retro moments...that make me smile

flashback from childhood)
Choti Choti Baatein1.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrom We Go
A hot summer afternoon, hot winds blow. Mercury rises mercilessly. The elders in the home are all enjoying an afternoon snooze. The fans swirling in full speed, antiquated big bladed fans make a racket. It’s the only sound in the otherwise quiet household. Three, under three feet tall beings in the house are however wide-awake and restless. They have had a go at all the toys in the toy box and the orders from the seniors to stay quiet and indoors, lie heavily on them.

The eldest "Dada" takes the initiative...peeps out. Not a soul in sight.He leads the trio. Bubu his little motee sister and Tinkoo the youngest. Silently they go into the drawing room where he spots the jeep keys lying on the centre table. He picks it up. Motion to the other two to follow. Changes directions heads for the back door. The front door latch was maybe too high for him to reach and the sound could wake the elders. Through the kitchen through the pantry march the stealthy threesome. One adventurous big brother and two trusting siblings.

Slipping out through the servants' entrance avoiding the notice of the khansaama (cook) and the other servants who were napping under the neem tree in the courtyard, they head for the garage. Dada declares his plan. In a babyish lisp he hasn’t yet outgrown."Talo main tumko ghoomane le daata huun". (Come let me take you all for a drive) all three manage to climb into the jeep. Dada in the drivers seat.
The other two excited. Jumping on the next seat. The key is inserted in the ignition and turned.

The engine cranks to life with a loud crank... vrrr vrrr vrrr. The passengers clap in glee. The proud driver keeps turning in the key. His feet dangling way above the pedals below. Shouldn’t it be moving by now? He wonders why it wasn’t and keeps cranking the engine on and off. That’s where his driving skills began and ended

.Suddenly there is a patter of hurried footsteps. Father pops his head into the garage and yells. "Aayii ki korchis?' hey what are you doing? He draws near... the driver and passengers turn pale in anticipation of a harsh reprimand. Father yanks the key out. Then lifts the frustrated grand prix aspirant out of the car .Its the turn of the passengers next. The servants have by now all jumped into action and looking very alert and awake...start thinking up excuses to give to avoid a heavy reprimand from sahib.The guilty are all marched into the hall.

Three howling kids draw the attention of mom who soon appears and rescues them. It was a long time before any of them tried to take the wheel. The eldest now whizzes around in his grand BMW playing doctor in real life. The youngest alas! Was struck down with cancer and did not live long enough to be eligible for a drivers licence. The middle one finally conquered her fear of driving and now enjoys long drives in a WagonR. Enjoying the time by herself when she can sing along with the music and no one tells her to shut up. She is seriously considering applying for a chauffeur’s job to some Ritchie rich. May god have mercy on the poor guy!

posted by OodlesOFMe @ 12:16 PM 0 comments
Kite Launchers.....


Kite Launchers.....

It’s the kite-flying season the sky is swarmed with kites of every hue and shape. We have just returned from the boarding school and enjoying every minute of the freedom from "the jail”
The brothers decide they are going to make some kites too and join in the local competition.The help of the driver is enlisted to procure the materials for kite making. Afternoons are spent cutting the fragile paper into shape. Thin bamboo strips cut into the right length after half a broom has been stripped .One of us slips quietly into Baba's study to get the bottle of glue.

The kite is ready and now its time to add the sharp winning edge to the 'manja"the string that holds the kite. Someone has been assigned the job of creeping into the kitchen surreptitiously to get a bowl of wheat flour (most probably it was me cause I was the easiest to be bullied into doing something and if I got caught I could bawl my way out) The new domestic help kaachra (we insisted on pronouncing as Kacchra which means rubbish) has been ordered to grind pieces of glass with a pistle shaped rock on the cement cover of the septic tank in the garden. The 'aata' wheat flour is mixed with the ground glass and the paste applied to the 'manja'.The kite and manja are left to dry for twenty-four hours.

The next day dawns accompanied by a favourable strong breeze. The kite Gods were looking down with pleasure at the new entrants into the kite flier’s world. Hurriedly eating their breakfast the excited group of four kids and an absolute dim-witted domestic help Kaachra take off for the open hilly plot behind their house. Mother shouts a warning. "Don’t wander too far and be back home before Baba comes home for lunch."


We reach the top of the clear hilly plot. Dada picks a handful of soil and slowly lets it slip from his fingers to check the direction of the wind. All are assigned strategic posts to launch the paper masterpiece. Dada holds the wooden spindle around which the manja is wound up. Kacchara is made to gingerly hold the kite and walk backwards. About twenty feet of string is loose from the spindle. The kite is held taut high above the head and then at the shout of. 'ab uda de".from the leader he lets it go. It rises a few feet making a fluttering sound. The rest of us cheer .Our joy is short lived. It soon loses height and nose-dives to the earth.

We all rush to check if it’s unharmed. Thank God! No damages.After many such attempts finally both the main fliers involved have learnt the technique and the kite stays aloft. Soars with the wind and is soon high up. The rest of us are too excited and demand to be given our turn at flying the kite. The leader refuses but there are three against one. We all demand out turn. Saying we all helped in making it didn’t we! Words fail to have any effect and soon the struggle gets physical.
The rest try to wrest the spindle out from his hand.kacchra tries to intervene but to no avail. A commotion ensues flaying arms and legs. A struggle for power. Four pair of hands fight to take control. The glass paste on the manja cuts into the tender skin... four bloodied pair of hands four angry heads all tug at the thread. It snaps and the kite flies free. Refusing to tow the line to any of them. The created cuts loose from the creators

The shocked group looks on helplessly. They watch it flying away, the distance between them increasing as the wind tosses it about wantonly, The only rescue idea that could strike the four amateur kite flyers was to instruct Kaachra to go after it. They bark orders at him threatening dire consequences if he returned without the vagrant kite. He runs after the fleeing kite and is soon lost to sight. There is no sight of the rebel kite or the pursuer.

