Showing posts from November, 2010

My Time Machine!

It’s hard to imagine Moms and Dads as youngsters isn’t it? They always seemed like such dorks when we were growing up. And when we finally ‘grew up’ and built our own nests, Moms and Dads became the infallible, indestructible Gibraltors of our lives. It is really difficult to imagine the Dads goofing off and loafing around during the college days. It is really difficult to imagine the stern and ever-so-practical Moms simpering over Rajesh Khanna. And that’s why, this particular book is so invaluable to me. It is probably 40 years old or more. It’s my very own time machine. Like Calvin’s cardboard box. Like Dumbledore’s pensieve. All I have to do is open those pages, and tumble into Amma’s younger days.

First of all, it looks like she had this note book right from college. She got married while she was studying, so she must have brought this book to her new home, which makes it all the more endearing. I can almost imagine her, a shy bride with her precious and sparse belongings, accep…

Mr & Mrs Wild

If there was an award for ‘The Wildest Couple’ – The Husband and I would win it hands down. We have redefined ‘wildness’. We make all you bohemian folks look like kindergarten kids. Oh yeah! We love to live life on the could say we have ‘risk addiction’!
This wildness quotient increases in winter. On the weekends when The Husband is at home, things can get unpredictable.
“Do you see that small pin-prick of bright spot in the grey sky?” The Husband asks, his nose glued to the cold window.
Me. After a lot of squinting. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
We both look at each other. The pin-prick of light is a humongous thing in the British sky. It means the sun could break out of the miles-thick layer of clouds.
“Let’s go!” The Husband exclaims.
We quickly wear the woollens, the overcoats, the shoes and rush to the lift.
We stand outside and take a deep breath. Why does my throat feel like a PVC pipe? Must’ve frozen. Fucking wind. Ripping, tearing, ice-cold sonofa****h wind. Blowing from up n…

Twinkle Toes

I slipped on the floor today. Went from one end of the living room to the kitchen faster than the speed of light. I came to a stop after I hugged the fridge. These things always happen to me. In the younger days, I would be mortified. But now, I don’t give a damn.

The earliest occurrence of this trait of mine – to fall down, to walk into walls and closed doors etc – took place sometime when I was a six year old. I was enjoying a summer afternoon. My enjoyment usually meant a dull, throbbing headache for the parents. So I was put out of the house like a cat. I was delighted to see that two of my best friends had met with similar fates. We decided to play ‘Kalla – Police’; but soon got bugged. We decided to explore a ruined house on our street. We were never allowed to go there because ‘it is where the Road Bootha which eats little children lived’. In reality, this place had a well in the backyard, and the elders were afraid of unwanted accidents.
This ruined house would have been a d…

Deepavali during simpler times!

Deepavali! No other festival is as...well...festive as this one! This is one festival which I look forward to with a child-like enthusiasm (and will continue to do so, no matter what age!)
Back in the 80s, when apartments were unheard of in Bengalooru, Deepavali used to be a very homely affair. Take for example my road in Malleswaram. I think barring a couple of families, majority of the residents were tenants. All this 11-month rental contract business was unheard of in the eighties. My family was in the same rented house for over 15 years. So were most of my neighbours. So yes, neighbours were as good as family – and there was such an emotional bond that it disproved the notion of blood being thicker than water.
Quite naturally, Deepavali was a communal affair. Of course, all the families did their puja and bought their own fireworks; yet, some of the fireworks were bought with contributions from everyone. These were the ‘dangerous’ ones, which only the local boys could handle. T…