HipHop Grandma's post stirred my mind. Like all of us, I have experienced fear after taking a wrong turn on the road or waiting for someone too long. However, many of these fears got diminished with time, maturity and understanding of the situations.
One of my worst nightmares was what I experienced on Nov 1 1984 in New Delhi. The day before, Oct 31 1984 had started out just as any other normal day. At that time and even now my parents live in West Delhi, which has huge Punjabi and Sikh population. I was studying in Grade 4 in school run by a retired Sikh military officer. A year before, my brother had left the school to join a middle school. All of us - my parents, my brother and I used to leave and come home in four different times. We all had spare home keys with us but usually it was me or my mom who would come home first. Few months back our house had got burgled and I developed a fear of entering the house alone. I was able to overcome that fear with time. Hence, many times I would sit in my neighbor’s house waiting for my mom to return and then enter my home.
In the afternoon of On Oct 31, which was a Wednesday, I was sitting in a bamboo chair outside my neighbor’s verandah and doing my homework. I remembered I forgot to get my Moral Science work book from the school after the teacher had corrected it. Just then my mom arrived in an autorickshaw and her face was tensed. She greeted my neighbor and asked her if she knew the news. My neighbor nodded and my mom hurried me home. I understood that the then Prime Minister of India, Indira Gandhi was assassinated. My mom had heard of some disturbing violence in few places in Delhi. My brother and dad arrived at their usual time home that evening. But the atmosphere in the neighborhood was apprehensive. Nobody could comprehend what an assassination of a Prime Minister would mean. I told my mom about my work book but she mentioned that I would not be going to school for couple of days as they had declared national mourning.
On Nov 1 1984, the newspapers were filled with news about Indira Gandhi and the future of India. After brunch, I was sitting with my parents in their bedroom. My brother was in the next room. My dad was reading the newspaper. I don't remember what my mom was doing exactly but I was reading a book and actually enjoying a sudden vacation in the middle of the week. I had not fully understood how grim the situation was. Suddenly we heard a faint shouting. The cry seemed to become stronger every second. Then my brother came into the room we were all in and all of us went to the front door, opening the door slightly. Our neighbors were also outside. We did not understand what was happening till we saw a huge mob emerging from the nearby streets. This huge crowd surrendered the last house in our street. That house belonged to a Sikh family. Thankfully, the family had escaped the previous evening. The mob broke into the house and took away every thing they found and finally burnt the house.
I was terrified and nobody had any answer. My parents were speechless by such human atrocity. The policemen were standing and staring and did not do anything to curtail the mob's actions. In the evening, we heard that my school was also burnt down. I believe my workbook must have also been reduced to ashes. The next few days were horrific. We heard and saw so much human hatred that I thought the world would come to an end. The sky was dark and gloomy with smoke. I never went back to that school. I joined my brother in his school in the middle of the year.
With years, things slowly returned back to normalcy. In our colony, they built a temple, Gurudwara and Church next to each other to promote communal brotherhood. I have never got answers to such horrific act but they get repeated often in some form in every part of the world. I don’t know how all these would end. But it made me realize to respect the only religion that should prevail the world - humanity.
Showing posts with label Down the memory lane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Down the memory lane. Show all posts
Friday, June 5, 2009
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Addicted to eat
I had these phases during my childhood when I used to be addicted to one type of fruit for a period of few months. I would gobble them up in the morning, afternoon and evening, many times replacing them for my regular lunch/dinner. The fruits I was addicted to were orange, grapes, pomegranate, apple, guava and mango.
My first addiction to oranges was when I was 10 years old. I could gobble a dozen a day. Before my mother could lay hands on them to make some juices, they would be already in my tummy. In that grade, I had a chapter in English - The Seveteen Oranges, where the author, working in a dock had consumed 17 big oranges, including the seed and the skin, in order not to be caught by police. Though I could not have eaten the skin but I was amused knowing that someone else could also consume oranges in that proportion. The story remained in my heart as a tribute to remember my own addiction to oranges.
As a kid, I used to like apples, though now it is a different story. Once I had consumed a whole fruit with the seeds. I was freaked out for a couple of days thinking that an apple tree would grow in my stomach. Growing up, becoming wiser and understanding biology, I knew this would be a pure miracle and a sure-shot place holder for Guinness Book of world records. Years later, I had a chapter in English written by Giovanni about a little girl who had an apple orchard in her backyard. She would climb up the tree whenever she got annoyed with her family. She used to refer it as "Apple Tree Pomplex". In my early teens, I used to find similarity between the rebellious nature of the kid to mine and her understanding family to my people, who gave space and lended ears to a teenage mind.
Of course, mango has been my all time favorite. It’s the king of the fruits in all sense. The looks, smell and the taste- everything about it is majestic. I would eat the mango to its last pulp and suck its seed dry. I love all it's flavors. The best were the ones from my home grown mango tree. It was planted by my grandma and my brother, in his toddler days. After a long time, I had a delicious mango today. I sowed the seed in a flower pot, hoping for the green thumb magic to work again. In the meanwhile, I would cherish eating the rest of the box, remembering my good old days.
My first addiction to oranges was when I was 10 years old. I could gobble a dozen a day. Before my mother could lay hands on them to make some juices, they would be already in my tummy. In that grade, I had a chapter in English - The Seveteen Oranges, where the author, working in a dock had consumed 17 big oranges, including the seed and the skin, in order not to be caught by police. Though I could not have eaten the skin but I was amused knowing that someone else could also consume oranges in that proportion. The story remained in my heart as a tribute to remember my own addiction to oranges.
As a kid, I used to like apples, though now it is a different story. Once I had consumed a whole fruit with the seeds. I was freaked out for a couple of days thinking that an apple tree would grow in my stomach. Growing up, becoming wiser and understanding biology, I knew this would be a pure miracle and a sure-shot place holder for Guinness Book of world records. Years later, I had a chapter in English written by Giovanni about a little girl who had an apple orchard in her backyard. She would climb up the tree whenever she got annoyed with her family. She used to refer it as "Apple Tree Pomplex". In my early teens, I used to find similarity between the rebellious nature of the kid to mine and her understanding family to my people, who gave space and lended ears to a teenage mind.
