This is a weekly column which talks about some interesting childhood memories of the blogger. While the latest posts have been added on this page, readers can read older posts as well by surfing our home page.

Short and Hot…And then came the shot!

School times were the best ones, I am sure you will agree. I was in Delhi when studying in Plus One at a school in the upmarket Defence Colony area of Delhi where most of the students hailed from elite families, all spoilt brats always ready for a mischief!

I had a naughty friend of mine, a businessman’s son, who along with some mischievous guys loved staring at girls and trend of wearing short skirts in schools often encouraged them to go beyond limits!

I still remember we had a big school gate from where the lower half of anyone standing outside was visible. To leave the school as early as possible, much before the bell would ring for the school to get over, we would excitedly stand infront of the gate a few minutes before to be the first ones to rush out of the school.

One such day the bell was about to ring and we were standing waiting for the main gate to open, but before that my naughty friend had already set his eyes on a girl’s legs visible from the closed school gate. “Hey see what good legs she has!” he said with excitement writ large on his face.

Five minutes remained for the bell to ring and he along with all friends went on discussing ‘the legs’. And soon the bell rang, and the school gate opened with each one of us including my friend waiting to see who the girl with beautiful legs was?

Oh God!!! It turned out to be his real sister who had come to pick him up!!! It left us shocked, hitting us how any girl could be someone’s sister. That friend of mine was left embarrassed and he did not attend the school for the next two days.

This left us with a lesson to last a lifetime – when you are passing a lewd remark on someone, always remember he or she could be your someone own. Put yourself in the shoes of that someone else and you will see how much it hurts.

The Spirit of Patriotism

Every Independence Day refreshes my childhood days when patriotism in me was so much visibly alive that I would stand straight whenever on the eve there would be official address to the nation on the national television with the national anthem. And my father would join me watching it on Doordarshan.

The most unforgettable are those days when I would buy a special freedom series cassette every time and my father would early in the morning on Independence Day start playing loudly, waking me up for the annual ceremonious hoisting of flag I would do myself!

Amidst those patriotic songs, which I am sure were audible to every person in and around our neighbourhood, I would make sure that that the Indian flag would be hoisted on our rooftop early in the morning till the dusk.

I made it sure always to make my own paper flag, using an A4 size sheet, putting my best efforts to make it neat and bright. My father used to be a great help as he would find a long stick for me, strong enough to hold my flag, which was made a couple of days in advance, with patriotic songs playing in the backdrop.

The best part was that my flag always used to be painted on one side and not on other. It was a task to make sure that the painted side faces the road, so that when passersby see it, it’s the painted side which is visible to them.

With time I lost out on these simple childish pleasures though that patriotic feeling inside me has only got stronger. As I grew older I have realized patriotism is not to be shown off, but has to be felt within and practiced every moment. Even now when I see urchins selling small flags at traffic lights, it reminds me of those days.

At the risk of sounding a bit eulogistic, but by being a responsible citizen I feel patriotism in my pulse. I have realized it’s not just giving a minute to your national anthem, but giving your every minute for betterment of your country and countrymen.

Just be a good Indian and that’s what patriotism is all about!

Why Stick to Nicknames?

When you are a child one thing that tags along is your nickname being called by your parents. And I was myself a victim to it, which I hated badly, especially when being called so with people around.

I remember once during Halley’s Comet 1986 apparition, my dad coined my name as Halley! I was called so every time everywhere even when it was embarrassing for me as everyone would look at me and then up in the sky as if I were that comet having landed on earth!

My craze for mangoes meant another pet name for me. My mom and dad came up with a name called, ‘Amu’ from ‘Aam’ (Hindi of Mango), and it went well with my name, but I hated it. This went on for many years as I was determined not to leave mangoes and they were not ready not to call me by that name, as for them it was cute well suiting their cute child, who was none other than me.

One name I just hated was when some of my friends started calling me ‘Papita’ (papaya) when I was asked by them to remove papayas from a tree because of my tall height. It remained confined to my friends circle as I never wanted my parents to know that their son was being called by the name of a fruit, which they love so much.

