Some Childhood Memories

Blog XVII of Thirty Days – Thirty Blogs series

It is hard to believe that I am only halfway through my Thirty Days – Thirty Blogs series. One of the goals of this blogging exercise was to be able to relive some of the oldest memories I had and to store them before they get lost  in the daily humdrum of life. So this post is going to be about some of the oldest memories that I have presented in order in which I could recollect them for this article.

• I mentioned this in a previous blog, this is what constitutes the earliest memory of my life, I walk out of kitchen towards my mother (perhaps my mother was calling me for some time) who is having her evening snack. Before I know (perhaps she asked me something also), I get a resounding slap (perhaps that is what awakened my brain from its cognition slumber !). Papa tried to console me and after that I do not remember much.
• As a kid (relatively speaking !), almost all of my classmates had short names (basically an informal name by which one is called in homes because the real name is over-proper and better suited for records). However I was always referred to by my full and proper name and although I never felt as if it made any difference I remember one day after returning from school, mummy called me for the first and last time as ‘Shubhi’. Had I known the phrase then, I would have said “you made my day mummy”.
• In school, we used to play a game where we would create buttons (no Java was required, a circle with an alphabet inside would suffice) with each button representing an action for ex. ‘C’ for Chunti (pinch), ‘K’ for Kick. One day I thought of ‘K’ for Kiss, my she-neighbour clicked it, clearly I had inherited my shy genes early on. Nothing happened afterwards.
• Speaking of kisses, I would kiss my mother every time she cooked one of my favourite dishes (even then I had a flair for non-veg.). Mummy would brush it off although I knew that she used to be very happy inside.
• I don’t remember where I got this concept from but I continue to follow it even till today. Every time I pray, it would be for the “peace of whole mankind”.
• I was a late child (procrastination in genes ?), as a result there are very very few childhood memories of both my siblings being in home. The one that I remember is where I am swinging on my hands between my brother and sister’s beds.
• As with any non-veg. eating family, we would have leftover bones. Instead of chucking them off, Papa would take me to a nearby park where he would let me feed it to a dog that Papa called ‘Moturam’ (fat dog).
• My brother shaped my academic goals early on. During a routine evening walk (which would normally culminate in an Eclairs or a Tintin/Asterix/Tinkle book), he apprised me of IITs and entrance exams.
• I was able to handle stress and was a  go-getter very early on.
  Mummy: “It is raining, no playing outside today.”
  $(after checking rain):  “Rain has eased a little. Should i go now ?”
  Mummy (sarcastically): “Why not ?”
  Clearly having lost the intended sarcasm, I had already fled for playground.
• Speaking of rains, I had memorised a poem to chase away rains. The “Rain rain go to Spain”  phrase I thought was particularly effective in sealing the deal. Poor Spanish people, but I was praying for their peace !
• Sandhya (my she-neighbour): “When we grow up, we would marry each other.”
  $: “Sure, I would talk to Mummy.”
  $ (Later in home): “Mummy, I have decided I would marry Sandhya”
  Mummy: “Alright”
  Needless to say, Mummy never heard from me any further in this regard. Sandhya today is happily married and a proud mother.
• First hit song that I can recall from school functions: “Gali gali mein firta hai” from Tridev.
• While my Papa is a man of few words, he had perhaps deepest influence over me. Looking back now, I was always copying what he did. I got from him a deep love for nature, passion for travelling, fierce sense of independence and ahem ability to be a man of few words.
• Amit, my best friend would come to my home every Holi. Both of us pretended year after year that we did not have any colour on us but would invariably hurl a balloon or smear gulal and gloat in happiness for the few milliseconds before other person replied in kind.

DISCLAIMER: Most if not all of these memories are from my childhood days. Please view them from the eyes of a 3-10 year old’s innocent eye.