Of course, mango has been my all time favorite. It’s the king of the fruits in all sense. The looks, smell and the taste- everything about it is majestic. I would eat the mango to its last pulp and suck its seed dry. I love all it's flavors. The best were the ones from my home grown mango tree. It was planted by my grandma and my brother, in his toddler days. After a long time, I had a delicious mango today. I sowed the seed in a flower pot, hoping for the green thumb magic to work again. In the meanwhile, I would cherish eating the rest of the box, remembering my good old days.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Worth(less)
Having a hefty bank balance is everyone's dream. Nowadays, the banks have program where one can introduce the early saving concept to the kids. There are umpteen books and seminars of how to get rich fast. There is one seminar hosted every quarter by Warren Buffet, which reveals his secret of getting rich and would help us becoming one. I got an invitation for this last spring. I wanted to attend it just for the heck of it but the day/timing did not suit me. Later I realized that Mr. Buffet made half the fortune from the entry fee required in all these seminars.
As a kid, we did not have the formal pocket money concept. We asked for money from parents when needed but if the frequency became more, it was met by cold stares and questions. So somehow, we were always within the limits of our spending expenditure.
When my brother was in his preteens, my dad decided to open a bank account for him. Though I was much smaller, he opened one for me too. In those days, an account could be opened with Rs. 5 initial deposit! Few years later, my brother had some ceremony at home when lot of people gifted him with cash/check. He also won cash prizes on various competitions, which he promptly deposited in his account. In his college, when he got another proper bank account, we decided to close the accounts in our old bank. My brother checked his balance and was very pleased. It was approx Rs. 3000, a fine amount for a teenager just starting college. I eagerly waited to see my bank balance, only to get disappointed. My balance was Rs. 5.75. 75 paise gained on interest accumulated over years! Some interest rates they had!
As a kid, we did not have the formal pocket money concept. We asked for money from parents when needed but if the frequency became more, it was met by cold stares and questions. So somehow, we were always within the limits of our spending expenditure.
When my brother was in his preteens, my dad decided to open a bank account for him. Though I was much smaller, he opened one for me too. In those days, an account could be opened with Rs. 5 initial deposit! Few years later, my brother had some ceremony at home when lot of people gifted him with cash/check. He also won cash prizes on various competitions, which he promptly deposited in his account. In his college, when he got another proper bank account, we decided to close the accounts in our old bank. My brother checked his balance and was very pleased. It was approx Rs. 3000, a fine amount for a teenager just starting college. I eagerly waited to see my bank balance, only to get disappointed. My balance was Rs. 5.75. 75 paise gained on interest accumulated over years! Some interest rates they had!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Tring, Tring
Phone has come a long way from being a luxury to becoming a necessity. Earlier days, there used to be one phone at home, which was used not only by the owners but also neighbors, incase of emergencies defined by them. Now we have a cell-phone for each member of the family.
When I was a kid, my dad's office provided a grey color telephone. He used to be very strict about using it. We could not talk much on the phone. Conversations longer that a certain time would be met by cold stares from my mom. The dial used to be the old circular one with numbers. The fun was to hear the numbers actually being dialed to connect to the other person.
The phone did teach me some manners. As a kid, I had this annoying habit of saying "What?" so loudly that it would startle the person hearing it. Many times, if the voice on the other side was feeble and I could not hear I would scream "What?" and the person on other side would just apologize and keep down the phone. The funniest part was even though (s)he would not hear what I said before, (s)he would clearly hear my "WHAT?". Finally, with some sermons from the family and my own common sense, I became more polite on the phone.
The amusing part was the amount of wrong numbers we used to get. One can literally get anyone’s calls from around the country. Of course, it was bothersome, but with some creativity, it was be fun picking up these phone calls. For sometime, we used to receive calls asking whether it was Tihar Jail. After denying it innumerable number of times, my mom finally responded "Which crook do you want to talk to?" This surprisingly put an end to it.
One of the other callers would insist on talking to a certain Mr X , who is supposed to live below our house. We said emphatically that there is no such person but the calls persisted. Finally I told him that we live on the ground floor (1 floor in US standards) and it is impossible for someone to live below us and if he still wants to talk, I would be the last person to go and get Mr X.
I shared many friendships over this phone. One particular day, while in conversation with my friend, I had to keep the phone down and she promised to call back immediately. When the phone rang shortly, assuming that it was her, I picked up the phone and said "Hello Devil!". There was a long silence and finally my dad's friend spoke “Hello beta(child), can you call your dad?". You can imagine my shock. I apologized profusely and requested him not to mention a word to my dad. He, being very kind, obliged and I am still alive to write this post.
This phone has heard various emotions of our life. It became more a part of the family than just being an equipment. Later, when features of caller id and call waiting became popular, we still kept the same instrument but did have another phone with all these features.
We finally had to part with it, when my dad retired. Even though I have used other phones and cell phones with all jazzy features, this phone still remains dear to me. I know its number by heart and wonder many times, to whom does it belong now.
When I was a kid, my dad's office provided a grey color telephone. He used to be very strict about using it. We could not talk much on the phone. Conversations longer that a certain time would be met by cold stares from my mom. The dial used to be the old circular one with numbers. The fun was to hear the numbers actually being dialed to connect to the other person.
The phone did teach me some manners. As a kid, I had this annoying habit of saying "What?" so loudly that it would startle the person hearing it. Many times, if the voice on the other side was feeble and I could not hear I would scream "What?" and the person on other side would just apologize and keep down the phone. The funniest part was even though (s)he would not hear what I said before, (s)he would clearly hear my "WHAT?". Finally, with some sermons from the family and my own common sense, I became more polite on the phone.
The amusing part was the amount of wrong numbers we used to get. One can literally get anyone’s calls from around the country. Of course, it was bothersome, but with some creativity, it was be fun picking up these phone calls. For sometime, we used to receive calls asking whether it was Tihar Jail. After denying it innumerable number of times, my mom finally responded "Which crook do you want to talk to?" This surprisingly put an end to it.
One of the other callers would insist on talking to a certain Mr X , who is supposed to live below our house. We said emphatically that there is no such person but the calls persisted. Finally I told him that we live on the ground floor (1 floor in US standards) and it is impossible for someone to live below us and if he still wants to talk, I would be the last person to go and get Mr X.
I shared many friendships over this phone. One particular day, while in conversation with my friend, I had to keep the phone down and she promised to call back immediately. When the phone rang shortly, assuming that it was her, I picked up the phone and said "Hello Devil!". There was a long silence and finally my dad's friend spoke “Hello beta(child), can you call your dad?". You can imagine my shock. I apologized profusely and requested him not to mention a word to my dad. He, being very kind, obliged and I am still alive to write this post.
This phone has heard various emotions of our life. It became more a part of the family than just being an equipment. Later, when features of caller id and call waiting became popular, we still kept the same instrument but did have another phone with all these features.