I don’t remember any other names which I came across being a child, but yes even now I hate parents having pet names for their children. In the process their original names are lost and are just confined to school records.

And today I am happy I am called by my real name because that’s what I am. But for my elder sister the trauma continues. She is still called ‘Baby’, which I wonder how it came into being, but now in her forties she is still a baby for my parents who I am sure must have forgotten how to pronounce her real name, which they haven’t ever spoken for all these years!

No More Helpers: The Inflatable Ones!

Summers always remind me of the swimming times I had as a child when my dad was working. We had a campus where we lived and enjoyed the best of facilities and I loved swimming the most. Not that I knew well how to swim but because cold pool water helped me beat the heat!

My mom and sister, both were good swimmers, and I happened to learn a lot from them. We had three pools – the small one, the medium and the deep one. I tried all, though gradually with age, but was proud of myself for having made it in a little time.

I still remember how I graduated from the small pool to the medium one, though with the help of tyre tubes or helpers on my arms. I can recollect those orange coloured inflatable ones, which helped me keep afloat no matter what, and I would just swing around my hands waiving like a celebrity, especially the day I took that first plunge into a deeper pool, all excited. All efforts to learn ‘butterfly stroke’ proved futile because what lied within was the will to play in water and do nothing else!!!

But it was unadulterated fun, daily evening getting ready with a swimming trunk and making the best of it for an hour or so. I still remember how my mom taught me to drain water from ears after every swim and it was a pretty tough and long exercise.

A visit to the pool would take away all the tiredness. We as children would even bring a big ball and play around in water. I even remember how once I had got entire swimming accessories like an oxygen mask, underwater glasses and shoes. I used them all to show off, but not a single one to swim which could fetch me some words of appreciation.

Those swimming days can never come back. I have learnt to sail through tough times in life. At times challenges come like waves, and I have learnt to swim now, even through deep waters, and that too without helpers – the inflatable ones!

The Namesake Muddle

I have earlier also written about my so dear Mickey, our pet dog, and the emotional bonding I shared with him. This time it’s again about him but something that still makes me laugh.

Mickey was a darling and somehow we faced strange issues with his name. He was with us ever since he was born and we could think of no better name than this, being my favourite cartoon character.

We were in Delhi’s defence colony at that time and had a vet right infront of our house. When Mickey had his vaccination due he was taken to the vet and when I was there getting his injections done, doc’s son came running, and the doc said, “Mickey, you are going to play. Come before it gets dark”.

I was shocked when I realized his son’s name was the same as was that of my dog! After the vaccination when the doc asked ‘patient’s name’, and I was quick to say, Micku! I had to change his name just to save myself from an embarrassing situation and for the two years we stayed there he was Micku for his doctor.

Later we shifted to Chandigarh and Mickey was still with us. I would often play with him in the backyard and at home also we would often call him by his name as he was as close as our family member.

After a few months a couple residing in a house on our back was blessed with a son. They were not known to us personally. Probably that’s why they had no clue that it was our dog and not a child who was called Mickey.

Very soon we could hear them also calling our dog’s name and soon we found out it was the pet name of their son. Again we were caught up in the ‘namesake muddle’, but could do nothing except get amused whenever we saw our dog running in the backyard when the couple would call their son Mickey!

Music For Sole!!!

We have all heard of music for soul…But I have experienced the music for sole!!!

I have never been good with musical instruments even when I am a die-hard fan of good music and love listening to those known to me having a hidden talent to sing well or play an instrument well. But fascination of possessing such instruments has always been my passion, even if I could never learn how to play and no one in my family was ever a good musician (though my dad sings well).

From possessing a flute to a mouthorgan, we had it all, but I can never forget the foot harmonium which was a real masterpiece! I still don’t remember from where we got it, but was definitely a gift from our ancestors. My sister could play it well, though she could never go beyond the much known and easiest Sa Re Ga Ma tune. I learnt it too, and we both felt a pride of being able to play that and nothing else.

