Early Morning Breakfasts

One of the earliest memories of breakfast I have is that of me eating in DD's house during the summers. Every morning, we were greeted by an old uncle of the neighbourhood, who brought us fresh baked bread. This activity was not on special days nor on days that we spent vacationing there. It was an everyday affair, which we all appreciated and loved. The bread he brought us was the first thing we ate, along with a variety of fruits that were displayed on the fine bowl china plates in super white along with yummy Amul butter. Sometimes, breakfast also included a sweet or two that got left behind from the previous night. And somehow it tasted better! The taste of that bread is something I'll probably never get back, it will just linger. 

Breakfasts were always the most important meal of our initial lives. Maybe because of the way we were brought up from the very beginning, with a proper discipline of sort, we never missed our breakfast. Skipping breakfast almost meant like a crime. B was the one who went to 'a very strict school' and M was from the 'super strict family' where breakfast was given most importance.  But who would skip it, for M, made the worlds most tastiest breakfasts on earth. I would claim, they are her best foods made. She can churn up a huge variety of breakfast things at the drop of a hat! B till date ensures that he eats a hearty breakfast, although it has reduced over the years, and M never missed her 'cuppa tea' with it. They are breakfast people, completely, and thats whats been passed on to us, in its full form!

So, it wasn't strange when I left home and didnt find it difficult to eat breakfast without being told to do so in my hostel days. If I remember correctly, I was usually the one who inaugurated the meal at PGGH, almost everyday. Once that stint came to an end, and I started work, breakfast still was a part of my daily routine, a low key affair, with leftovers and burnt bread with eggs but it never was meant to be the in-a-rush sort of thing. It had to be eaten with concentration at the table, sometimes accompanied with the newspaper. But those breakfasts are breakfasts I'll never like to remember again.

The breakfasts I'd like to remember is what brings me to where breakfast stands today. It would be incorrect to say my day does not start without the 'poha' I eat every morning at this particular place outside my campus, referred to as 'The Dhaba'. The warmth of the meal lies in the fact that it served with so much love, everyday. The scrumptious meal consists of hot beautifully made Poha (a steamed dish made with flattened rice) , garnished with chopped tomatoes, onions and coriander, topped with a gentle helping of namkeen (savory). This poha plate is accompanied with a hot glass of sweet, milky tea good wishes for the day! The meal is tasty, healthy and extremely happy, to say the least. Its probably the best part of my day and in some sort of way, it addictive. I have introduced the Poha Palace (someone I know, refers to it like that) to my fellow classmates, batchmates, my bestie and D! Everyone has totally loved it. Sometimes I meet people, classmates or just random strangers and we share our meals with smiles (and talks) and hopes for a good day!

There is not one day that goes without me eating my Early Morning Breakfast at the Poha Palace, and if I miss it, my entire day goes bad. From the hottest summer days, to the foggiest day in winter, I loyally land up every morning on my cycle, waiting to enjoy my daily happiness doze. On sundays, I take the liberty of being a little late with the breakfast. There have been days where I take turned up so early that I have actually watched the kaka make the entire poha, and somedays I have been unlucky to find it to be over. There have been staff changes, infrastructure changes and even shut days of the Poha Palace! But nothing really changes the atmosphere of the place. The kaka is a sweet man, always serving with a smile, he wishes me every morning and allows me to pay up a day or two later, in times of a crisis. The beauty of the meal at Poha Palace lies in its simplicity and I feel extremely lucky to be a part of it! This poha every morning has changed my life so much so, that now M fears even the mere attempt to make, fearing that it will be compared. So whenever I go home, Im served with the other delicacies of the household!

The only thing I fear everyday is the what-if-I-miss-poha tomorrow, but its rather rare that, that happens. Touchwood!

The Ox and Me

There are a lot of times when you do things in sheer stupidity. With another motive, another idea in the head and some other purpose at that point. Just like how you do things when you are initially in love or when you like someone. But this is a different story, not of me being in love, cheekily I claim.

     

Its a story of my desperate attempts of meeting an Ox. Every morning, on my way to 'serving-my-purpose-in-life', I cross an Ox fruit cart. Its basically a beautiful Ox, who leads this fruit cart. This Ox is strong, healthy and very pleasing to look at. The fruits are well laid out on this cart, categorised by their size and colour. The Ox has the most beautiful pair of horns ever. They are hand painted in bright hues and a folk style of art. The ox's eyes are the most gentle ever, not talking of sadness but of experiences.  

