I landed at Nedumbassery airport in Great Expectations! I was hoping for my virile rain to be there with stretched arms to embrace me in his strong clasp. All through the drive back home, I was eagerly looking out for his arrival. But then there was no sign that he was going to come and visit me that day. Maybe tomorrow, I consoled myself. Maybe tomorrow, when I go to visit my Vadakkunnathan, he will take me with him. But then.. a woman’s life is always underlined in red ink. Woman proposes, HE disposes.
As I had nothing to do, I was just rummaging through my old things… One of the things about coming back home is that it takes you in close proximity to childhood memories and mementoes. As I was delving deeper and deeper in my cupboard, I dug up several things from my high school and college days. Gripped by a nostalgic kick, I went through them.
For someone who was thought of to be a quiet and lazy bookworm, I realised that I did a lot of writing as I leafed through my old diaries and files of papers. Of course there were craps too. Lots and lots of it. Bad poetry, poor jokes, a thickly veiled autobiographical attempt, copied quotes from books… There was an exam paper where I had attempted just one essay, and got out from the examination hall. There was my composition book, where we were supposed to write small essays on given topics. One incident that still lingers in my mind from high school times was a short essay where the students were asked to write about their favourite hero and their favourite movie. Out of 98, more than 90 (nothing to reduce) were busy with their hero Gandhi and the movie Gandhi. (There was one or two with Nehru (a hero!!!!) and Ashoka. There was not even one Subhash Chandra Bose.. neither was there any Napoleon or Hitler) I still cannot comprehend how everyone of those 13 year olds like Gandhi so much, and how they didn’t have any other favourite movie. I had also seen Gandhi, but hadn’t understood a single dialogue which was too heavily accented for me at that time. How come I was the only different one? Was I weird? Was I dumb? I had written about my Hero, Amitabh Bachchan, who was then seriously injured during a shoot. (I still remember my sentence which I had written in quotes, “Oh God! Please save our Amitabh!”) I had written about a funny movie I had seen the previous day, ‘Poochakkoru Mookkuthy’ which I had enjoyed tremendously. I had penned it pretty well. But the teacher (a nun) rolled out her eyes, and read it aloud in the class, and I was laughed out. But it was never a problem for me. I liked it, I enjoyed it. And I knew it was good.
I looked carefully at each and every item I fished out. I had these things with me from a sense of nostalgia or a sense of connection. There was an old photo album with those almost-forgotten photos. There was a tightly folded paper, which when unfolded blossomed into a beautiful picture sketched by me. There were some saved letters from my dad and friends, which revealed some interesting snippets of life, some Christmas cards, an old broken walkman, some peacock feathers waiting to see the sunlight, chocolate wraps, dried flowers, ear-rings, bangles, comics, an old purse which still has some coins… I used to give some coins to my mom and ask her to exchange it for notes. I knew where she kept the coins. The next day, I used to take the same coins and again exchange it. I could double my money in 24 hours with no effort.
I couldn’t believe some of the stuffs I was allowed to get away with! Even though I have shut the doors of yesterday tightly closed, the windows were partly opened. It was like hunting your past… rummaging through your mind…! I dragged out the entire contents (minus the sorrows and regrets), folded, piled and replaced every item so that the windows should be fastened tightly.
As I had nothing to do, I was just rummaging through my old things… One of the things about coming back home is that it takes you in close proximity to childhood memories and mementoes. As I was delving deeper and deeper in my cupboard, I dug up several things from my high school and college days. Gripped by a nostalgic kick, I went through them.
For someone who was thought of to be a quiet and lazy bookworm, I realised that I did a lot of writing as I leafed through my old diaries and files of papers. Of course there were craps too. Lots and lots of it. Bad poetry, poor jokes, a thickly veiled autobiographical attempt, copied quotes from books… There was an exam paper where I had attempted just one essay, and got out from the examination hall. There was my composition book, where we were supposed to write small essays on given topics. One incident that still lingers in my mind from high school times was a short essay where the students were asked to write about their favourite hero and their favourite movie. Out of 98, more than 90 (nothing to reduce) were busy with their hero Gandhi and the movie Gandhi. (There was one or two with Nehru (a hero!!!!) and Ashoka. There was not even one Subhash Chandra Bose.. neither was there any Napoleon or Hitler) I still cannot comprehend how everyone of those 13 year olds like Gandhi so much, and how they didn’t have any other favourite movie. I had also seen Gandhi, but hadn’t understood a single dialogue which was too heavily accented for me at that time. How come I was the only different one? Was I weird? Was I dumb? I had written about my Hero, Amitabh Bachchan, who was then seriously injured during a shoot. (I still remember my sentence which I had written in quotes, “Oh God! Please save our Amitabh!”) I had written about a funny movie I had seen the previous day, ‘Poochakkoru Mookkuthy’ which I had enjoyed tremendously. I had penned it pretty well. But the teacher (a nun) rolled out her eyes, and read it aloud in the class, and I was laughed out. But it was never a problem for me. I liked it, I enjoyed it. And I knew it was good.
I looked carefully at each and every item I fished out. I had these things with me from a sense of nostalgia or a sense of connection. There was an old photo album with those almost-forgotten photos. There was a tightly folded paper, which when unfolded blossomed into a beautiful picture sketched by me. There were some saved letters from my dad and friends, which revealed some interesting snippets of life, some Christmas cards, an old broken walkman, some peacock feathers waiting to see the sunlight, chocolate wraps, dried flowers, ear-rings, bangles, comics, an old purse which still has some coins… I used to give some coins to my mom and ask her to exchange it for notes. I knew where she kept the coins. The next day, I used to take the same coins and again exchange it. I could double my money in 24 hours with no effort.
I couldn’t believe some of the stuffs I was allowed to get away with! Even though I have shut the doors of yesterday tightly closed, the windows were partly opened. It was like hunting your past… rummaging through your mind…! I dragged out the entire contents (minus the sorrows and regrets), folded, piled and replaced every item so that the windows should be fastened tightly.
4 comments:
The rain was a 'he' with its mighty highhandedness and chauvinism. There is a hidden arrow towards someone standing across the river, after the rain!! You cannot close the windows tightly. There are breathings down your neck and you have to give way to the memories trespass, lest you fall off from dyspnoea.
Let your words rain for ever.....
you have well brought out the personal emotions everyone has towards very sentimental individual memorablia collected over the years n safely tucked away from prying eyes as precious possessions to inspected in moments of nostalgia...but i don't see any mention of adventures with CUPID...r u hiding something???
Good one!
Oh my God I can't believe the similarity.. Is it that we both are really alike or that all girls are alike :)
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