Reading Sam’s post made me nostalgic as well.
A picture is worth a thousand words, i guess…so, here goes!
Snapshots from heaven!
Sunday afternoon ,curled up with a nice book in my room with soft music playing in the background..Ah! my recipie for a perfect afternoon. It becomes even better when the book brings back memories of a time which seems distant, yet the pictures aren’t foggy. They seem as clear as they were then, bathed in the light of the bright afternoon sun.
I remember a time, not too long ago, when I used to run down to the ground behind my house, armed with my spool of ‘manja’ – kite flying thread and assortment of kites that I had persuaded my mother to buy on my trip with her to the market. Small chocolates, Flutes, Kites, Colourful spinning wheels, Tops and peanuts from the roadside vendor formed my usual list of things to eke out for accompanying her to the vegetable market …but that is another story…
The ‘ground’ behind my house was a cracked bed of a pond that had long become dry. My grandmother, during her story telling sessions sometimes used to tell me of a time when children used to swim in the pond along with buffaloes and how Ganpati idols used to be immersed in it during the festival. The only proof that it was indeed a pond long back were the odd smooth pebbles you could find if you looked long enough and even those weren’t totally convincing. Anyways, I used to go there not to look at the ground but up at the blue sky, and spend time with a strip of paper dancing in the gentle wind.
The fact that I couldn’t fly a kite to save my life wasn’t a detterent at all. After all, I would never learn if I didn’t try, I would defiantly declare before leaaving the house to anyone who cared to listen. All my friends had given up on teaching me a long time ago and I was the declared ‘kaccha Limbu’ of the colony when it came to flying kites. My father used to accompany me sometimes, and it didnt help that he was an expert at kite flying. Even today I can see the sadness in his eyes when he used to see his only son struggling to lift a kite in the air when he himself could make the kite dance to his tune effortlessly. But nothing deterred me and I used to make the ritual purchases of kites and manja religiously on every ‘Makar Sankranti’ – to celebrate the onset of ‘Uttarayan’ in January.
Even today, nothing fills my heart with more optimism and wonder than the sight of a colourful kite soaring high in the sky and remaining ‘Sthir’ tugging at your hand, gently prodding you to let it go higher and higher…
“The Kitemaker” by Ruskin Bond certainly brought back memories. I have copied few lines from the story below for the record.
Kite-flying was then the sport of kings,and the old man remembered how the Nawab himself would come down to the riverside with his retinue to participate in this noble pastime. There was time, then, to spend an idle hour with a gay, dancing strip of paper. Now everyone hurried, in aheat of hope, and delicate things like kites and daydreams were trampled underfoot.
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Nowadays I often awake to my smartphone beeping itself hoarse. The tiny envelope on its bright lcd display tells me that I’ve got mail. sheepishly, but expertly, my fingers navigate the intelligent GUI and with a few clicks my day starts…
After a quick shower and even quicker breakfast, I rush out with my usual parapheneila - laptop, emailing device, ipod,wallet etc to the station to take the 08:09 fast local to churchgate. On my way to the station, I am on the lookout for an interesting topic to share with friends on twitter, and Oh No! I almost forgot to update on status on facebook and orkut…A couple of taps, clicks and flicks and life is on track once again – So what if I just forgot to wish my mom good morning? as I was too busy updating my status message to from ‘zzzzz..’ to “just woken up twitterati!”?
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Yesterday was Valentine’s day. Although the last few years have seen the celebrations marred by protest campaigns engineered by moral policing agencies or simply outfits/organizations out to get their 15 mins of fame, this year saw the junta throwing it back at them, most notably in the form of pink chaddis!
In a show of non-violent protest that would have made the Mahatma proud, a consortium of ‘pub-going, loose and forward women’ couriered lots and lots of pink chaddis with slogans written over them to an outfit that was caught on camera shamelessy hitting unarmed women and then going to town saying that they had done no wrong and will continue to shove their ideology of ‘Indian culture’ down peoples throaths.
Score one more for the power of the internet.
By and large, the celebrations in Mumbai were peaceful. Sober, yes, but that is how the city has been for somtime now.
A marketing gimmick , celebration of love…call it what you like, but Valentine’s day certainly makes for interesting events; and what the heck, if it is giving you a chance to indulge in some celebrations, why not? (hic)
Cheers!
P.S. Alec Smart asked “what is the ram sena’s favorite exam question?”
Ans: Answer in brief…
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There is in every human countenance either a history or a prophecy which must sadden, or at least soften every reflecting observer
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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