We finally had to part with it, when my dad retired. Even though I have used other phones and cell phones with all jazzy features, this phone still remains dear to me. I know its number by heart and wonder many times, to whom does it belong now.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
What's cooking, Goodlooking?
Cooking is an art. With practice and imagination, we can create some delicious gourmet. As a kid I would never enter the kitchen, except to get goodies to munch on. As I grew up, my help to my mom was limited to cutting vegetables and making rotis sometimes. To feed myself, incase of emergencies, I knew how to make a toast, tea and maggi.
In high school, while some of my friends were learning how to prepare the full course meal, I was getting my hands dirty on trying to learn volleyball. Year later when I was in college, we were in a situation when me, my brother and a cousin had to be home by ourselves for 5 days. My parents and uncle and aunt had to be away to attend an important family occasion. Since we were teenagers and loved such freedom, we assured them we would be fine and asked them to go ahead with their plans. There was only one glitch, I and my cousin had exams during those days and also, we did not know how to cook. My brother on the other hand, was just bothered about India's outcomes on the World Cup cricket qualifying match. Also, our parents were returning the next day our exams were getting over, so we did not have much time for any fun. Anyways, we planned to use the best of what was given.
For the first few days, we managed on whatever mom had cooked and bread. The day mine and my cousin's exam got over was the day that India lost to SriLanka in the World cup qualifying match. My brother, due to the gripping match, had gobbled up all the eatables at home. When I reached home famished, the only bottles not emptied were the ones containing pulses and spices. With some courage, I started peeling potatoes to make a sabzi. As the food started smelling nice, I got ambitious and made sambar. I finished just as my cousin entered home, tired and starved. We set the table and were eager to try out the dishes. With the first taste of the morsel, which also happened to be the last one, we realized that even food can be deceptive. Even though it smelled good, it tasted horrible as the spices proportions were all mixed up. We finally had a dinner in a nearby restaurant and that was the end of my kitchen ventures for a long time.
Few weeks before I was to get married, I had crash course on cooking from my mom. I would stand next to her and nod on all her instructions as she would narrate the proportions of spices to be added, how and when. Everything seemed pretty straight forward at that time and I could not understand why people used to make fuss about good cooking.
Months later, I was here in NJ at our apartment staring at the closet filled with bottles of spices and pulses. Onions and tomatoes were lying on the countertop to be cut. This was the first time I was preparing food for H and his friend, who was coming home with his wife. I felt the same fear pang I used to feel on the days of practical exams. During the whole semester in lab practical, we could do the experiment with help of the teacher or the lab assistant. Exam days would be lonely and scary. At that moment, I missed my mom more than ever. Anyways, I put up a brave face and went ahead. Any art needs lot of time and patience. It was especially true on that day. To prepare a simple meal of pulao, puri and chole, I took 7 hours to complete!
Times have changed. I take much less time and hopefully the taste has also changed, err.. for better.
In high school, while some of my friends were learning how to prepare the full course meal, I was getting my hands dirty on trying to learn volleyball. Year later when I was in college, we were in a situation when me, my brother and a cousin had to be home by ourselves for 5 days. My parents and uncle and aunt had to be away to attend an important family occasion. Since we were teenagers and loved such freedom, we assured them we would be fine and asked them to go ahead with their plans. There was only one glitch, I and my cousin had exams during those days and also, we did not know how to cook. My brother on the other hand, was just bothered about India's outcomes on the World Cup cricket qualifying match. Also, our parents were returning the next day our exams were getting over, so we did not have much time for any fun. Anyways, we planned to use the best of what was given.
For the first few days, we managed on whatever mom had cooked and bread. The day mine and my cousin's exam got over was the day that India lost to SriLanka in the World cup qualifying match. My brother, due to the gripping match, had gobbled up all the eatables at home. When I reached home famished, the only bottles not emptied were the ones containing pulses and spices. With some courage, I started peeling potatoes to make a sabzi. As the food started smelling nice, I got ambitious and made sambar. I finished just as my cousin entered home, tired and starved. We set the table and were eager to try out the dishes. With the first taste of the morsel, which also happened to be the last one, we realized that even food can be deceptive. Even though it smelled good, it tasted horrible as the spices proportions were all mixed up. We finally had a dinner in a nearby restaurant and that was the end of my kitchen ventures for a long time.
Few weeks before I was to get married, I had crash course on cooking from my mom. I would stand next to her and nod on all her instructions as she would narrate the proportions of spices to be added, how and when. Everything seemed pretty straight forward at that time and I could not understand why people used to make fuss about good cooking.
Months later, I was here in NJ at our apartment staring at the closet filled with bottles of spices and pulses. Onions and tomatoes were lying on the countertop to be cut. This was the first time I was preparing food for H and his friend, who was coming home with his wife. I felt the same fear pang I used to feel on the days of practical exams. During the whole semester in lab practical, we could do the experiment with help of the teacher or the lab assistant. Exam days would be lonely and scary. At that moment, I missed my mom more than ever. Anyways, I put up a brave face and went ahead. Any art needs lot of time and patience. It was especially true on that day. To prepare a simple meal of pulao, puri and chole, I took 7 hours to complete!
Times have changed. I take much less time and hopefully the taste has also changed, err.. for better.
Friday, February 29, 2008
And Jill came tumbling after...
I grew up in a place where it would be cold enough in winter but would not snow. I would pray for the temperatures to dip sub zeros so that it could snow. Once it went as low as 1C but no snow. I believe it was happening because everyone else was praying for the temperature to rise up and if God is democratic, then of course my prayers could have never been answered.
As a kid, I used to watch all the thriller series of Old Fox, Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Peroit and many others. Since these were European programs, they invariably had a case to solve which would take them to some ski resort, if not Alps. All this would fuel my imagination more and I was determined to learn skiing. Of course, the prerequisite was there has to be a snow slope, which means snow, which means I need to spread my wings as my hometown did not have any snow.
Years later, I did come to a place where it snows and which is close enough to lots of ski resorts that I could go for skiing on weekends. The ease at which I used to see people skiing in the various TV telecasts, I overlooked how the experience would be for the beginners.
Few years back, I, H and his friends decided to go for skiing in Poconos. Seeing the snow slopes, I was so excited that I said to H that we should make it an annual affair to come here. H quietly reminded me that I should first learn skiing, see how this experience goes and then make plans for future. I was very confident. I could sense the same thrill that I experienced when I started to learn driving. I have driven in crowded roads and driving in an empty one is a breeze. With that logic, skiing down a scarcely populated slope should be a breeze, right? Well, we'll see..