But the worst part was the strenuous effort it involved in using the foot to press the harmonium pads as if trying to sail through a heavy tide on a paddle boat. It would even fold and turn as compact as a normal harmonium but was one of its kind as we both struggled hard on its keys to devise some good music, which we never could, yet trusted our capabilities.

And in our ‘sincere efforts’ when some absurd notes would emanate, we would sing along so that ‘mindless’ music could not be heard amidst the din of our futile experiments with our vocal cords. For both of us it was learning music, though I am sure it must not have been so appealing for mom and dad’s ears.

A day came when mom finally decided to do away with it by selling it to a junk dealer. I and my sister never went beyond just one tune, which we had mastered so well. We might not have bettered our skills in our tryst with harmonium keys, but this foot harmonium surely left us with worn out shoe soles and helped us build our leg muscles if not playing good music!!!

Birthday Fun That Was!

There were times when birthdays were much more special than what they are today for the simple reason that they were held at homes and not at eating places as they are arranged now. The simple dishes with routine games and same return gifts birthdays were a real celebration time for us as children.

I still remember how my mom would ready me in my bright red shorts and a yellow T-shirt, which was her favourite (the times when she decided the dress). She would comb my hair well with naughty me not ready to get my hair done, too excited to be there for the party.

And they we children would all gather at the venue ready for the fun time full of music, games and lots of eating too. There were no event managers, yet the parties used to me memorable. And the fun part was asking friends what they had got as a gift!

At times funny situations would arise, as it happened with me when I went for the birthday party of my dad’s factory manager’s son. To my surprise my friend had also got the same guitar which I had brought as a gift.

I can never forget passing the parcel game, in which I made every effort that the music would not stop on me, but at times it did and had to do funny things. Unforgettable are those moments of rolling on the floor, giving birthday bumps, and dancing on the music. Also there were some unforgettable dishes, like the one which a Gujarati family would make – some kind of dish with rice, which I hated like anything!

There used to be a long impatient wait for the party to end, to see what the return gift would be, though mostly it was a small packet full of sweets, a lollipop and a plastic whistle. The excitement as a birthday boy was also tremendous as party getting over would mean opening the gifts.

I can never forget once when a gift I got had a birthday message for the friend who had given me. Ha Ha Ha…he had passed on his birthday gift to me. And the secret is – Let me whisper in your ear – At times even I would pass my gifts to my friends, but after ensuring there was no message written for me!

Following the footsteps

This time I am writing about something children just yearn for and I was one of them who loved playing in the grass. I know it’s a weird subject to write on, but those who have had the ‘privilege’ to enjoy in softness of grass would relish the very thought of walking on it, especially early in the winter mornings.

I remember how we boys would love falling on the grass, playing cricket on it, or just running around. When I was a child, we had a huge lush green lawn in front of our house surrounded with a hedge on one side, covered with a thick flowering of sweet peas, while the other sides were surrounded by colourful flowerbeds.

I still remember how our gardener would prune the grass with a manual lawnmower, and he so fondly manicured the grass just as a barber would do for a short snazzy hairstyle. Even during summers it would take him whole day just doing that

He was too immaculate in his work and would never leave it unfinished till the lawn would get a neat look like a soldier just out of a barber shop! And that day we were not allowed to step on it, and he was actually stern about it. He would shout at us even if we dared to. By evening or late night when he would leave, we children would make it sure to roll all over in the grass for hours till our moms would call us inside fearing we might fall ‘victim’ to some insect on the prowl!

Not to miss was the early morning walk in the lawn, which my mom and dad so much loved, and at times I would also join them to walk along. But what would fascinate me more than just walking were the footsteps, which would be embedded so neatly on the dew laden grass. I followed their footsteps so fondly then out of fun, and do that even now, though not on the grass, but in life and that too gladly and proudly!

When paper dreams soar or touch the shore…

Rains often remind me of the paper boats we as children used to make and used to be so excited about them. It’s just that simple things in life then mattered the most and making them itself was so interesting, waiting impatiently to leave them in flowing water.