The four sit down on crops of rock, downcast. They blame each other for the tragedy...none willing to take responsibilty. An hour goes by, the sun is right overhead shinning down fiercely on the four miserable kite fliers. They decide they better head home, bathe and be ready for lunch before father returns.
It is almost sundown; the fliers have long forgotten the morning's tragedy and are busy playing with Tommy their pet dog when a haggard dusty Kaachara returns, holding a badly mangled kite in hand. A triumphant look on his face. He is given a sound yelling from Mom for disappearing all day. He dare not narrate the events of the day. He looks at us beseechingly to rescue him. Scolding over, mom goes indoors.
We huddle around the rescuer and the damaged -beyond -salvation- kite. Kacchara narrates how he chased it over the hill; over two streams and then finally climbed a prickly tree to get it down.We all crack up and keep laughing for a long time.That was a recollection of childhood spent in the Madhya Pradesh wildernessThose were the days of No- Tv no- computers or video games.If we wanted some fun we went out doors and had some

Even after all these years when ever I see a kite in the sky I cant but help laughing. And wondering if the kite flyers are a having as much fun as we did that summer.

posted by OodlesOFMe @ 12:13 PM 0 comments
Monday, July 18, 2005


Birdie Rest a little longer...

Two of us on the battered scooter which has definitely seen healthier days.Me in eight pockets cargo pants ,a Union bay tee.. face scrubbed clean ,hair in a jogger girl pony tail.The kid in a T that spells attitude through its slogan,a pair of jeans worn disapprovingly below the navel,the bottoms of the jeans bruised from perpetual state of smooching the ground.

Today i declared a sabbatical from my calorie-conscious diet and we choose to go mingle with the living- in -the fast -food -lane generation next.Parked my scooter and we step towards the Burger joint..falling in rhythm to the music blaring from speakers hidden behind the shoddy decor.I leave the food selection to the expert this being unfamiliar territory for the palate unspoiled by the sauces of the quick-fix meals.

The kid is in a mood to share glimpses from her world.I sit up as she throws terms like Shifting Paradigms in Retailing.Still wet behind the ears and potty about harry potter the Kid is suddenly mouthing the B words..business words. she asks "mom what does business school affaie mean?I grin and reply " i know business i know school and i kNOW affair but all three naaah"she rolls her eyes..mOM!Maybe she said au faire..speaks French like a Parisian.

Even as i admire the sapling i nurture i feel this sense of losing a baby to growing up.A poem i taught my second graders silently hums in the background of my mind:
what does little birdie sayIn her nest at peep of day?
let me fly says little birdie
mother let me fly away
Birdie rest a little longer
till your little wings are stronger
Then you can fly away
So she rests a little longer
then she flies away!

Oh the joys of parenthood..let me enjoy watching her take wing ,take that first solo flight just as i watched with excitement and glee her first steps on those chubby dimpled feet.Kid no matter how you have grown, a mother's heart will always be big enough to hold you .


15th august..flowers, ladoos and a bloody nose

ashback from childhood)
Its a cool drizzly morning ..i am up and hopping, the fresh air outside beckons me.I skip out to the open sit out ..stoop down to sniff the lillies.growing on either side . i know they have no fragrance but they sure look so pretty so fresh!The pollens tickle my nostrils i rub my nose with one podgy lil hand and run out to the garden Tinkoo follows.I dont mind him trailing behind me all day.. he is the only one smaller than me in this world full of grownups.. who are so difficult to understand..or play with.


I spot some activity in the garden and head that way.'Malidau'..our gardener is keeping a sharp eye on some people who have come from baba's office to take some flowers required for a function.Malidau.. i still remember his tall lean frame clothed in a dhoti and a bundi ,a gamchha tied around his head like a turban.He was very fond of us.. but we were little devils always upto mischief..like the Hanuman's vaanarh sena..wrecking havoc in his domain.we had even made up a lttle sing song.."malidau..gaana bajauuu.....something something.. i am sure my sister will remember she was much older and has a sharper memory of those days.


I remember Malidau trying to keep his packed lunch (tied up in an old gamchha) out of our reach..he wouldnt eat it if it was touched by anyone.. and we tried our levelest best to do that...real little devils werent we?finally the guy would find a safe spot.. climb up a tree which we couldnt and tie it to a branch.Poor guy! wicked us!

Losing interest in Malidau and the office peons we wander off..Tinkoo reaches to pluck some roses and i forbid him to.He doesnt listen ..plucks one and runs on his tiny feet.. onto the murram(pebbles from the river beds)covered road leading from the gate to the garage.He trips and falls..and a howl of pain goes up.Soon theres a crowd around "chotta baba"i get dirty looks from one and all.Theres blood on his elbows and some on his nose too.He is whisked off to the dispensary for first aid.

Next i see him near the flag hoisting pole.. Baba has just delivered a fiery speech..people are clapping.I smile, seeing Tinkoo perched on the shoulders of one of the peons..for a good view of whatever was happening there.He smiles at me but he has his nose covered with his hands..to hide the band-aid.He does look funny with that!Theres a drizzle..we take our share of the boondi ladoos and head home