Category Archives: Nostalgia

Goodbye my darling …

Dear Peter Petrosky Bob,

You were the pet  I reluctantly agreed to. I thought getting you as a return gift was way too much responsibility. I looked at how to barter you away at the party itself. But the elf was having nothing of it. He wanted a fish if all his friends got to take home one.

At first I thought that fish were boring – I felt guilty, icky to change your water. But as time went by, you fascinated me.

I loved how your body changed from pure white to black, to the beautiful colour you were. You were my magical fish. My pride – no one else had a fish which changed colour. It amused me how when you saw the tall one you would get all excited knowing he would feed you. If fish ever did a happy dance this was it. 

You tolerated the elf tap tapping and all the excitement the elf showed dancing around you during your water change. 

I often said that you were the only one of my  boys who listened to me. Every time I spoke to you, you came to the top of your bowl to blow me kisses. Every time I sang “hello hello” you came up and told me you love me. 

Even today as you struggled at the bottom of the bowl – you came up to speak to me when you heard my voice – I will be forever touched that you tried so hard. I will miss your puckered lips, your sexy pout, your little black eyes. 

It was miserable to watch you suffer helplessly for the last few days and for that I am glad you are in a better place. 

But now as you lie still at the bottom of your bowl, I keep glancing at the bowl and not seeing you swim around breaks my heart.

Thank you Peter Petrosky Bob for the memories and for teaching my kid and us to love a little more. 

Forever my Petu Singh! Muah!

Advertisements

Cheat day -3/30

So I am totally cheating here – I can’t think of a single thing to blog about – zilch, nothing, nada – you get the drift. So I go into my drafts for inspiration and I find this from 2292 days ago. – more than 6 years ago!!!

The Nut tip toes into the bedroom at 2 am very quietly. The Tall one has an early morning flight and if woken up might just eat up the Nut’s pretty toes!

She draws the curtains, brushes her teeth, switches off the light almost tip toeing – scared that she might never use her toes again…and lies down in bed only to hear

in a very whiny tone – “Babyyy i am not asleep…what to do?”

The Nut patiently – “Oh ho baby…what happened – are u feeling hot”

The Tall One thinks and answers – “yaaaa that’s the problem”

The Nut reluctantly and patiently opens the window – deals with the curtains and hurricane breeze and lies down again

It starts pouring and the water comes into the room.

Babyyyy – can u shut the window – i am feeling cold now and my feet are getting wet (Really? Tall one…i am the one who sleeps near the window hunny…if ur feet are wet…mine have been washed off)

The Tall One trashes around in the bed in search of the perfect pose which will please the sleep god…knocking the nut the first time, pulling her hair the second time, kicking her leg the next time…and the Nut she holds her peace! (Bleddy morning flight pity)

The nut volunteers to sing “Rockabye baby” – the gesture is rudely brushed aside citing the Nut’s inability to sing.

I have no recollection of this night and I am curious as hell as to how this played out. And that’s why ladies and gentlemen you must never leave posts in drafts! Or at least complete it dammit 

And the above is the wisdom I leave you with tonight. 

Y is for yesterday

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I climbed a wall and cried at the top of it because I was too scared to jump off.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I cried because I was to leave a girls school and join a co-ed Coz I didn’t like boys.

Didn’t I just realise yesterday that boys make amazing friends too. 

And has it really been almost 20 years since I passed out of school and since I saw Port Blair !

Wasn’t I Just the nervous island return girl joining a college in Mumbai.

Has it really been 14 years since I first went to B school and met the Tall one and a lot of friends I have made for a lifetime?

Good lord , I started working 12 years ago.

Hello, wasn’t it just yesterday that the Tall one and I lived the dink life – back to back movies, late nights and not a care in the world

And the elf he was definitely born yesterday. Why does he keep claiming to be 4!
AAaah I guess this is being middle aged? I feel so old and yet I feel young. I don’t think I am old enough to be called middle aged. I am a bit apprehensive too. What’s next ? Will I have as many great memories of the rest of my life or will I bemoan yesterday. Will there be no excitement? Will I become a better version of me or will I just stagnate and remain who I am now. 

But like I said in the Q is for post – que Sara Sara – what will be, will be. But I owe it to me to live it up, don’t I?

This is my entry for Y as part of the April atoz challenge 

V is for Visitors

It had been a long day. Her feet hurt and she felt physically ill. I bet I had more footfalls in the house than the neighbourhood cafe

It had started off with their overnight visitors leaving to catch their morning flight. Post that there was a deluge of visitors – Chopra Aunty with her home made laddoos, the bank RM who wanted signatures, nikita’s little friends followed by their mothers, the Aquaguard repair guy, the raddiwala and she had finally ended the day with her husband bringing home an old friend from school who he had bumped into at office.

Why do I never bump into old friends – she wondered as she lay down in bed. Maybe I didn’t make enough friends so the probability of finding one randomly was low. Ritwik was already snoring. As her eyes began to shut, she heard the doorbell ring.

Shit! Not again. As she walked to the door she glanced at the clock -2:30 in the morning. Really? Who can it be at this hour. She peeped through the peephole – Manas at this hour? 