We friends would all get together and look for a place where good amount of water would be accumulated and then go for ‘sailing’. And then there would be a race of all boats and then shrieks would follow each one of us trying to ‘boost the morale’ of our boats so that we emerge as winners and at times they would get stuck up too just the same way as our life gets stuck up with problems aplenty and then we get out of it in an effort to sail again and reach the shore of destination called Happiness!

This also reminds me of paper planes that we often made in our classrooms to fly around while the teacher was busy writing on the board. I was a naughty child in the class, the most inattentive one, so if I didn’t do this, I would easily doze away.

Again flying planes was very interesting, especially when they would make a ‘smooth landing’! At times it would land next to the teacher and by the time he or she would look back, we would be all looking at our books. We would often write ‘Air India’ on its sides, as it we were experienced pilots taking a sortie.

Wish life was winged like these planes, but at times it is when it takes us to unknown destinations of love, hatred, smiles and tears. It’s just that we must keep up the ‘high’ spirits. We have to keep rising till we touch the skies just like these paper planes, we as children so fondly made. We have to keep sailing till be touch the shore, just like these paper boats, and complete the voyage of our life with grit and perfection.

The Unforgettable Banta Sips!

Summers often remind me of the cold drinks, which I loved just like any other school going child. In those times we didn’t have much trash food available in the market, but yes if I correctly remember, we had a couple of cold drink brands available at as less as Rs 2 per bottle.
The most exciting drink was the unbeatable ‘Banta’, which we still find in rural areas, but not so much in the shops, which believe in selling juices, bottled and canned drinks.
If I were to explain what it means, I would rather refer to Wikipedia for this, which so aptly describes it as, “Banta is a lemon or orange-flavoured drink popular in India. It is available in a Codd-neck bottle, a heavy glass bottle in which a round marble seals the mouth of the bottle by the pressure of the contents, instead of a cap. The distinctive bottle has led to the drink also being called goli soda in some regions (goli = marble).”
I still remember it used to cost not more than 50 paise per bottle, and was much more refreshing than even the costliest soft drinks available today. I am sure most of those who remember their favourite ‘Banta’ will agree with me on this. The excitement would double up with the marble inside it as I would get the real Indian lemony taste in every sip I took – so simple yet so energizing!
Interestingly it even has a group on Facebook, which says, “If you are a true Indian at heart, pop one before you die. And I literally mean pop. Cos the mast nimbu (lemon) drink is entirely desi and our own version of soda. No one knows where it comes from, but everyone knows it’s definitely the best thing ever.”

Changing Life for Better

I was a pampered soul since my childhood and no one better than my parents know how fussy I was about certain things to the extent that I would not use a public toilet and not even have water anywhere outside! I remember how once my school in Moga in Punjab state had taken us for an outing at a zoo, a few hours drive from the school. We were all taken in a two tourist buses and it was fun, especially as were all excited to have a look at the animals, as every child of around 12 years is.

We spent the whole day in the zoo and as I was, after my water bottle finished, I was without water and would not have it from outside. That day I knew what thirst is and today I smile at myself on how difficult these small things had made my life.

That day we had left early in the morning and returned around midnight and me the fussy guy had not even gone to the toilet till then! Some of friends were so easy going that they even managed to open the bus windows and ease themselves on our way back.

This was not just one instance when I realized how difficult we make our lives ourselves at times. Even when I was in college I would avoid having water outside or use the college toilet. But now I ask myself why? Till when could I?

Now I am a completely different person, not complicating my life with things that are not practical and unmanageable. And I am glad with time I learnt life is not that simple and you should not further complicate it.

Live it the way it comes by not adding more hurdles in it. These small instances today must have made you laugh too, just the way I do, but they only bring us close to the fact that reality has to be accepted. You cannot change your life the way you always want to, and it’s always better to take the tide as it comes and not go against it.

I am a normal human being today, living life we ought to live. And I feel much lighter today with no strings attached to it!

She still waits for me…

There can be nothing as special as sharing the day’s happenings with your mom when you are a child. And for me too, it was something I yearned for when coming back from the school.