We had to take a 45 min ski lessons before heading up to the slopes. The lesson was held near the ground where the slope was not steep. In my class of 10, except me and H, others were all kids with age ranging from 5-8 years. Their parents were either in the near by slope skiing or down the slope enjoying snacks.
We let the kids try the slopes first. All of them skied with such elegance and grace that it was a treat to eyes. Then it was my turn. I was making a mental picture of how gracefully I would be skiing down the small slope to the applause of the kids when the reality stuck. As soon as I stood facing downwards to ski, I could not control myself and went down crashing. Forget the applause, I could not even face the kids. H, having tried it before was more careful and skied down pretty fine.
The lessons were over and it was time for us to go up the slopes. We needed to hold on to an escalator that goes up and when it reached the top, we had to hop off and ski down the slope. I could feel pangs of fear creeping in. As I reached towards the top, I was reluctant to let go of the escalator, till the attendant firmly took my hands and made me land on the snow with my skis. I was fine as long as I was looking up the slope. As soon as I turned around and faced downwards, even before I could push myself forward, I came tumbling down, closely followed by my skies. I tried twice or thrice but all in vain. My dreams of skiing zigzagging down the slope, whistling a tune (I cannot whistle but that's besides the point) , all went in a puff.
Our annual visit was just annual, as in just that year. Whenever I recite the nursery rhyme of "Jack and Jill went up the hill" to my sweeties, I get a vivid recollection of my own tumble down. Maybe next year, I'll give another try of making my dream turn into reality. In the meanwhile, I will get my first aid box ready.
As a kid, I used to watch all the thriller series of Old Fox, Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Peroit and many others. Since these were European programs, they invariably had a case to solve which would take them to some ski resort, if not Alps. All this would fuel my imagination more and I was determined to learn skiing. Of course, the prerequisite was there has to be a snow slope, which means snow, which means I need to spread my wings as my hometown did not have any snow.
Years later, I did come to a place where it snows and which is close enough to lots of ski resorts that I could go for skiing on weekends. The ease at which I used to see people skiing in the various TV telecasts, I overlooked how the experience would be for the beginners.
Few years back, I, H and his friends decided to go for skiing in Poconos. Seeing the snow slopes, I was so excited that I said to H that we should make it an annual affair to come here. H quietly reminded me that I should first learn skiing, see how this experience goes and then make plans for future. I was very confident. I could sense the same thrill that I experienced when I started to learn driving. I have driven in crowded roads and driving in an empty one is a breeze. With that logic, skiing down a scarcely populated slope should be a breeze, right? Well, we'll see..
We had to take a 45 min ski lessons before heading up to the slopes. The lesson was held near the ground where the slope was not steep. In my class of 10, except me and H, others were all kids with age ranging from 5-8 years. Their parents were either in the near by slope skiing or down the slope enjoying snacks.
We let the kids try the slopes first. All of them skied with such elegance and grace that it was a treat to eyes. Then it was my turn. I was making a mental picture of how gracefully I would be skiing down the small slope to the applause of the kids when the reality stuck. As soon as I stood facing downwards to ski, I could not control myself and went down crashing. Forget the applause, I could not even face the kids. H, having tried it before was more careful and skied down pretty fine.
The lessons were over and it was time for us to go up the slopes. We needed to hold on to an escalator that goes up and when it reached the top, we had to hop off and ski down the slope. I could feel pangs of fear creeping in. As I reached towards the top, I was reluctant to let go of the escalator, till the attendant firmly took my hands and made me land on the snow with my skis. I was fine as long as I was looking up the slope. As soon as I turned around and faced downwards, even before I could push myself forward, I came tumbling down, closely followed by my skies. I tried twice or thrice but all in vain. My dreams of skiing zigzagging down the slope, whistling a tune (I cannot whistle but that's besides the point) , all went in a puff.
Our annual visit was just annual, as in just that year. Whenever I recite the nursery rhyme of "Jack and Jill went up the hill" to my sweeties, I get a vivid recollection of my own tumble down. Maybe next year, I'll give another try of making my dream turn into reality. In the meanwhile, I will get my first aid box ready.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Home Sweet Home
The object of my affection is my home in Delhi, where I grew up. I have been in the same house till I came to New Jersey 7 years back. That house has heard me crying as a baby, seen me taking my first steps, dancing as a teenager, slogging through nights for exams, arguments with my mom, partying with friends, jumping with ecstasy on various achievements and understanding life and becoming more sober as situations demanded. Its walls are the only ones who have seen my true emotions and seen me growing up into what I am today.
We have a beautiful house with a lawn and a kitchen garden. My dad, an engineer himself, was it's architect and my mom decorated it. It is very much their dream house and was built a year before I was born. As a kid, when my dad used to tell me that he built (gave its architecture) the house, I thought he literally built it - as in put in the brick and mortar. I used to assume he built at night since he had to work during the day. It was later I understood what he meant. We have not changed the house much except for rearranging it in the interior. So, on the exterior, it looks the same as it was built three decades back. My brother who was a toddler when it was being constructed used to come in his tri cycle with my parents to see how it was building up and learnt to write the alphabets in its walls.
For our primary (elementary) education, we went to a school close by. Till my brother was in the same school, we went either by cycle or walk. Later I used to take the school bus. Those days, sometimes my mom had to go to the University for her exam invigilation duty in the afternoon. She used to make some nice tempting snacks that we could have after lunch - jelly, custard, papdi chaat. Me and my brother will make these snacks as our lunch and hardly finish up our main course. I remember in various occasions, my brother's friends would accompany us home from school and would share these nice treats. I would pray silently if they could stop coming in the afternoon so that we can devour all these goodies ourselves.
For few years initially, my grandparents lived with us. I remember the day my grandfather passed away. I was 7 years old and could not understand what was happening. My parents were very sober and quiet that day. I mustered up some courage and told my mom that I had a test next day and I had not studied for it. Instead of being angry, she replied calmly that I would not be going to school next day. Even though the situation demanded otherwise and I was pretty confused, I still remember the pang of joy I felt about bunking the school. I remember the fun we had during summers when my cousins visited us. It was literally a gala time. I think it would require a different post to write down all the stupid and fun games we played.
After few months, my brother went to a different high school while I continued in the same one. In the afternoons, it was either my mom or I who returned first. One day when I returned home, I could not get in. When my mom came a little later, we assumed that my brother must have fallen asleep watching a cricket match and bunked the school. All these seemed very unusual and only later we realized that the house was burgled. I still remember those days vividly when the police came up with a dog to do the investigation. I was a little scared but learnt another aspect of life. We rearranged the house and made a different room as the drawing room for security reasons. My dad insisted that I should be brave and come home after school. He had made the home more secure and added an extra door in front of the main door. It was made in a way that there was a small place between the two doors. He said if I felt scared, I can be in that place and enter the home when my mom comes. They also kept few books, comics, biscuits and water for me. Every day I would pray that my mom should reach home first. The days my prayers were answered I would dance with joy.