My ever growing love for animals especially cows and dogs makes me do stupid things at times. I always want to pet them and touch their noses! So this Sunday morning, when I crossed him again, I made up my mind that I have to, have to meet him. So on my way back from my Early Morning Breakfast (today late though, I take this liberty on sundays) I stopped at the Ox Cart. I tried to stand right next to him, but the Ox owner-cum-fruit vendor made sure I was more interested in his fruits and nothing else. The Ox-owner-cum-fruit vendor didnt look like the kind who tortured Mr Ox or ill-treated him. The healthy body, posture and self righteous attitude made me believe that he was a good man and hence I continued my stop at the Ox fruit cart corner.  So while I acted and actively showed interest in the fruits, from the corner of my eye, I was appreciating and taking in all the beauty of Mr Ox. I bargained and made some claims of him not giving me the best fruit, to waste some time and admire Mr Ox. Sadly he wasn't even close to being interested in anything else (humans especially). What a pity! 

I paid up for my purchases, extremely tempted to ask about Mr Ox's name, but stopped myself from doing so. Beaming with a naughty smile, I told myself that not knowing his name would only enable me to come again and meet him!

Ah, now this does sound like a love story!

We live in a society and culture that on one side has pride in well lit and bright supermarkets with fair price claims, and on the other hand there are these animal fruits and vegetable carts, that may sound archaic and folky, but speak volumes of how we as Indians, try and put everything to its best use, in a sustainable and healthy form. 

The End

"Its over", she said.
"Why? " he asked.
"Its about the space", she answered. 
"Let me try", he said.
"I'm sorry", she said.


That did it. He plugged his iPod earplugs and listened to Floyd, she sat on the corner of the bench, unsure of her next move. And as they looked at each other, they both had tears in their eyes and a rush of memories swirling in front of them. He turned away.


She walked out on him.


"Seven", he muttered.

Baba's Baby

The school principal  asked M, 'So I believe your husband is coming'. M, had no clue how the news had spread. She hadn't told anyone. Not really. Someone else had.

That was me. Everytime B came on leave, I made sure that the entire world (those who made my world) knew about it. From school teachers, to neighbours, shopkeepers, the maid's husbands, all my toys, dogs in the street and children in the park. Everyone had to know. After all B was coming. My joy had no bounds.

D and I waited longingly for whenever B came on leave. It was the event of the year. And when that happened, it was like there was a festival happening. Rooms were cleaned, things were arranged to 'show' him and D and I made our own lists of things we had to do when B came and what all we needed to buy, what to get fixed, what shoes and clothes to buy. We always took up most of his time and he also made it a point to spend it with us to the maximum.

There was nothing fancy about it back then, no exotic holiday, no frills, nothing. Just plain family time which we cherished the most. After all, we saw him only when he managed to get leave, from protecting the nation and fighting for it. And obviously it wasn't that easy, for any of us.

So everytime he came, it was 'our day(s)' and his holiday revolved only around us, our wants, needs, fights and the resolving them. On school days, there was a fuss made every now and then, to get permission to bunk, or if that didnt work, to atleast get the pleasure of him dropping us to school or maybe a pick up in the car.

I remember once, as a young child, when I fell very badly ill and was admitted in the hospital. Evidently I was super upset because I hated being stuck to that dirty, sad hospital bed. One day, when M came in, she told me B was coming. At first I didnt believe her, but then, that night, I was shocked to see him right next to me, giving me a tight hug and kiss. I'm not sure what followed, a crying session or a laughing one, but I got better much before it was expected.

B always made things special. He still does. We are the apple(s) of his eyes and can never get anything done without telling him or asking him. Even now, after leaving home, the joy in meeting seeing B can never be met with anything else.

So, today may be Father's Day, officially, but for me, its everyday. Thank you B. For being there and for being you. There is something strange about this relationship, that can never be expressed.