Today I remember those childhood days, when as a pampered child, I would come back home and my mom would help me change my clothes. She would make me wash my face, get me hot lunch having my favourite dishes on the platter, ensuring there were less vegetables as I hated them.

The best part was to share everything innocently with her – all that happening with me in the school. It was anything and everything, even if the teacher rebuked me for some reason, or even if I had been punished for not doing the work. The talks seemed endless, with me at times sharing how the teacher looked that day, or anything about my classmates. She would then put me to sleep with a gentle kiss

Those days will never return, and I miss them so much. I miss them because neither will those days come back and nor will that innocence in me. Over the time, things have changed. As a grown up young man, I feel alienated from myself, my past and my mother.

It’s not that I don’t want to share everything, but with age you are mature enough to hold back many things. The reason – you feel many things are too small to be shared, and at times you feel many things are too big to be shared!

That’s the sad part of our lives, when time builds invisible walls in our closest relations. She still sits with me to hear me out when I am back from office for the little ten to fifteen minutes I get with her in the entire day.

When I sit back and recall my past, I see myself changing, getting busier day by day, aiming for the best in life, and hoping to better myself in this day rut of my professional life. My life has changed but not hers and she still waits for me the way she did when I was a child, for the little time I have for her, for the lesser number of things I have to share and for the only time when she gets to see me.

I so much wish I could bring back the time. I so much wish I could bring back the innocent me!

Terror Terrain

This time Saturday Punch is not a very refreshing one, but again, it’s reminiscing my childhood memories, though not very pleasant ones. I was born and brought up in Moga, a terrorist-hit area of Punjab and I happened to be there for six years when terrorism had just seeped it and till the time it was at its peak.

I remember the times when we as children were asked not to move out of the house after 6 pm in winters when it would start getting dark as the fear of militants hiding their AK47s could be anywhere to fire indiscriminately. The fear was such that if we would see anyone covering himself with a shawl, we would just stay away, but still life went on and I happened to be a witness to one of the worst ever massacres there when more than 35 RSS workers were killed early in the morning at a park.

The incident came as a shock and indefinite curfew was imposed. We still had to move around as schools opened soon after the incident, despite the curfew. Heavy security deployment and overhearing talks about killings across the state were what we, as children would get to listen to.

I still recall the times when the factory where my father worked, militants had virtually taken over the multinational. They had been working there without we knowing about it and some in my dad’s department as well. And when there was strike, AK47s came out in open, with some officials having had to hide themselves fearing that they would be killed.

It was the time when Blue Star operation was carried out and we would sit glued to our television sets, just watching Doordarshan News, giving the latest in the encounter which went for days together. That was the time even a dress code for television channel announcers was announced and they had to cover their heads as directed by ‘Kharkus’ as they militants were then called (there were instructions from the militant groups to call them by this name).

Things were bad to the extent that even the girls could not move around wearing western clothes, and had to keep their heads covered, wearing suits. My dad at that time also took up construction of our house here and would often travel in state transport buses. There were no mobiles then and there were killings in buses too, and we could just wait for him to reach and call us from the STD. Those days still bring bad memories and are unforgettable for the hundreds of innocent lives lost in the name of terrorism.

The Writer in Me!

I have been a writer ever since I learned how to write, I believe! Today I am sharing those times which still bring a smile on my face thinking about my writings at that time when they hardly made any sense, unaware of the fact that a journalist was in the making.

I can vaguely recall that I had started writing when I was in my teens and that too with poetry. And I must have been just 15 when my first poem was published in a Delhi based magazine.

I never thought I would be one day in journalism though writing always fascinated me but that was poetry and even short stories, and probably that is the reason for this blog-turned-website, which is an effort to hone my writing skills!

Interestingly, since childhood, the issues which interested me were in some way or the other entwined with the simple ramblings of life. I wrote about anything and everything but somehow related my writings with principles of life.

Fiction was another part of my ‘struggles with pen’, most of which could never find a place in print, and are still lying with me like the unreleased movies. And there were some weird ghost stories as well, and the more haunted I made them, more quickly they were sent back to me with the polite editor’s note, rejecting them with a few kind words of solace.