My god! Manas why are you here? What happened? Are you ok?

Manas grinned in his lopsided manner

Slow down with the questions, I just came to say Thank you for being my friend. I am leaving and wanted to say goodbye!

Leaving? For where? Manas what is wrong with you? 

The landline rang and her eyes opened. Ha! It was a dream! 

Can’t believe I am even dreaming about visitors.

She glanced at the clock as she picked up the phone. It was 2:30. The person spoke – her hands went cold, she felt a chill down her spine.

There they were 12 years ago -on a beach in Goa. Manas recklessly going deeper and deeper and she shouting at him to come back. He ignoring her voice irritating her more. When he finally came back she icily told him

If you want to die – at least let me know. So that I stop calling out to you and wasting my breath. 

He grinned in the same lopsided manner

Done! In fact when I die – I will come to you with a whole speech saying thank you for being my friend and then probably saying goodbye.

He had remembered and kept his word after all those years.

P is for Postcards from Port Blair

I am totally going to cheat on this post. For most of you Port Blair is a travel destination, for me and for a lot of us who grew up there – Port Blair is a feeling. Last evening as i sat down to write about this place, the words felt inadequate. How do i put to words the place I was happiest in – an innocent carefree life. How do I describe the place I don’t want to go back to because I fear the memory is more beautiful than the reality. It’s the place i most want to take the Tall One and the Elf to but i dont want to because i feel they wont see it with my biased eyes

I posed this question to my “chaddi buddies” who grew up with me in this idyllic islands and got them to write about living in Port Blair. What amazed me is that each of our memories and thoughts are so similar. Some of us grew up there, some of us (like me) were there for a couple of years, some still called it home (where their parents still are) but we all felt the magic. The magic was in its simplicity, in its beauty and its purity. Bear with the post as 66% of my chaddi buddies recount our wonder years.

This is what Gi my friend of the lemonade fame had to say:

Growing up in Port Blair was fun. Everydat was a picnic -the kind you read in Enid Blyton books. We could see the sea from everywhere. We could go on boat rides whenever we wanted to, have a mid night picnic in the middle of the sea on a full moon night, go swimming and snorkeling. I still miss the smell of the sea and the feel of the sand under my feet, even though its been half a decade since I went back there. I would like to say that apart from all the good things, I personally saw pretty rough times too and Port Blair was my refuge from the world.

A few of us had been living in Port Blair since we were very little and left it when we grew up and a few us came and went with Parents postings. There was a magic bond that was created and I think it was because of the place, the sheer simplicity of it. I can say this for all of us that we would all like to go back there together and experience that again.

And this is what my other friend P had to say:

They called her a junglee – a quiet shy girl, full of dreams and ambitions. She geew from being a little girl, to a a teenager and a young adult on these beautiful.From the shores of the sea to the middle of forests a life which seems like something right out of the jungle book.

Carefree and happy full of memories- Running to catch a seat in the bus to get to the ferry, watching the sun rise and set each day along the horizon,the shimmers of the waves still catch her eyes and remind her of many picnics and outings movies and birthdays with her favorite bunch of the buddies -people she has known for most of her life…

PortBlair will always remain part of her no matter were she is or were she goes…

There is Reshmi from mum in the curry fame – she looks back nostalgically to the place which she still calls home (this was by far the toughest post to edit, i do hope she features the whole post on her blog someday

Living in a country  (US) where I did  not grow up but moved for education and job, I have often been asked ‘Where are you originally from?” Since my answer is not the simplest and the place not the easiest to know or locate, I i usually pull up a map to show. The reaction I get from people when I show them the speckles in a vast ocean on a map, never ceases to amuse me, followed by the ‘What’s the place called again?”

As much as I love telling people about my home, it’s the next question from them (which almost always follows the first) that trumps me. “Why in the world would you leave such a beautiful place to come HERE?”
However pragmatic my answer  sounds about a better life and job and all that jazz, truth is I ask myself that question more often that I have been asked by someone else.
How can you not love a place so beautiful! The only image that conjures in my mind when someone says HOME is that of a small town, views of the sea from every where, hills, clear skies (of course when its not pouring!), fresh air…I can go on. This is the place I spent 18 years of my life. Place that taught me the charm of small communities and simple living; the value of finding small joys in mundane things (getting drenched in the rain while walking back from school in spite of that umbrella in the bag!); where I made friendships that have lasted for so long that I don’t remember how long. Where I met the love of my life. Where my parents still are, where some of the people I value the most still live. The place that shaped my profession. The place that I would go back in a heartbeat (but then life’s reality blah blah blah).
Port Blair is also the place that I also miss the most. My husband thinks it’s only a matter of years that this love will give away to a mere memorable affection, and I fight him for that unwanted opinion. It is true that I may have chose to ignore the fact that the place and times have changed. Things may not be the same. But my Port Blair will always be what I remember from when I left. Port Blair may have moved on without me, but I will remain in denial that it has. And that is the reason why every time the sky becomes over cast, I remember home.Any time I hear the rain lashing out in the night and pounding my windows, I close my eyes and pretend I am home, lying on my bed, and falling asleep to the sound of the rain.
This is what my friend – “Ginny” had to say
It is and always has been about the people. Port Blair to me was my friends, family,and neighbors. These people shaped my experiences of the town, and my childhood.With my family I explored most of what the island had to offer- hikes, boat trips, snorkeling and swimming on some of the most remote islands. My neighbors were the playmates during the scheduled power cuts in the evenings, and companions on various picnics that our mums organized. But, it was my friends who made Port Blair come alive for me.