An Ode to the New Family

The S's are probably the sweetest landlords anyone could have. The family is welcoming, calm and very very affectionate. I'm probably the luckiest person to have such adjusting and wonderful landlords. They treat me like their own and care genuinely. I call them my New Found Family.

The oldest member, DJ is frail, yet strong with so much determination in his face, which talks of experiences that have been lessons. He's a man of few words, but whenever he speaks my heart melts and I cant help but smile. He reminds me a lot of my own, DU and I always miss him when I speak to DJ. 

The older lady of the house, DJ (2), is the voice of the house. She can talk and talk and talk for hours together and yet not let you feel bored. She's the one who handles everything, gently yet with great efficiency. If one needs to learn how to run the household, meeting her is a must. Cute, sweet and oh-so-huggable! 

The man of the house, U, could win an award for being the best landlord ever. He's soft spoken, gentle,  the-no-nonsense kind and a wonderful person. He's always ready to help me with anything I need fixed, any complaints, and any issues!

Finally, A, my favourite person in the house is whom I can run to anytime, ask for anything and talk about everything. She's a patient listener, a doting mother, a caring wife and the best daughter-in-law ever. The relationship of A and DJ (2) is something I have never seen before.  Even to me, she's kind and very very accomodating. 

Every Sunday afternoon, I get a call from them, asking me (rather ordering me) to come down for lunch. Most sunday afternoons are spent with them, chatting over things about anything and everything. Coupled with a home cooked meal, I have the best sunday when I'm with them.

The kids of the family, add life and music to it. Well behaved, soft and quiet, J with D, who is naughty and smart, they make the perfect sibling pair. I love to talk to them and try my best to spend sometime every week with them. 

The family is wonderful and I consider myself to be extremely lucky to have been with them. They have been the reason I have survived and made it an experience worth living. To another year of warmth and wonderful landlords (and awesome sundays)!

Handwritten Tales

There is something about handwritten things, its just so personal. Whether its a handwritten letter, a note, a random 'to-do' list or just a doodle, its always always nice to be writing things with a paper and a pen.

I have vivid memories of trying my best to have a nice handwriting and constantly practicing writing for it as well. Those four lined notebooks brought me most joy, apart from marks for 'neat handwriting'. For me, a lot of my learning happened and still happens through the process of writing. I feel more connected to my topic/content of study. I think I got marks for 'neatness' in most of my school final exams!
I love to write random things, and just read them on and on. There is so more of a connect.I wish I could write write better, in a literature sense, but thats where I havent got very lucky.

For years I wrote handwritten letters to friends and special ones. Even B wrote back so many times. And I loved reading those short and sweet letters. Q always made it a point to write back to me, sometimes really long letters which were a treat to read. And those are just what made things even more special. They always do. Whats even better, is when you dig out a boxful of those letters and there is a rush of memories going through your head! I moved on to writing letters on cards and then on postcards. But now that also seems to have vanished. Such a pity. I wish I brought about this practice again into my life, maybe its is a good time to start.

Genetically, I think have been lucky. M has the most wonderful handwriting ever. B's on the other hand, is illegible at most times. D also, got lucky! Maybe its a feminine thing, but then again Q has an -oh-so-awesome handwriting that makes you fall in love with it, and so does HeWhoMustNotBeNamed. I think I like people more if I know they have a nicer handwriting!

I wish this post could have been handwritten, but then again, that wouldn't have been here! I have my letterpaper ready for the next letter though!

Happy Birthday, Bestie

There's one thing I do well, and that is remember birthdays, especially of the people I love and who are close to me or those who leave me with a lingering thought in my life.

So its the 18th of March and it happens to be my bestie, Idol's birthday. We have been friends for the past couple of years, five to be precise and Idol happens to be my funniest and coolest friend. We have laughed and giggled like kids in our classes, at movies, during phone conversations and our endless chats. Its strange how we understand each other and how much we say things, unsaid.

There is/was a world of difference between us, but we still hit it off well, and touchwood it been such a nice friendship. When we met first, we didnt know that we'll end up being so close. Idol's been a HUGE support in her funny and awesome ways and I have always whined and got my way through.

Whenever I think of Idol's birthday, I smile, because every birthday we have had fun and I have tried to surprise her. Movies, cakes and not-very-well planend events! This time, my gift didnt reach on time, but its understood! Wait for it and I hope you like it!

