Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, without the worries of the world and with the stubbornness that would move mountains, I had a favorite past time... It was something I always looked forward to... I would wait eagerly to go to Dreamland Society in Chembur, where my grandparents lived...
I had a fun childhood; probably one of the best... I am the eldest grandchild maternally, and thus, was pampered a lot... I have always been the apple of my grandparents' eyes... While I was growing up, I used to go live at their place quite often... All through the day, my uncles would play games with me and my brother... Immi Mama would have all sorts of "weird" collections... From lighters (from different countries) to Naan-chaakus... He showed us how to fire a rifle, taught my bro Karate, and so on... Acchu Mama on the other hand, taught me how to make plants out of saplings and I did that a lot... I used to pretend to help get coconuts from the tree in their backyard (pretend because someone else atually did it while I tried my best to move the tree with the amazing strength in my 7 year old hands)... When my friends would come home, we would use the storeroom as our "house" and cook make-believe food on make-believe stoves...
And then came story time... When my grand-dad came home, he would seat me on his lap and tell me his shikaar ke kisse (hunting stories)... He used to hunt deer and wild rabbits with his father during his growing years... He grew up in the village and had all sorts of adventure stories that amused and excited me... The night his father mistakenly shot a tiger that attacked their nursery, the day they blinded a wild rabbit that suddenly jumped before their jeep... The stories never ended...
Then came evening time when my grand-mom would cook chapatis (Indian bread) for the family and I would take part of the dough and make mini-chapatis, that she would then help me cook on the stove... Come night-time, I would look forward to the bed-time stories that my grand-mom would save up for me... Each story had a moral that made me think a lot... Each story had an exciting adventure... Most of them were cut-outs from her Gujarati newspaper... She would ignore her tiredness and go on till I would drift off into my world of dreams...
And so my adventurous day would end...
I miss it all...
Watan mere...
13 years ago
2 comments:
i sometimes wonder.. if by being away from our home, our country, we are in fact cutting ourselves off from these very things that form a part of our character, our heritage, our culture. and i end my thoughts with only one certainty. i have to go back.
Actually, I never did believe that physical distance can cut off any relation... When feelings are strong, nothing materialistic can affect anything... My post meant to remember those childhood memories that so have defined the person I am...
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