collecting them when they shifted to the printing system, for those prints faded with time. Now, my collection has become a relic as the system of pre printed tickets is almost extinct.
So what’s weird in your collection?
Do you know the queasy feeling when you look down from a high building / place?
I used to have that! Very often.. And what you define as high is highly different for me.. Because to me looking down from the first floor will give me that wretched feel..
And in my days in school, we would often visit my grandparents on the weekends, which was a very short ride on bus, but stretching over, a small bridge, just about 200 mtrs or so. And every single time I would wrangle my mother’s hand, in the name of holding her hand!
This continued for so long until few years back.. And in the years before, our vacation will mostly be to hill stations. Guess who suggests those places.. Still me.
Though I have never cared for the adrenaline rush of any activity, I still prefer the mild coldness in the hills in contrast to the scorching heat of our place. And so yes, I will go on a whole trip enjoying the growing side of mountain rather than the steep downside.
I was scared of the heights of Ooty and Kodaikanal, until I visited Manali, Shimla and Auli. The view all through was snow clad mountains as far as you could see. The roads were narrow and right next to the road flows the Ganges, few kms down the hill. But now I was not afraid, as I was mesmerised by the ethereal beauty, which can never be bound by words.
That was a true heavenly sight to behold and an experience to nourish for life. For not everyone realises the exact moment they let go of their fear. And that feel gives a better mushy feel! 😉
We were living in a concrete jungle, popularly known as apartments. There were many kids to hang out with and the terrace is always under lock due to us. They said it’s for our safety. One day, one of the wooden door bucked under climatic influences. And that’s when a new horizon opened to us, literally.
We, the gang, were school going kids, in a generation, when the kids aren’t actually burdened with too much of schoolwork and parents let their kids play along with others. It was those golden days, when we would play till we are drenched in sweat, our tummies ache with laughter, air is filled with happiness, our cheerfulness an inherent identity of the neighbourhood.
Though we have played our hearts out on the ground, the information that the door was cracked open, invited to explore us more. And the opening was good enough for us, the kids to get in, but very hard for grownups to follow us in there. And of course, it became our secret spot for playing.
We were playing there and it was on one of those days that we happened to stop our games, just to enjoy a moment around us, when the sky was painted with the myriad of colors of the sunset. So far, sunset only meant that it was time to end or games and return home. Now it was a whole different thing.
We started noticing it when the Sun takes a glorious shade of light yellow, bordering orange and we stood near the outer wall and silently watched as it turned into all those shades before it buried itself into the outlines of what lied ahead. And we continued to watch in silence, till the sky has lost its lighter color and started to darken. It was a wonderful moment and all of us fell for it. And we kept returning to the terrace simply for that moment.
Like all good times, it too came to an end, when one day one of our parent started searching for us and with all the usual ruckus around getting caught, we were forbidden to the terrace and the view of sunset wasn’t the same when watched from ground of a concrete jungle.
But I am smitten forever with sunsets and the golden hour forever. And I still watch the sunsets with the same curiosity and wonder we had then..(and at times I get stared at for being so curious over sunset 
)
Do you remember the first time you stood memserised by the magical colors of that golden hour?
It’s said that if a friendship survives for seven years, it will last a lifetime.
Yes, it’s true for me.
Our friendship started when we were seven and now we are decades stronger.
How it started?
When I moved to a new neighborhood in apartments. Contests were being held as part of their annual celebrations and there is only one competitor for mein every contestI entered into. In later years, we teamed up and the association always got very similar prizes for both of us, irrespective of the first and second places we would get.
Also, we were mostly considered twins, due to our facial similarities and also the way we were always found together almost at all times, despite attending different schools.
How did it survive?
After five wonderful years, we had to shift and it was the first time, I experienced the pain of parting ways. It was the time when telephone digits were just three or four and existed only in certain offices and such.
But the pen pals were in rage, by then. And yes, we wrote to each other occasionally and shared few cards, though the times we remembered each other were much more than that.
Later, we connected over phone after years, and the teenage years went busy in our own separate ways. When we met again after almost a decade, nothing much has changed between us and now the technology keeps us connected!
Our story together alone could take up much space and few of them might be coming up in this series.
How about sharing your longest friendship story?
A big house, grand parents, two cousins, a game.
What could go wrong?
Nothing much, unless the game is to play police and thief, by a 5 year old and 3 year old. And the police decides to tie down the thief in an adult sized chair with real rope with real knot!
Oh yes, I did tie up my cousin and was not expecting to have tied a real knot and also was not expecting my cousin to start crying, because he couldn’t get out.