Years passed and Delhi witnessed riots and human hatred. We rearranged our house as situation demanded to make it more secure and safe. I grew up fine, brave and understanding that life is actually not a fairy tale. Me and my brother played miniature versions of various games of cricket, tennis, table tennis, soccer and 5 stones(a girlish game that I taught my brother) inside the house with modified rules. The house witnessed each of my birthday celebration when my mom would bake a yummy chocolate cake and my friends, without fail, would greet me.
We had to rearrange our house one more time because both I and my brother demanded a room of ourselves. We had two choices - a room, well ventilated and well lit with sunlight and the other which was not that well ventilated but had an attraction - telephone. The first one is a very good room, warm in winters and cool in summers. The second one is exactly opposite. Being a teenager, I ended up choosing the second one. My brother, more than happy, would tease me that I lived either in Sahara or Siberia while he enjoyed the cool Mediterranean.
With all this rearrangement of the house, one of my parent's friend jokingly remarked that when they come to our home, they ring the door bell and stand as they would not know which door is going to open to welcome them in.
I remember myself slogging for my 10th, 12th boards and college exams. That was when I actually became interested in Vaastu shastra. I could see that if my study table was placed east, I got better marks than when it was placed north. Though I knew in my heart it was purely attributed to the way I studied. This room saw me sharing life with my good friends. I remember innumerable occasions when instead of finishing off our projects, we would end up chatting till sunrise.
The home experienced more celebrations of my brother's graduation, his job, his wedding ceremonies, homecoming of his bride and of course, me graduating, getting a job and getting married. I miss my home the same way as I miss my parents - the only difference is that my parents can come and visit me.
Thank you Thinking Aloud for tagging me on "The Object of my Affection". I really enjoyed doing it.
I pass on the tag to Archana, Madhu, Sumana, HHG and who ever is interested in taking it up.
We have a beautiful house with a lawn and a kitchen garden. My dad, an engineer himself, was it's architect and my mom decorated it. It is very much their dream house and was built a year before I was born. As a kid, when my dad used to tell me that he built (gave its architecture) the house, I thought he literally built it - as in put in the brick and mortar. I used to assume he built at night since he had to work during the day. It was later I understood what he meant. We have not changed the house much except for rearranging it in the interior. So, on the exterior, it looks the same as it was built three decades back. My brother who was a toddler when it was being constructed used to come in his tri cycle with my parents to see how it was building up and learnt to write the alphabets in its walls.
For our primary (elementary) education, we went to a school close by. Till my brother was in the same school, we went either by cycle or walk. Later I used to take the school bus. Those days, sometimes my mom had to go to the University for her exam invigilation duty in the afternoon. She used to make some nice tempting snacks that we could have after lunch - jelly, custard, papdi chaat. Me and my brother will make these snacks as our lunch and hardly finish up our main course. I remember in various occasions, my brother's friends would accompany us home from school and would share these nice treats. I would pray silently if they could stop coming in the afternoon so that we can devour all these goodies ourselves.
For few years initially, my grandparents lived with us. I remember the day my grandfather passed away. I was 7 years old and could not understand what was happening. My parents were very sober and quiet that day. I mustered up some courage and told my mom that I had a test next day and I had not studied for it. Instead of being angry, she replied calmly that I would not be going to school next day. Even though the situation demanded otherwise and I was pretty confused, I still remember the pang of joy I felt about bunking the school. I remember the fun we had during summers when my cousins visited us. It was literally a gala time. I think it would require a different post to write down all the stupid and fun games we played.
After few months, my brother went to a different high school while I continued in the same one. In the afternoons, it was either my mom or I who returned first. One day when I returned home, I could not get in. When my mom came a little later, we assumed that my brother must have fallen asleep watching a cricket match and bunked the school. All these seemed very unusual and only later we realized that the house was burgled. I still remember those days vividly when the police came up with a dog to do the investigation. I was a little scared but learnt another aspect of life. We rearranged the house and made a different room as the drawing room for security reasons. My dad insisted that I should be brave and come home after school. He had made the home more secure and added an extra door in front of the main door. It was made in a way that there was a small place between the two doors. He said if I felt scared, I can be in that place and enter the home when my mom comes. They also kept few books, comics, biscuits and water for me. Every day I would pray that my mom should reach home first. The days my prayers were answered I would dance with joy.
Years passed and Delhi witnessed riots and human hatred. We rearranged our house as situation demanded to make it more secure and safe. I grew up fine, brave and understanding that life is actually not a fairy tale. Me and my brother played miniature versions of various games of cricket, tennis, table tennis, soccer and 5 stones(a girlish game that I taught my brother) inside the house with modified rules. The house witnessed each of my birthday celebration when my mom would bake a yummy chocolate cake and my friends, without fail, would greet me.
We had to rearrange our house one more time because both I and my brother demanded a room of ourselves. We had two choices - a room, well ventilated and well lit with sunlight and the other which was not that well ventilated but had an attraction - telephone. The first one is a very good room, warm in winters and cool in summers. The second one is exactly opposite. Being a teenager, I ended up choosing the second one. My brother, more than happy, would tease me that I lived either in Sahara or Siberia while he enjoyed the cool Mediterranean.
With all this rearrangement of the house, one of my parent's friend jokingly remarked that when they come to our home, they ring the door bell and stand as they would not know which door is going to open to welcome them in.
I remember myself slogging for my 10th, 12th boards and college exams. That was when I actually became interested in Vaastu shastra. I could see that if my study table was placed east, I got better marks than when it was placed north. Though I knew in my heart it was purely attributed to the way I studied. This room saw me sharing life with my good friends. I remember innumerable occasions when instead of finishing off our projects, we would end up chatting till sunrise.
The home experienced more celebrations of my brother's graduation, his job, his wedding ceremonies, homecoming of his bride and of course, me graduating, getting a job and getting married. I miss my home the same way as I miss my parents - the only difference is that my parents can come and visit me.
Thank you Thinking Aloud for tagging me on "The Object of my Affection". I really enjoyed doing it.
I pass on the tag to Archana, Madhu, Sumana, HHG and who ever is interested in taking it up.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Small is beautiful
Nowadays, Small is beautiful. The smaller and sleeker a gadget is, the more attractive it is. And the exercise we give our eyes in reading the small letter font in these gadgets, nutrition contents on a food can and the umpteen numbers of documents with fine prints, why sometimes I feel if we are really reading or trying to make sense of some cryptic scribbles?