So on this day, I wish Idol all the happiness in the world, may all your dreams come true and you keep smiling. I will always wish the best for you. Thank you so much for being there and being so awesome! Love ya always!

PS: Bestie is a new term I discovered and it suits Idol the best!

The value of time

One of the few things Im good at, is being punctual and being late for something just make me uneasy and its very unusual that I do that.

I fail to understand how one can abuse time so much, without it even being theirs! If its your time, do whatever you like, but if someone is dependent on you or its a relative time, dont abuse it so much that it completely disappoints! I have seen so many cases when people have taken time for granted and completely lost out.

As a generation (this maybe too strong to say) but we need to realise the importance of time. I understand that the quality of work should not be compromised, but there are somethings taht just need to be done.

Im maybe talking too much, but sometimes somethings just feel wrong and at this time, this totally does. 

Mistakes

I remember when I joined my first job, I cheekily asked my boss if there was room for error. He very sweetly answered that ofcourse there was, but not always and all the time and that I took to my advantage. I made so many mistakes throughout my stint at the firm and not once did he scold me. He simply told me in the best manner that he could, that I should be more careful the next time.  I learnt so much through this one dialogue that he said.

Less than a year later, I have begun to realise the importance of what he was trying to tell me. He bore the brunt of all my mistakes but not once did he make it sound like that. Today,  when I made a very huge professional mistake in my academics and I cant help it but think about him. Its all about mistakes, realisations and learning from them.

I will never forget him and what he taught me. I also hope to be able to overcome these mistakes.
Thanks AJ. For everything.

Q in the Mirror

This is my debut attempt at story writing, for an assignment. I really enjoyed this exercise and I hope to take it forward.

His toes were peeping out of the blanket. Irritated, he tried to cover them. Q was tall. As tall as tall can be. When he walked around, people gasped, they looked at him in wonder and almost always asked him how tall he was. They asked him 'How The Weather Was Up There', and how he managed to be so tall! He was made fun of almost always, but being the gentle person he was, Q never seemed to mind. He smiled back at people, answering them and being part of the joke. 

There was this one time, when Q was standing at a grocery store and there was a little kid who looked up at him, and opened his mouth in amazement and while he kept looking up, he kept bending back and suddenly he lost balance and fell. Q picked up the kid from the ground and smiled at himself. 

Q was harmless and the most gentle that they could make. But my-o-my, he was tall! This happened over one summer, when Q got transformed from a short and cute, pudgy little boy to a slim, tall and strong 15 year old. He sometimes himself wondered how this had happened but was mighty pleased with this change. 

The height that Q gained, made life rather difficult for him at times. It was not easy for him to sit comfortably in school, because his long legs never had enough space. The bus roof was never high, the car seats were never spacious enough and he was sure he had banged his head atleast 20 times because the door frame was small. He couldn't sleep in peace in the train because his legs jutted out and it was almost impossible for him to find shoes for himself. He found it rather difficult to hug and kiss his mother and sister too! But they always went on their toes and Q bent down for the same! Q always get caught because he could never hide himself. If someone had to look for his class, they just needed to spot him in the crowd. This irritated him the most. It was like he could have no fun ever!

One day, in the morning, Q's alarm clock rang, he made a face at it, asked it to go back to sleep and then realized that he was talking to it!. Lazily, he dragged himself out of the bed and went to the bathroom. He looked into the mirror but he couldn't see his face. It was rather strange; he rubbed his eyes and tried again. He just couldn't see his face. He panicked for a bit and decided to close his eyes for sometime and then looked at the mirror again. No matter how hard he tried he wasn’t able to see his face. He moved a bit, tried juggling with his body but that also didn’t work. He puffed his face up and frowned (or that’s what he thought he did).He sulked for a bit, walked around the bathroom and tried again. It struck him that it could be a fault with the mirror. So he ran across the hallway into his mother’s dressing room and checked himself out. There too, he found that he couldn’t fit into the mirror. Huffing and puffing and angry at himself, he walked out of the room.