I still remember how passionately I would fill up pages with my own handwriting and seal them into an envelope and send by normal post as there were no emails then with so much hope. And after a week or so when the postman would bring back a thick envelope from the publisher, it would turn my smiles into tears, aware of the fact that my piece had been returned with a covering letter.

Well, there were times when I would get normal envelopes too, with intimation that my contribution had been selected for the next issue. And that was the happiest moment, when I along with my mom, with whom I shared everything, would celebrate.

Who knew after ten years I would be representing a national newspaper, when fiction turned into factual reporting? Today, whenever I get the time, I do sift my torn notebook sheets which are a remembrance of the times which helped become what I am today. But one thing I learnt from the blend of rejections and acceptance of my literary efforts was, never lose hope and success is waiting to happen any day.

My freezing moments

Ice cream!!! Ah!!! Waahhhhh!!! Ammmm!!! Yuummmm!!!

Sorry not my fault for the very word ‘ICE CREAM’ sends a chill down the spine, not because of the shudder but out of the cold and the exhilaration. Mere mention of the word sends my tongue up and out, just to have that taste again. Ice cream, wow, what an invention of God.

Nothing can be more tempting than digging into the ice cream, or licking the cone with melted juice flowing out into the fingers (leaving sophistication for a day). Nothing in this world can describe what it is to eat an ice cream, eat it and know it.

That first scoop of the crunchy cold frozen ice cream, putting the spoon in your mouth, closing your mouth and sliding the spoon out. Then letting it melt in your mouth, sucking on it or even chewing it!

I remember when I was a kid, we used to have special outings just to have a cup of ice cream. At that time we had a couple of brands and not much variety, but that one day of the week was much awaited and I remember I loved having the orange bar – the ice candy, which is too refreshing during summers.

The times have changed and so has the eating experience. I have grown up from a child into a man, yet the child in me that loves an ice cream still lives on.

The ice creams have also outgrown from simple coloured gollas to multi-coloured ice cream sticks that the ice cream wallah would take out of his rehri to the branded ones now. But nothing can change the taste and flavour and satiating experience of the ever-tempting ice cream.

And have you ever shared an ice cream? If you haven’t please do and you are sure to fall in love with it.

Sweet Lazy Sunday’s That Were

This Saturday, I would talk about Sundays. ‘Sweet Lazy Sundays’ of the good old childhood days when a Sunday was Sunday. Funny, but true. I mean a Sunday would mean a relaxed day when everyone had a holiday, unlike today when an off is not limited to a Sunday only, thanks to the MNC or call centre culture or the changing times. Today, we may have an off on Monday or Tuesday or any other weekday, depending on the rosters.

Our lucky fathers had the fixed ‘Sweet Sunday’ as their no working day, with the added benefit of half Saturdays, if they were in government jobs. Mothers were usually housewives, having all the time devoted to their families, planning how to turn the Sundays into special ones. Sunday would mean a special Sunday Brunch, as we would get up late in mornings.

Moms would make the best things to eat, with a family eating together in a relaxed mood. Today most of the moms, if not all, are now-a-days working, who themselves are not sure if they have a fixed Sunday offs. And even if they have, they also need a day off on Sunday from household chores for themselves. So, how can we be harsh on them now to ask for those Special Sundays.

Sundays would also mean late Saturdays, that would include an outing to a park or a movie at a theatre or late night movie on TV or going to someone’s house for sharing some special moments. Movies were awaited with bated breath on TV as they were also fixed for Saturday or Sundays, unlike the today’s 24 hours movie channels. Even songs were a luxury to be watched in Rangoli on Sunday morning. For us as kids, it was a day of abundant cartoon shows and evening Sunday movie on TV.

The whole world seemed to share the special bonding of Sundays, when all the roads wore deserted look at 9 am as everyone would be busy watching Ramayan on TV. It would seem as if earth has come to a standstill.

Today, there is hardly a thing that binds us all so much. We may have cricket, but various mediums to watch it, unlike before when a black and white TV was the only way to the outside colourful world.