One should walk in an IT department of any firm to see kind of fonts people struggle to read. Configuring a screen on tiny fonts not only gives room for more content to be displayed but also gives us some privacy in reading stuff which we do not want colleagues to glance at.
I used to have a colleague few years back, whose screen was configured in bright green background, yellow foreground and the tiniest fonts I have ever seen. I would struggle to read even if I was just a few inches away from the computer screen. I have seen people who, to save paper and not to read a bulkier document, end up printing the whole document in a font which is close to ant's scribble. But having said all these, I think I should be the one who should take the cake for the ability to read a practically blank document.
When I was in college in India, apart from the curriculum books, we had print outs of the notes of maybe the first student who attended the college. The notes were photo copied so many times that the letters were faded into white. But I could still read all the contents, understand the matter and give exams. With all the training I have given to my eyes, I should be the last one to crib about small fonts.
One should walk in an IT department of any firm to see kind of fonts people struggle to read. Configuring a screen on tiny fonts not only gives room for more content to be displayed but also gives us some privacy in reading stuff which we do not want colleagues to glance at.
I used to have a colleague few years back, whose screen was configured in bright green background, yellow foreground and the tiniest fonts I have ever seen. I would struggle to read even if I was just a few inches away from the computer screen. I have seen people who, to save paper and not to read a bulkier document, end up printing the whole document in a font which is close to ant's scribble. But having said all these, I think I should be the one who should take the cake for the ability to read a practically blank document.
When I was in college in India, apart from the curriculum books, we had print outs of the notes of maybe the first student who attended the college. The notes were photo copied so many times that the letters were faded into white. But I could still read all the contents, understand the matter and give exams. With all the training I have given to my eyes, I should be the last one to crib about small fonts.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Blacked out, blanked out
As a kid, when I grew up in India, power cuts were part and parcel of daily life. In spite of occasional irritation, it was taken in stride as there was nothing much that can be done about it. We know the country has less resources and more people. Just make the best of what we have and go ahead with life.
I have studied for my exams in candle lights. That's when understanding of Physics became more intense. I think 1 candle light is 1 watt. At home, ideally we used to have bulbs/tube lights of 75 or 100 watts. But of course I had lit much lesser candles to read. We knew a home is not complete without torches and candles.
As a much younger kid, small power cuts were more fun. I could give excuse of no light for not doing my homework or studying for exam. I remember many incidents when I frightened my cousins in dark. If there was a cool breeze blowing , we would all sit outside. It was a nice family time as there was nothing else to do. My parents would often narrate tit bits from their lives. My mom would invariably always fan us with a newspaper or a thin magazine and never be bothered about the resulting arm ache.
If these power cuts ran into hours, then it became a huge problem. Everyone would start losing patience because of the uneasiness caused by the heat, sweat and mosquito bites.
Coming to US where power cuts were practically unknown, I soon forgot how to deal with these minor causalities. The first power cut that I experienced here was in Aug 2003 when the whole New York and parts of New Jersey was plunged into darkness because of outage in power grid. It was sort of a minor disaster as we realised how much we are dependent on electricity. No microwave, no gas stove which means no cup of tea or fresh food, just thrive on leftovers. Garage door cannot be opened to take out car. Trains not running. Credit card and ATMs cannot work. These are the times when we long for a simple life where we can still sit outside, enjoy the breeze having a cup of tea in hand.
Since that day, I always have torch, candle and some no microwaveable food handy. We had a couple small power outages but none in that magnitude. Today winter storm is taking over northern US. Some parts are badly affected and some people are experiencing power outages. In a chilly weather where one can freeze in couple of minutes of winter exposure, I cannot imagine power outages.
I have studied for my exams in candle lights. That's when understanding of Physics became more intense. I think 1 candle light is 1 watt. At home, ideally we used to have bulbs/tube lights of 75 or 100 watts. But of course I had lit much lesser candles to read. We knew a home is not complete without torches and candles.
As a much younger kid, small power cuts were more fun. I could give excuse of no light for not doing my homework or studying for exam. I remember many incidents when I frightened my cousins in dark. If there was a cool breeze blowing , we would all sit outside. It was a nice family time as there was nothing else to do. My parents would often narrate tit bits from their lives. My mom would invariably always fan us with a newspaper or a thin magazine and never be bothered about the resulting arm ache.
If these power cuts ran into hours, then it became a huge problem. Everyone would start losing patience because of the uneasiness caused by the heat, sweat and mosquito bites.
Coming to US where power cuts were practically unknown, I soon forgot how to deal with these minor causalities. The first power cut that I experienced here was in Aug 2003 when the whole New York and parts of New Jersey was plunged into darkness because of outage in power grid. It was sort of a minor disaster as we realised how much we are dependent on electricity. No microwave, no gas stove which means no cup of tea or fresh food, just thrive on leftovers. Garage door cannot be opened to take out car. Trains not running. Credit card and ATMs cannot work. These are the times when we long for a simple life where we can still sit outside, enjoy the breeze having a cup of tea in hand.
Since that day, I always have torch, candle and some no microwaveable food handy. We had a couple small power outages but none in that magnitude. Today winter storm is taking over northern US. Some parts are badly affected and some people are experiencing power outages. In a chilly weather where one can freeze in couple of minutes of winter exposure, I cannot imagine power outages.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Meditation as the way of life
Since time immemorial, meditation has calmed the human mind and spirit. It has been introduced in various forms in different parts of the world over different times. But idea is the same - to get in touch with oneself. Many of my friends have benefited from Vipassana. I myself have not got a chance to try it out yet.
When I was a teenager, my dad learnt yoga. At that time, my brother was away in hostel and my mom too busy with her daily chores . Since I was the only one who seemed to be pretty idle, I became the recipient of my dad's yoga teachings. The yoga consisted of 3 sections - Pranayam (yoga breathing), exercise and meditation. The whole act would take 1 hour. For me 1 hour is too much of an effort for anything like yoga or exercise. The max I can give for anything like this is 20 -30 minutes. I started learning mainly because of the yoga exercise. But later I realised it does not help you lose weight but tone your body. The meditation helps to tone mind and accept yourself as you are.
The main concern for me was my dad was an early riser and would practise at 4:00 am . He would insist that I get up and learn at the same time. You can imagine my plight. On most days while meditating, I would drift off to sleep. The whole practise lasted for less than a month and then I gave up. Sporadically I would practise yoga for 30 minutes at a time convenient for me but with time, that too weaned off.