It seemed to him that all the mirrors around him had shrunk. This irritated him a lot but Q decided to face the situation boldly. He thought he’d go and hunt for the perfect mirror. Taking Ruff along, his best friend and pet dog, he went on a search for an ideal mirror. On the way to the market, he met his favorite person, the cycle mechanic. The cycle mechanic always encouraged him to be himself and face the world with a smile. He never made jokes about his height or laughed at him

Q walked longer and longer, but all in vain. Ruff also couldn’t figure out why his friend was so upset. Suddenly while walking, Q stepped on a piece of glass and it broke. He looked and frowned, ashamed at himself and his act. But as bent down to pick up the glass pieces, he saw his reflection and he smiled. He had finally figured it out! The solution to his problem was very simple.  He turned back and ran to the nearest shop and bought himself a pocket mirror. Beaming with joy and happiness, Q returned home, opened his secret weapon, peeped into it and voila! He could see his face!

Q had never been happier and chuckled in glee, on this new discovery. The pocket mirror became his new loyal and faithful companion for a long time to come. 

Support and Supporting

As kids, when we fell down, hurt ourselves and cried out loud, M always picked us up, hugged and  comforted us and then wiped our tears. If however, we created a scene and cried more, she told us to keep quiet and not act and be strong. This was probably what gave us, especially me, so much strength and the ability to be strong and hold myself together, no matter what the situation.

Whenever any of us were going through a bad phase in life, me especially, M always gave me the strength to believe in me and to get through the entire thing. M encouraged us to let it go out of the system, even if we had to weep and forget it, we did do that. Even if we had nothing much to do and were bored and stuck, M supported the idleness and appreciated it. Until the middle of last year, I always thought that life had nothing to new to offer and nothing would go my way, till it changed and life changed drastically, for all of us. And I couldn't be happier.

M has always been a support to all of us and in some way or the other, and we (more like me) have never acknowledged or thanked M for this. I mean it never struck me. Such a pity. Today I realised, when we spoke and that she needed a ear to hear her out and someone to support her, I was missing. I could feel guilt ripping me apart as it struck me that  how selfish I have been, never ever thinking about M and what it must be for her. I do hope that M gets through this idle and not-so-productive stage and beams with happiness.

Its a shame that I have been so selfish but I have once again realised that M has always been my greatest support and even though its a little late, I do hope Im always there for M, as a support, if nothing else.

Strawberries and Hammers

Strawberries are exotic foods and hammers are men's tools. Thats what I always believed in and always thought I would believe in, until this Sunday.

Its strange how we have certain unsaid opinions about things and its true that we hold them differently for different situations. Strawberries were never a part of fruits we ate on a regular day or something that I even remember eating very often. It was a once in a blue moon thing that we had it with full style at a relatives place, with whipped cream and all that jazz. It felt good whenever we had the opportunity to enjoy this luxury.

Hammers on the other hand, were things we 'girls' never used or rather had to use. There was always a male member to carry out the work or to help out in someway or the other. I never felt the need for it, till recently I had to use a lock to fix a nail into a wall. I felt helpless at the point, without a hammer and having to use the lock, which ended up in hurting myself and see the nail fall off in two seconds after my attempt to fix it.

While I was at my fruit stall to buy my vitamins for the day, I saw the strawberries lying there and decided to buy them, since there was nothing else that I wanted and they seemed to be a pretty reasonable. I left them on top of my fridge when I got back but I just couldnt eat them. This happened for the next two days until I realised, I'd rather eat them now than throw them away feeling worse.

This strange feeling of not wanting to eat them came out of nowhere and I was surprised myself to be even thinking of it that way. I think I felt guilty for buying the 'exotic' fruit and then disliking it.  It was one more of the helpless feelings.

I did get around to eating them and not liking the taste lingering in my mouth, a day after which I decided to buy a hammer for myself , for future use. It may sound random, but I did end up connecting the two events, the link being the fact that I decided to want something I never thought I'd ever want and to do something I thought I'd ever do.

Its something I learnt, about myself. 

Planting Happiness

Im excited! My plants are growing! And Im enjoying every bit of gardening and taking care of them! I wanted to start with just tulsi (basil), but decided to grow more! One day I happened to just put some dried pudina (mint) in a pot and it started to grow! I want to have a huge garden someday and take care of a lot of plants!

