Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
1998 , april 19th.. A 23 yr old guy got married to his love for last 3 yrs, a 22 yr old girl..
When their groupmates were still studying, they were busy settling their life.
Its been 11 yrs now.. So much has changed. Still few of their batchmates are studying..
These two have two offsprings now, and life hasnt been the same.
Time flies, people keep saying that ...
Does it have to change so much ? May be it does ...But what if it was still ???
What if i could go back and present her a hero pen under the clock tower in botany dept ?
What if i could travel again with friends to patambi for the arts festival and then to Neeleswaram and stay in a palatial house with all those well wisher frends , thinking only of her ?
How about a train journey back from Neeleswaram singing songs, and me dying to sit next to her ?
Or even the afternoon walk at Subash chandra bose park in Cochin and then a Nooddles at Volga ?
Call me nostaligic... But I want to live back in time, which doesnt fly ...
A mad flight leaving behind the simple happiness of life , for the luxuries that lay somewhere hidden ?
How much I wish , time didnt fly
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Last year when I had a minor surgery and the doc was advising me of what to eat, he said, Mangoes are best for you … What else I needed, the whole of last year, it was mangoes, all shapes and sizes. Raw ones, semi ripe ones and fully ripe ones, I ate them all day every day.
They say, the taste diminishes as you eat them more. With me and mangoes, it has never happened.
I remember the mango tree back home in Palakkad. It flowers only alternate years. And when it does, its one sight you won’t want to miss. I would get my share of those mangoes where ever I am. My dad somehow ensures that. He would get someone to pluck all of them safely, pack them in boxes filled with hay, ripen them and sends them to us. He has even couriered them to my uncles and aunts in Mumbai and Goa. They taste so yummy. You won’t want to even try them when they are raw. They are good only for pickle. But when they are ripe, they are the tastiest mangoes I have ever eaten.
In Bangalore, I do not have many choices. I wander around super markets to pick good ones. The risk of paying a bombshell and then getting a bad mango is very much real.
Best part of Bangalore is what they call the Mango Lassi. I even forget sugar cane juice, which otherwise is my lifeline when outside on the roads. This season it’s all mango Lassi.
I probably have too much of them, but I'm not a health freak. I am just a mango freak.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
They would visit me every weekend, and spend the two days there. I do not remember this, but has been an occasional discussion on how I loved my grand dad.
As I entered school, my visits became rare, but I would still insist I go to them.
I remember, more than the 1 hour trip, I loved the few hours I would get to play there. Every day was of exploration. The two huge mango trees, the discarded cattle shed, the out house room which was full of surprises. My grand dad, had worked in rest while Malaysia for long, and had brought with him, quite a lot of memorabilia. Going through them every day was also fun.
There were 2 huge mango trees on either side of the front court yard. One on the right side was my favorite. I could climb it and there was a branch where I could sit like in a swing. There was an ixora plant ( thechi poovu) next to this tree, and I could pluck the flowers and drink the nectar sitting up above. The tree would be full of mangoes during our summer holidays. I could sit there and decide which one to eat then, for tomorrow and day after. There was always a fear of losing my reserved mango to a squirrel or the kid walking in the road. So except while sleeping, I always had an eye on them.
I would climb the tree with a paste made of red chili powder, some salt and coconut oil. A knife was a luxury, if I could smuggle one out of grand mom’s reach. Nothing beats plucking a mango right from the tree, dipping in this paste and eating it right there. The seed would be buried with a hope that a sapling would grow there. The success of plucking the one I reserved for the day was much sweeter than the “fiddly successes you get in your complicated matured life “.
When I walk through the super markets today and buy the same mango at ridiculous prices, and then tempting my kid to have one, I miss those mango trees. I feel even sad that my kids don’t have the luxury of stealing a mango from a squirrel and eating it sitting on top of the mango tree.
I have a twin .
We were born on the same day, years apart, miles apart.
Eversince we knew each others existance,we have'nt existed seperately.
A friendship has its limitations, we share something much beyond that.
My twin has the key, which can open me up.
My twim knows, when to interfere, when to distance,when i need my space and when i need support.
We are each others shoulder. Though I play the head most of the times.
Its a unique relation, i cant explain the boundaries of...
All i wish is you mean a world to me :) ,
My twin , you are my best gift .