I started panicking as just one of the two is enough to land me into a good scolding and how am I going to resolve either of them?
And I too started to cry.. Don’t judge me! I was a helpless five year old!
And of course, eventually he was rescued from the knots and indeed we both had received scolding for the next hour or so.
Though till day, we haven’t discussed the instance as grown ups, it created a fear in me to get into games, from which I couldn’t rescue myself and it has also helped me to learn tying knots properly, to remove or to tighten.
And just like every crying memory of past brings a smile in the present, I do smile whenever I see any kid playing police-thief.
So what’s your smiling memory from your childhood?
As a toddler, I needed my dose of story for the night, before I slept. And after a while, I needed fresh stories and didn’t care for repetitions.
My mom, besides being my mom held the super power of being a past student of English literature, fan of Tamil literature, avid book reader, an awesome English teacher. And she also has a soothing voice and is pretty good story teller.
My pestering for new stories made her introduce world classic literature to me as bed time stories. And this went on for years, almost till I was eight or nine year old. By then she handed me books and I let her off duty as my story teller. I still ask for a story once in a while from her, even though I know that, she starts the story by breaking the suspense and yet she keeps the story interesting till the end.
Amidst all those years of hearing stories varying from Indian epics, Tamil classics, Religious tales, moral stories, Shakespeare plays and what not, one story stands out.
Actually it’s a novel. My mom’s favourite novel, “The citadel” by “A.J. Cronin”. Yes, she told that for days, as a series. And I vaguely remember the outline of the story, but to this day, I could see one scene of it before my eyes.
The protagonist, suffers some serious downfall in life and his wife, the love of his life, crosses a road with butter in her hands to meet him back and comfort him somehow. And while crossing she met with an accident and dies on spot, with the butter still clutched in her hands and slowly melting away, unlike her.
The story is good on many levels and for actual story, please get your own copy. I’m yet to read the actual book, and remember again, why the death is a vital and path changing moment for the protagonist.
If I was a good painter, I could draw out that busy road. Since I could just spit words….
For the vision of a lady, in black and white, like the ones in Charlie Chaplin period films, over a track of trams, amidst a fairly busy road, sprawling on the ground, with one out stretched arm with butter, other near a basket of groceries, blood crawling out from under her, lifeless eyes staring, is still pretty vivid in my memory.
Even though I have not read the story, it is one of my favourite novels to date!
So What’s your favourite story of years?
Few long years ago, when I’ve started taking baby steps into the world of literature, an initiation happened. And the details are….
Bharathi was introduced to me even before I started crawling.. For my favorite lullaby was the song written by him.. In the early class, for school competition, I frequently dressed up as Bharathi and secured prizes every time. So that’s the prologue for this following incident.
My dad was leisurely lying next to me and we both were chattering away. Across us, on a line, two cloth hangers were hanging empty and swaying. They were sort of perpendicular to each other. A hit on the left edge, made them sway on the right edge. Hence, they were on some kind of perpetual motion.
My dad pointed it out and said, see they were chattering and playing with each other. It was fun to me, to see how that non-living thing came to life.
And that’s when my dad picked up a small bound pink book and read out something in the perfect voice to amaze a kid with those little sound effects.
It was about, how two strings hanging from rooftop are given name, life, romance and how they alternate between life and death, by the power of wind.
And without even recognising, I fell in love. With the wondrous words of Bharathi for its simplicity and the imaginable story believable by the kid. And also it felt so important, even though I couldn’t fathom the profound meaning of it, by then.
To this day, whenever I see something fluttering in the wind, I remember that day, when I kept looking at him, as he kept reading out the story, in awe, for the story, for Bharathi, for the time well-spent, for changing something mundane forever.
Just like, as the drop of stone, has no inclination of how far the ripples caused by it can reach, that day had nothing extraordinary to know, it’s going to impact my life huge decades later. For that was the same prose-poetry, I took up for translating and felt a pride for my translated work.
The story, original + translation available here.
So what do you remember of the first step into a long journey?
I’ve been writing everyday but without any fixed theme in the past. Now am planning to write all 26 on single theme.
So, on what theme?
Even after living through a very happening life, a walk down memory lane pops up only few instances to the forefront than others..
Some such instances are great to listen to and narrate as it is. But over time, due to the failing memory of the incident or due to the hyper-active creativity at the time of narration, fact gets mixed with fiction and fantasy.
This April 2019, let me re-live few of those moments while huddling through A to Z challenge.
Stay tuned for a ride into nostalgia through my memory lane.. Watch out! 😃
Ripples 