M always has loved plants, our house was always full of them. They got more preference over us and our dogs too! D and I tried our best to not do the dirty work, but we did enjoy watering them. M at times shared memories of her talking to plants, teaching them and scolding them. She always spoke to them, and told us that they grew better.  M's M , I believe was a huge fan of plants too. Even her house was full of them, and a lot of people I have met over the years, told me how beautiful her house looked because of them. Pity, I never got to see them.

Whenever we moved, M used to be sad, because she had to either leave them behind or she knew that they would wither or die while the transfer happened. B always consoled her and got her new plants when we moved into a new place. I have vivid memories of putting newspaper in the backseat of the car to keep the plants on, and M driving away, beaming with smiles, because of the plants. M always appreciated people's plants more than people's homes! Even at our home, we had a few specified corners for plants and the plants had nice baskets and brightened up the room (and M's face!)

D took to this in her house, and recently had a really nice garden at one of her apartments. Incidentally D's MIL has what you call green fingers. She's also a huge plant lover and that can be seen in the way she handles them. I love her garden-y house!

My plant list comprises of a croton, tulsi , pudina, jade in hanging pots (my favorite since I was a kid), a plants whose name im not sure of and lemongrass! None of my plants could have been possible without the care and concern of the man friday of the residence, GB.

So, I dont find it strange that Im also loving plants and wanting to grow them and take care of them. Its all in the genes, and Im so glad that it is!  I wish I can have that huge garden M's always dreamt of and passed on that dream to me! I have never been happier.

The Croton! Its grown the best so far!

The coming-back-to-life Mint

Jade Twins

Tulsi and the I'm-not-sure-of-its-name

Tulsi ji. I think I was one in my past life

Lemon Grass. Its growing with full pride

The outside of my door

Safe Deposits and Irritants

This is irritating. I have kept somethings so safely that I dont remember where I kept them. Its very usual of me. Now I need just that thing the most. Its that horrible irritating feeling when you know that you thought about it at that time, but just cant remember. Bah! Stupid safe deposit mind of mine.
Thats not the only thing, Im in a whiney mood. Here's why else:

1. This flu is driving me mad.
2. Whats with the firecrackers today? Its not Diwali G people.
3. My room looks like a mess, like always. I have too many things, and too less space (not really). I want a kitchen and some storage space.
4. I want M. Right now.
5. My work is stalled, Im unable to think, I feel useless
6. The walls look UGLY around me. UGLY.
7. There's too much dust and Im sick of wiping it from everywhere around me
8. My hands are itching, in a non medical sense.
9. I want to scream out loud, at anything
10. This poster wont stick on the wall.
11. The Tulsi plant is not growing. I need manure.
12. Im frowning and that will lead to headache
13. I feel guilty. About not working.
14. I fear Im turning into 'one of those people I dont want to be like'
15. MORE FIRECRACKERS!!!!
16. I cannot find what Im looking for
17. My list of to-do things is growing longer. Nothings crossed out yet.
18. I want to eat Poha.
19. Im not motivated enough.
20. I feel useless.
21. I cant find a hook I need to fix things with.
22. I realise this is not helping.

How Many States

So I had this sudden idea for a personal project that I was very keen to look into and I thought before I think of any executions, let me find out more about what people know of it.

Here's the thing, I asked people if they knew how many states were there in our country, I say our, assuming they feel a part of this country. I wanted them to answer without using Google or searching for an answer anywhere. I asked a few people, some give me some answers, some fumbled, some gave me correct answers. A lot of them were skeptical about answering, some refused to even try to answer. Some smiled shamelessly and some argued. A few told me they didnt care, a few said, since they were cut all the time and who bothered to keep a track on the number of states.

I was surprised, rather shocked to hear this. I get it that you may not know the answer, but ignorance is something that one could really look into. Isn't it all about respecting the country, no matter where you belong to know and what language you speak. Why are things so regionalistic? I fail to understand how can one not look beyond 'their' territory and be a little more broad minded about things.

Its probably the way I was brought up and the environment we lived in, that we automatically accepted to live with people from alla round and went beyond territories. We enjoyed every moment of whatever we did, and with whomever we did it with. Im not wanting to sound like Im right or what I do is correct, but Im just saying.