I miss those Sweet Sundays now. The relaxed lazy Sundays when everything moved behind time. We would even bathe late, brush late and would just laze around in bed. The Sweet Sundays only gave Monday blues, unlike today when blues are there seven days a week.

Some ‘Sweet’ Memories

I am sure those reading today’s Saturday Punch will be delightfully amused, especially those who belong to my times when we had three very favourite sweet brands, for which we literally yearned for.

The NP 007 Double Bubble Gum was my favourite and had to be as it was the only quality gum available in the market at that time. There were no brands like the Orbit, Center fresh or Spout at that time, but the taste this pink coloured gum had was unmatchable, which even the most popular international brands today don’t have.

They never can, as the simple taste of NP was something, which lingered in the mouth for a long time. And the most exciting part was the big bubble, which ‘emanated’ from it. In fact it was NP bubble gum with which I learnt how to make bubbles and now have an expertise in it! Ha Ha!

Another amusing sweet was a pack of Phantom Cigarettes and I am amazed to see them on Facebook. There is a group that has about 41,572 fans! It’s amazing and I have just clicked to become one of the fans, and have done gladly so. These were a pack of exactly cigarette shaped sweets, which my mom never missed bringing from the market, for the simple reason that she was also one of the Phantom fans.

Parle Poppins, which still exist and are as cheaply priced as they were many years ago, have been my all time favourite. I still enjoy them, and more then enjoying their taste, it’s the memories attached to childhood, which are refreshed with every single bite. Never ever can a variety of sweets we have today, can replace the NPs, Phantoms and Poppins, which still bring a smile on my face and an unforgettable taste which is still fresh in my mind.

Carrying Mischief & Innocence

Those were the days when as a small child I used to wake up with so much of difficulty to go to school, but more than that the most memorable part was that of carrying a steel trunk to the school instead of the schoolbag. And I have even lived those days when we would carry our ‘slates’ with ‘saletis’ (chalk) to the school and even at home, with my mom struggling hard with me to grasp all that I learnt in school.

Today, when we complain of heavy bags, in those days we carried steel trunks but never complained! But those trunks had their own importance and I loved it when my mom would stack all books into it with a stainless steel lunch box too and every morning like a suitcase she would lock it, making it ready for me to head for school.

Writing on the wall was never heard then, but writing on the slate was all that we knew about. I have not studied in schools where slates took place of books, but yes we were asked to bring them for revision purposes. They still exist in village schools, I believe, but it was an altogether different feel to write on them and rub them with my own hands, never making use of the small duster I always had with me.

They are obsolete now and only find a place in my memories, but sans modern educational aids, studying was much more fun. There were no smart classrooms, but the feel of sitting in a class with chalks littered all over and at times even breathing the chalk powder had its own charm. It’s nostalgic remembering those days, and at times I close my eyes, and see myself as a small kid, clad in green shorts and white shirt (my school uniform), with straight uncombed hair falling on the forehead and a naughty look, firmly carrying my steel trunk as if containing nothing but mischief and innocence of childhood!

Open Doors, Open Hearts

Before writing today’s punch, I didn’t have to think much, as I was remembering those days when there were no locks on doors. Not many would agree to me and would grin reading this line, but I mean to say, there were days when houses remained open all day, without bolts or locks, and anyone would walk in or walk out.

I am sure now most of you would smile for a reason, thinking about those days when guests were always welcome and above all there was no fear of any stranger entering with an intention to take your belongings or life, as it is today. And in most of the houses guests would just keep pouring in without giving a prior intimation on phone or SMS (Thank God, there were no mobiles!).

The other day I happened to read an interesting piece in New York Times, For many New Yorkers the key to security is no locks on doors”, and you may not believe it, but it’s happening in a place like New York! It said, “The No Lock People: You may doubt their existence, particularly in big cities like New York, but people who do not lock the doors to their houses and apartments do exist – and in surprising numbers. A 2008 survey by State Farm Insurance of 1000 homes across the country reported that fewer than half of those surveyed always locked their front doors”

It may sound absurd but it’s true and I have myself experienced it in my childhood and even now it’s prevalent but has been restricted to only villages. But more than just not locking the doors, I remember how important socializing was and not by the way of having a coffee in city’s popular café or a meal in the best restaurant, but at home.