It was with and through them that I appreciated what it had to offer. Not, just the beauty, but a sense of community and self. Even though we were thousands of miles away from everything, I belonged. We were behind the times, but it didn’t feel like that because my friends (the chaddi buddies you’ve heard about before) were way ahead of the times. With our fabulous sense of fashion and selves, we had a blast in what could often be a sleepy town. Countless hours were spent on the phone (we used them to talk to each other, I know…how ancient!), and then countless more at school and tuitions.

As with most things, our collective time on the island came to an end. We dispersed off to corners of the mainland, and some left the country. It was then that I realized,going back to Port Blair was nice, because it had been home, but it was only fun and real when my friends were around.

So, to me Port Blair is a state of mind, and thanks to my friends and our whatsapp group, I’m there each and everyday soaking in the sunshine, feeling the spray of salt on my skin and swimming with the dolphins.
This is part of the blogathon for April and this is my blog spot for P

N is for Namma Bengaluru

Childhood memories of playing with this great group of kids, running into the church compound, playing endless games of hide and seeks and innumerable board games. The grannies pampering me, lots of visits to relatives and the one hundred thousand times I have walked on commercial street tugging at my mom’s elbow for fountain Pepsi – a novelty in those days.

I didn’t know if the weather was good – I came from the islands of andamans I should have felt it, I know but it didn’t matter. Bengaluru was always home. Where I went every summer holiday!

Then came 2005 – when I moved to Bangalore to work. Crazy work routine, horrible and rude auto drivers (yes it’s up there in the complaints department), demanding bosses, childhood friends moving away left me with not much company other than the mater and the boyfriend (now husband) I had no friends of my own – nothing.

And truth be told, as much as leaving my family behind sucked, I was happy to move to Mumbai – my land of freedom and friends. My land of beautiful rains, my land of college and B school memories. The place my heart would always belong. Even now writing about Mumbai makes me nostalgically think of my favourite marine drive.

But Mumbai with a kid made my heart hurt a little. My kid had no place to run around, we were always in traffic, the schools sucked with their tiny buildings and lack of playgrounds, moving between schools and daycare seemed like a logistical nightmare. I had such a heavy heart while searching for schools there.

And then the Tall one got a job which could bring him here back to Namma Bengaluru. We jumped at the opportunity. I was sure it was a great move for the Elf.

It was not as exciting as moving to an absolutely new city but we were moving to a part of Bengaluru I didn’t know at all. And had no childhood associations with. Mostly I was worried about feeling like I did in 2005.

But Bengaluru has amazed me. Yes, the elf has everything I wanted for him growing up. But what I am amazed at is how much Bangalore has given me. I get to see my grannies more for sure and when the rest of the family is here, I get more time with them. The weather (not counting the last 2 months of absolute torture) makes me feel so energetic and great which is truly an achievement for an intrinsically lazy person like me. The Tall one is less worn out, we have more space, I have a bunch of stay at home Mummy friends who are intelligent and fun. I know I can do so much more with my life here than I ever could in Mumbai.

But mostly I am at peace. Something we don’t value enough.

Thank you Bengaluru for everything.

Maybe this is what coming home is all about!

This is my entry for N for the April AtoZ challenge and yay I finally introduce a category called namma Bengaluru to my list

M is for Mamma Mia

It’s almost blasphemous for me to choose anything else for M. M is for my mommy and I am totally going to cheat on this blog! I wrote this many many moons ago about my mommy and is still as relevant today as it was then. My thoughts or feelings haven’t changed.

https://dropzofjupiter.wordpress.com/2010/05/10/the-lioness-and-her-cub/

Did I still say that this holds true. Yup believe it while it was written 6 years ago, I am still 28.

The only thing that has changed since is that I have someone who now calls me mamma. Sometimes more often that I would like 😉

Having a baby has proved to me once again why I need my mommy around – the way my mom looked after me when my kid was born was well… What only a mother can do.

My only advice to all going to be moms is – however awesome your mil is, go to your mommy when you have a baby.

The one person in the world who was as bothered about me as she was about the baby.

The person who walked with my kid for 2-3 hours as he screamed during his colicky stage.

The person who stayed up with him the night he was born as I slept almost comatose after a long long 17 hour labour.

The person who took over from “‘munde tai” his personal masseuse when he was born and gave him extra special baths and massages – he still gets them when she is here.

The only one who told a starving nursing mother to let the baby cry and finish my food.

The person who gives me confidence that I am raising my kid ok.

And most importantly the person who told me not to feel guilt and to prioritise me too.

The best compliment I get is when she thinks I am a good mom. Because while other kids my age are now looking after their parents – I am still being looked after.

And knowing her (and knowing me) that’s not going to change when I am 60 either