Talking of thens-and-nows, the last time I travelled on 8th Main and passed the church, our old friend wasn’t there, Mi. Of course I freaked out a little wondering where he was. It has been raining, so perhaps he had moved to the bus stop […]
Memories from another day . . .
By the way, remember those days when you would say you felt “fumes” Mi? I feel like that now sometimes. A weird smell stuck to my nose. Triggers with certain things. Unrelated things like (gasp!) coffee–which should actually be holding me in its trance with […]
You know, I always mean to tell you this, Mi! Remember that mynah we’d hear the moment we woke up? Those days when we had our bedrooms in the adjacent rooms? It continues to sing! It is like a precious connection–as in, one of the things that haven’t changed. Nice warm feeling.
As I sip my morning coffee, I enjoy listening to its incessant but persistent call. It is like a recording that plays in a loop. And i remember how we used to stand in the balcony and fantasize and make lofty plans. Of transforming the house. Of the future. Joking about it and then laughing as we turned to our routine to do those mundane things that had to be done.
Not very different now, except that I do the meal planning with Vidur, who is such a pleasure to spend time with. So grateful that he’s home this summer. I love how he appreciates my cooking and as we eat together, I regale him with stories from his childhood, about the time he spent with you, nudging memories long forgotten. Sometimes I wonder how he does not remember, but then I remind myself that he was growing up and it is only natural for specifics to fade away. I am just glad that he does retain the happiness he felt being with you. I must sit with the albums one of these days. Been wanting to do that you know. Also scan some of the stuff.
Sigh. I wonder what I’ll do with all the stacks and stacks of film negatives from the old days. Then there are the boxes of vinyl records. Then the boxes of audio cassettes and video tapes. How crazy I was to collect them. In fact, how crazy to live through all these decades. I just wish sometimes that I had given away all these things. I did try with the books. All those trunks full of books we gave away before we moved . . . and all those clothes. Nice feeling to think of those days.
I wonder if they remember us? I wonder what they are doing now?
Sounds a lot like extra-terrestrial sightings, right? Well, almost.
Let me begin with the pleasanter things that I am now taking for granted. That heart when I pour water on the coffee powder in the filter. The moment I think of you, there it is. I mean, if I wanted to engineer it, I couldn’t! I’ve tried. Yet, it appears when I expect it the least and want it the most–subconsciously. Had you told me this I would have laughed it off.
Same thing with recipes. There I am, about to drift off to sleep as I mentally make a list of must-do things for the following day. There’s always something “i wish…” happening before I sleep. When I wake up, I have the answer. Sometimes I may dream about it–but of course that crystal clear dream has vanished from my consciousness before I even brush my teeth. Ha! Still. Have to be grateful, you know. These are like mini-hugs and pats and let-me-put-my-arm-around-you-and-squeeze kind of things. Welcome is one word to describe these.
Two days back, we were reminiscing about how we used to fry papads and store them in those two big steel dubbas. And what a chore it was to clean them, even though we placed a lining at the bottom. We stopped doing that after we bought our microwave–remember how fascinating it was to see it perfectly done? Best of all, Sury the papad-fan loved it. What a relief that was.
So anyway, back to the reminiscing. I had arranged four on the glass tray in the microwave and was standing there watching it. So dangerous to move away and forget it–I dread overdoing it. I turned off the microwave and opened the door. Out of four, three were perfectly done. The fourth, however, had this little heart in the center. I thought I’d run it again for a few seconds. Mmm-hmmm. Not cooking. The heart stayed. And I am thinking–there she is again, part of the convo! That’s you, Mi! We all laughed and yea…I suppose we’ll keep that papad for last. I won’t even be surprised if the parts around the heart are consumed and the heart is retained for as long as it possibly can be.
By the way, still looking for a good enough arisi aplam–the rice papads. Sigh. Miss the days when we made them at home.
And then, and then… the rotis! I was making phulkas and was thinking about how you’d be so dexterous about making about eight at a time–first flipping them over and over on the tava and then, one by one, on the fire into full blown bubbles before practically frisbee-ing them on to the plate where I’d smear them with ghee. So, here I am, transferring the roti from the tava to the flame and when I flip it over, what do I see? A full smile. There you are, I thought! ♥
We’re all mush at heart even if we put up strong fronts sometimes.
Signs. What can I say? Thank you for living in my heart, my being.