Anyway, my point being that the states of India are probably just a number for a lot of people but for me its got to do a lot with my life and my childhood. The project is something I will definitely work on, to try and cut barriers and go beyond borders. It shall be a fun project and Im all kicked about it!

The Bicycle Stories

As a kid, I remember one of my first bicycle memories- those with D, and those of her learning it.  She had a red bicycle and I had a cute little one that we both rode in open fields, on the small lanes of a crazy town, she to her school, to meet her friends and to get around the place.

One of the earliest times on a bicycle I remember is the time, when we were coming back from someplace, D and I, with our favourite bhaiya, he was riding the cycle with D at the back and me on a small seat on the handle bar. It so happened that in my curiosity to look at the weel, I put my foot into it and hurt myself. I screamed out, followed with wails and refused to do anything till I was picked up and taken home. I was somehow taken home and created a huge scene there too, till my favourite didi arrived to look at my foot, she cooed and oh ho ed  and just like that the pain went away!

There was this one other time when I was in hospital and D came with all her friends, all on their bicycles, all the way just to meet me. There was so much noise and excitement all around. I loved the gesture they made. M was also there, smiling away.

 I vividly remember another time, when we both had brand new cycles since we had shifted to a new town and we explored around only with our bicycles. This included getting to school on missing the bus, going out to play, running errands for M and even going dressed up foe Birthday Parties. It was always something we did gladly. It so happened that one evening while I was out to play, it began to rain, and we kids had to go home, I was cycling pretty fast, and since the road was muddy, I skid and fell down. I hurt myself and my ego too, since I was in front of everyone. I cried out loudly. and started walking back home, with my cycle and bruises on my knees. Near home, I met D, I looked at her once and started howling. D was talking to a friend of hers, (who I will make a mention of later sometime) saw me and they both rushed towards me. Friend left and D asked me what happened. i didnt stop sobbing, and she hugged me tight and we walked home together. That was one of my worst bicycle falls.

We moved around a lot after that and D hardly rode her cycle, it was passed on to me and the slowly the cycling routine stopped. Until recently, when I decided to buy myself a cycle to commute to the institute and make my life a little easier. Its sheer joy for me to cycle around the place and a lot of times I smile to myself, looking at things around.

Everyday when I cycle, a new memory is created for me, that I want to share with D but cant. Its more probable,  that I want her to come hug me everytime I almost fall and everytime I create a new memory. 

Reliving New Year Evenings

The new year has begun and the one that went by, was probably one of the best I have ever had. New years and new year eve's havent been a huge thing with us kids of the C family, though I have always selfishly wanted to 'dance the night away' and be all oh-so-cool about it!

This year was different and in some sort of way, very lonely. It was one of the first times I was away from anyone even close to the C family. All these years, I have been with different permutations and combinations within the C family or the ex-C. B always made sure that New Years was special in its own way, no matter where we were. M was never a huge fan of going out and partying all night, but she did it a lot of times for our sake and we never appreciated that even once. It was always what we (rather I) wanted and not anyone else. D and AD have always been the fun and cool kinds, and its only through them that I have had so much fun in life (true story). With each of them I have had special and truly memorable moments. 

There was this one new years eve that it was just M and me alone, B was not home, D was married and in  her home, and it was just the two of us. I was studying for one of the so called most important exams of my life and it happened to be new years eve. Since going out was not something we both wanted to do, M decided to do something special. She made what I loved most, sizzlers! M's sizzlers were talk of the town at one point of time and she always put her heart and soul into. Making them for just the two of us was honestly quite a impractical idea but M did it. And she did it just how she would do it for on a special-not-at-home basis. It was the works, there was the proper sizzler, with beautifully steamed vegetables and wafers. The sizzlers sizzled as we ate them in our excitement, enjoying every bit of it, with M and I talking about anything and everything, sipping our cokes and munching on wafers. This was followed by dessert ( which im not very sure what it was) and soon it was 12, we hugged each other and called B , D and AD and went to bed afterwards. 

What touched me the most was the fact that she did make an effort and did whatever she could, we could have just spent it watching TV and eating regular food. It was probably one of the best new years eve's I had ,with M and also the most cherished ones, that will always last forever  I dont know if M will remember this, but I always will. 

So spending this one alone, without any of the C's made it harder for this year, but certainly did remind me how lucky I was.