Its funny how certain places/ sounds/ smells can trigger repressed memories- some of my childhood yaddein are so fuzzy that I am not sure if they really happened or did I just make them up all in my head( yes it’s a very well loved and practiced trait of mine – and no, I do not have imaginary friends – unfortunately even they don’t seem to like me much).
Anyway so coming back to triggers – on my recent trip to Pune – I heard the smack –smack of someone dusting a carpet in their courtyard and that sound made me reach for my bum ( wait- wait – hold on to your fertile imagination) That smacking sound reminded me of the time when my mom smacked the bejezzes outta me right on the road till we reached home cause I went somewhere without telling her- yep – it was free for all- to watch drama being played out in my colony and till this date my brother and I do not dare to walk outta the house without telling my mom.
I am sure it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I was a …emmm… handful child- so this wasn’t the first and last time that I got wacked on the road. The second showing happened due to my misplaced sense of fairness – A close friend of mine was invited to a function and I wasn’t- obviously this did not sit right with my kid sense of justice and equality – so I took it unto myself to rectify the situation and invited myself to the programme and of course I did not stop there – I went and had a feast – mingled with the guest ( at age 9-10 my social skills/ etiquettes were at their best – over the years obviously they have diminished to nothing). As the news of my “extracurricular” activities reached my mom- OHHH MYY GOWWDD- she was furious beyond ….. Actually I don’t even have words to describe the fury. Ohh ohh the hiding I received that day – phataakkkk phatttaakkk - even the memory makes it painful to sit down.
Fortunately or unfortunately these memories are followed by some happy memories of countless hugs and cuddles with a few dollops of piss-ur-pants laughter. I guess the ration of whacks to cuddles was quite ok - so there goes my chance of using my childhood as a a reason for my quirks ( dammmit).
My most distinct happy memories are from the time that my mom used to read stories to us. After my brother and I came home from school in the afternoon, had our lunch we used to all cuddle up in bed with the daily paper. My mom in the middle and us two on either side – she always had to look up straight and was never allowed to face either side as that would mean uneven show of love ( yep – that sense of fairness again). She used to read us Chintu ( equivalent of Garfield) and stories –we used to then discuss moral of the articles- make fun of each other and mostly talk over each other to make our point ( yep that habbit I definetly have carried into adulthood). That peaceful sleep that you get cuddled up to your mom – ohhh- sniff sniff. But moms are like that right – titanium coating and insides of pure marshmellow . To actually note the numerous acts of love and care here is obviously impossible but a few that just make my day even today:-
The endless chatter over a cup of chai – (yep that’s where the chai love affair started)
That special sabji in lunch box for Saturday – just because she knew how much I hated getting up early on a Saturday half day school
Hiding behind her pallu and coming into the house when baba made me stand outside the house for coming home later than my curfew
Being fed garam garam rice and dal by mom’s hands cause you had a crap day at school
Bandaids never healed the scrapes and bruises – it was always her kisses and hugs.
No need to say it – I already know know how much of a duhhhh I am and proud of it too ;) – anyway here is a recent photo of the two oommens with amma :)- i tried to straighten the photo but my technical handicap wouldn't allow it - so either twist your head or you laptop ;)
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