Later, my dad tried to pull me into morning walks. Again he would go for a walk at 5:00 -5:30 am in the morning. As a teenager, I had never risen before 6:30 am unless in cases of dire emergencies like exam (But now life has changed and it is a different story).
I remember once he pulled me off my bed and we went off for a walk in the near by park. The sun had not risen yet. So we had to make our way through the moon light and the park lights. In the park, I could see people sitting in groups and practicing exercise or meditation. I admired them for their courage (waking up at 5:00 am to mediate needs courage, at least for me) and their interest in keeping healthy body and mind. At some distance, I could see more profiles sitting in groups together. The only difference was these people looked lot more huge and bulky. I thought the groups were divided depending upon the size of a person -maybe kind of exercise depends on the weight and shape of the person. I moved closer to the group only to realise that it was actually a herd of buffaloes sleeping. That's when I became fully awake with my eyes wide open. I tiptoed back silently, not to disturb them from their sleep and joined back my dad in the side walk.
This is when I understood that whatever I wanted to realise in life, I need to do it fully awake else I can bump into things which might result in not-so-happy situations. Being fully awake in body and mind definitely makes one calmer and peaceful.
When I was a teenager, my dad learnt yoga. At that time, my brother was away in hostel and my mom too busy with her daily chores . Since I was the only one who seemed to be pretty idle, I became the recipient of my dad's yoga teachings. The yoga consisted of 3 sections - Pranayam (yoga breathing), exercise and meditation. The whole act would take 1 hour. For me 1 hour is too much of an effort for anything like yoga or exercise. The max I can give for anything like this is 20 -30 minutes. I started learning mainly because of the yoga exercise. But later I realised it does not help you lose weight but tone your body. The meditation helps to tone mind and accept yourself as you are.
The main concern for me was my dad was an early riser and would practise at 4:00 am . He would insist that I get up and learn at the same time. You can imagine my plight. On most days while meditating, I would drift off to sleep. The whole practise lasted for less than a month and then I gave up. Sporadically I would practise yoga for 30 minutes at a time convenient for me but with time, that too weaned off.
Later, my dad tried to pull me into morning walks. Again he would go for a walk at 5:00 -5:30 am in the morning. As a teenager, I had never risen before 6:30 am unless in cases of dire emergencies like exam (But now life has changed and it is a different story).
I remember once he pulled me off my bed and we went off for a walk in the near by park. The sun had not risen yet. So we had to make our way through the moon light and the park lights. In the park, I could see people sitting in groups and practicing exercise or meditation. I admired them for their courage (waking up at 5:00 am to mediate needs courage, at least for me) and their interest in keeping healthy body and mind. At some distance, I could see more profiles sitting in groups together. The only difference was these people looked lot more huge and bulky. I thought the groups were divided depending upon the size of a person -maybe kind of exercise depends on the weight and shape of the person. I moved closer to the group only to realise that it was actually a herd of buffaloes sleeping. That's when I became fully awake with my eyes wide open. I tiptoed back silently, not to disturb them from their sleep and joined back my dad in the side walk.
This is when I understood that whatever I wanted to realise in life, I need to do it fully awake else I can bump into things which might result in not-so-happy situations. Being fully awake in body and mind definitely makes one calmer and peaceful.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Dear Sir/Madam
I realised yesterday was Sept 5 . This day is celebrated in India as Teacher's day. I remember we used to have a small celebration in school. When we were in high school, we would buys gifts for all our teachers. This was stopped when we went to Class 12. The school came up with a policy of not to buy gifts to teachers but we could show our appreciation in form of cards/flowers. Though all the teachers who have taught me have shaped me into what I am , I am recollecting few of them today:
Ms Chokandi: She was my first teacher when I was in nursery. She was a terror. I used to be so afraid of her that I used to come up with excuses to miss my school. To be very honest, a teacher for atleast Kindergarten should be loving and caring.
Ms Usha: She taught me in Class 1. She was a very sweet person and loved me a lot. I was thrilled when she became our class teacher.
Ms Usha: Incidently I had another teacher by the same name when I changed school during my primary school. She was a nice teacher and used to teach almost all the subjects. I have fond memories of her. In a final exam for Social Studies, I scored full. She was so thrilled to inform me. But I replied that it is not possible as I had left a question(which was for 1 point). She said she would still give me full score because of honesty. This incident had a lasting impact on me.
Ms Chokandi: She was my first teacher when I was in nursery. She was a terror. I used to be so afraid of her that I used to come up with excuses to miss my school. To be very honest, a teacher for atleast Kindergarten should be loving and caring.
Ms Usha: She taught me in Class 1. She was a very sweet person and loved me a lot. I was thrilled when she became our class teacher.
Ms Usha: Incidently I had another teacher by the same name when I changed school during my primary school. She was a nice teacher and used to teach almost all the subjects. I have fond memories of her. In a final exam for Social Studies, I scored full. She was so thrilled to inform me. But I replied that it is not possible as I had left a question(which was for 1 point). She said she would still give me full score because of honesty. This incident had a lasting impact on me.
Mr Radhakrishnan : He taught us for a very short time , couple of months. But he was one of the best Science and Math teacher. He aroused our curiosity for rational thinking. We actually cried when he left our school.
Ms Raman : She was our Hindi teacher - nice and loving person. She used to borrow my favourite ink pen for correcting papers. Somehow she used to love the pen as much as I did. After I finished my primary school, I actually gave her the pen. It was a tough decision for a small girl. But I felt it less painful when she smiled and gave me a warm hug.
Mr Ramaswamy: Our math teacher. I used to be good in math and all my friends used to tease me with him as it was quite apparent he liked me. I used to be annoyed and upset with my friends. Looking back now, it gives me a hearty laugh. Subha, if you read this you are gonna laugh your heart out.
Ms Madhavan : Our Chemistry teacher in middle school. She was tall and very strict . It used to give us pleasure to tease her. She used to get annoyed with almost each one of us. She had a habit of talking indirectly that we could never get what is she scolding us for. I remember when once a volley ball hit her head , she hid that in the library. We had our own fun time retrieving it. Even though she gave us tough times, she made our middle school years eventful.
Ms Padma: Our Physics teacher. She was a nice teacher with a heavy mallu accent. Incidently she was also a close friend of Ms Madhavan. So annoying her also meant facing Ms M's wrath.
Ms Uma : Our history teacher with a great dressing sense. She had a good command on her subject . She made history very interesting and we used to look forward to see the beautiful sarees she would wear to our class.
Ms Pillai: Our Biology teacher. She had an unfortunate accident due to which she lost her tears. Her class used to be entertaining mainly because of her heavy mallu accent and also she lost no time in picking up student's fault. Almost all of us has faced her anger. She was a feminist. Along with biology, she would also tell us about rights of woman. When we learnt that she has three girls - Tara, Meera, Hira, one of the boys commented "Good she did not have a fourth girl, else her name would be Jeera". :)
Ms Mythili: Our Geography Teacher. Along with geography, she used to be involved in all the cultural activities in school. We had a great time singing and dancing with her.
Ms Aggarwal: Our chemistry teacher in high school. She was a good teacher and a good motivator. I still remember the day I went to meet her after our board exams. There was few days left before the engineering entrance exams. She gave me a a nice motivating talk and pepped me up.
Ms Usha: Our math teacher in high school. A very balanced person with a good command of her subject. Apart from math problems, I had few nice converstaions regarding life and career in general.
Mr Natarajan: Our school principal. Even though he never taught us, I always used to admire his personality and his command of English. Incidently, he was also my mom's teacher and she was his pet student. It was a great honor for me when I gave an extempore speech on behalf of students on his farewell day.
Mr VP Manchanda: Revered teacher with a high command of his subject. When I used to go to college, the traffic in Delhi used to be horrendous. Once he had seen us changing buses in a traffic signal instead of a regular bustop. The next day, he gave us a lecture on our promised future and said life is more precious and we should not risk it to atleast Delhi traffic ways.
Mr VK: A teacher with a great sense of humor. He would actually time the practicals in a way that I do not miss my University bus to get back home.
Mr NK : Arc is going to laugh at this. A teacher whom me and Arc dreaded but we have to admit, his are the only subjects that we can still recall without glancing into a book. Also the fact the night outs we made to complete his projects made our friendhip stronger if nothing else.
Mr AJ: A sweet nice teacher on whom both me and Arc had a tiny miny crush. We used to get excited by the the fact that his initials were a combination of our first names (A and J.. crazy, right. I agree)
Mr SKM: He taught us Computer Architecture and few other subjects. One of the professors, whose class we would bunk and whose assignment we would delay without any hesitation.
Mr Bhattacharya: Our Electronics prof with a heavy bong accent. We would bunk his class and go around the univ eating bhel puri et all. Apart from teaching us, he would also tell intersting stories.
Mr Aggarwal: He was actually an adhoc teacher for teaching us Parallel Computing. Once we were deciding date and syllabus for our exam. When he mentioned the syllabus to be covered, Arc commented that it was too much as we also had other projects/ subjects to work on. He looked at her and commented - I never see you in class but you are the only one to object. We had a hearty laugh and till date tease Arc on this.
Mr Haimovich: He took my first class in this land of opportunity. Even though he never interacted with students much, I have respect for his command on one of the most interesting and captivating subject - Wireless Communications.
Mr Jacob: Revered elderly gentleman who taught us Electrical Communications. Once his TA entered our class and handed out a surprise quiz. We all fared badly. I felt so horrible that I went to speak to the Prof regarding my test. He laughed it off saying it was not even counted towards the grade. He just wanted to shock us :)
Mr Boris: Network Topology Professor, who would talk less about networks in communication and more about networks in life. His class used to be very interesting featuring stories he learnt from his life.
Ms Sirin Tekinay: My idol. A very smart, talented and intelligent professor of Wireless Communication. I would love to be in her class any day at any time of my life.
I should not forget the teachers at my home:
My mom: If I can even be half successful as her , I would be more than happy.
My brother: I learnt more math and physics from him than any one else. I attribute all my scietific reasoning to him.
My dad: In school, it was my mom and brother who made sure I score well. But I do remember the words of wisdom he has imparted to me during my various phases life. He would always be an inspiration to me. I remember an advertisement of Boost that used to come when I was a kid " My daddy strongest".
Friday, August 10, 2007
Raindrops
Raindrops falling
My memories calling
I do not want to be beckon
As I am learning to carry-on
Memories always create a world beautiful
As they come with the times well cherished and wonderful
I am trying not to look at past
Then present goes by very fast
When will I learn
That to create a past wonderful
I need to live
my present bountiful.
My memories calling
I do not want to be beckon
As I am learning to carry-on
Memories always create a world beautiful
As they come with the times well cherished and wonderful
I am trying not to look at past
Then present goes by very fast
When will I learn
That to create a past wonderful
I need to live
my present bountiful.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Icecream Cake
At work, I have been having hectic weeks for past couple of months because of the carzy deadlines to meet. As an appreciation of our efforts, the HR is treating us with icecream cake.
This sent be down my memory lane. Since a kid, I was always fond of icecream and cakes. Now, they have come up with this new delicacy where you can enjoy both at the same time. Thinking of childhood, I can still remember and relive some of the moments as if they happened recently. I can even think what I was thinking on one day doing something when I was much much younger. It is as if I am rewinding a video tape and watching again. Only in this case, it is my mind.
One of my dreams was to fly a plane and travel around the world. Also I remember I used to be afraid of dark. I would dream that I would be in Delhi till eve and as soon sun starts setting, I would fly to London,NY. This way I would always be in a place where it is bright and sunny and never would encounter night . Funny, I never thought when I would sleep.
Do you realise that dreams are always about doing some stuff. I actually have never dreamed about resting. Hmm. interesting.
This sent be down my memory lane. Since a kid, I was always fond of icecream and cakes. Now, they have come up with this new delicacy where you can enjoy both at the same time. Thinking of childhood, I can still remember and relive some of the moments as if they happened recently. I can even think what I was thinking on one day doing something when I was much much younger. It is as if I am rewinding a video tape and watching again. Only in this case, it is my mind.
One of my dreams was to fly a plane and travel around the world. Also I remember I used to be afraid of dark. I would dream that I would be in Delhi till eve and as soon sun starts setting, I would fly to London,NY. This way I would always be in a place where it is bright and sunny and never would encounter night . Funny, I never thought when I would sleep.
Do you realise that dreams are always about doing some stuff. I actually have never dreamed about resting. Hmm. interesting.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Lingering to past...
I want to hold on
Even though I know all is gone
I would like to turn back time
To create a past that I would not whine
Things are not wrong now
Just my mind feels I came here how?
Should I stop listening to myself
And make people happy about themselves?
Why do I try hard to make things right
Even though I know I would never win the fight
Even though I know all is gone
I would like to turn back time
To create a past that I would not whine
Things are not wrong now
Just my mind feels I came here how?
Should I stop listening to myself
And make people happy about themselves?
Why do I try hard to make things right
Even though I know I would never win the fight
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