I remember how I and my sister would tag along with our parents visiting our family friends, this being a weekly affair, and they would come to our place too. It was fun, being entertained with a variety of snacks, and to be a part of talks which would last for hours, without anyone of us repeatedly keeping a watch on the watch to be back home for the reality show on TV. In every home there was a feeling of warmth, which was unseen but could be felt and that’s what kept us waiting for someone to drop in any day or any time.

Not only were our doors open always, but our hearts as well!

A ‘Drive’ Down The Memory Lane…

My father has always had a fascination for latest cars and the best part is that he loves maintaining his cars well. Even now when he is leading a retired life, not a single day passes without he not cleaning his car with his own hands, ensuring that not a single particle of dust is there to be seen!

But today’s post is indeed a ‘drive’ down the memory lane as starts from those days when he possessed a scooter and all four of us would gladly settle down on it going around for shopping or visiting our friends. It was fun with me standing infront of my dad and my mom and sister sitting on the back. I can see many of you chuckle reading these lines, as this post will bring back the same memories of your childhood as well.

I don’t remember much about that part as I must have been around five at that time, but yes owning a scooter was as a luxury. And later dad graduated to a dark brown fiat car, and he was so madly in love with fiat that the next car he bought was again the same model and can you believe it, the same colour too!

After many years finally we heard about the ‘modern car’ called Maruti 800 and being crazy about cars, my dad was one of the first ones in that sleepy town of Punjab to get it booked. After about three to four months we finally got a call from the dealer that the car had arrived (during those days, cars had to be booked and the wait would be atleast three months or even longer).

It was late evening that day when we all went to the dealer to have the first ride of our white Maruti and we were the first ones in the neighbourhood to get this most popular car of those times, which even till recently, was. I remember how I got into it and came out only after few hours when it was time to go to bed. There was so much excitement that those staying nearby kept pouring in that evening to have the first glimpse of it!

There was no air conditioning or CD player in it but the drives were too exciting as we would all go together with passersby giving an ecstatic look as if some UFO had landed on the earth. But at that time Maruti had just launched and not many could be seen on roads.

And we would all feel proud pulling down the manually operated windows to see the excitement on their faces, and I am sure they would have been delighted as well to see the excitement on our faces too. We have changed many cars over the years but I still miss our first Maruti.

Today the luxury of pulling up our power windows and switching on the AC is there. I can listen to the best music with superb sound quality. I have power steering to take the sharpest turns, but the delight of travelling modestly in a budget car brings back those memories when a simple drive with windows down and feeling the fresh air was much more refreshing that what it is today.

To My Grandma With Love

It brings tears when I think of the days I spent with my Nani Maa (maternal grandma) who used to stay in Ambala near Chandigarh. We used to go once in a few months to stay with her for a couple of days but those two to three days used to be real fun and so much filled with her love and care.

I remember how she used to do little yet so special things for me. She would collect and keep coins for me and give them when we were there. And she knew my favourite dishes as well, which she would cook with her own hands, especially Suji Ka Halwa and sweet rice

Can never forget how she would get me small things from the balloon seller who would keep small toys as well with him. The day she bought me that small plastic TV which I am sure many of you would remember, was so full of excitement. It used to have pictures of stars which would roll with small rolling sticks on the sides.

She would also get me toffees from a nearby shop and that too going herself by taking me along and getting the ones I so fondly chose. In those three days she would make sure I got the best and would even keep some Thumbs Up (the most popular brand at that time) bottles in her refrigerator just for me.

She would keep herself stocked with snacks and my favourite orange cream biscuits too when me along with my parents would be there. How happy she used to be not just because we were there to give her company but more so because she had her daughter visiting her and she would proudly ‘announce’ it to her servants as well.

At an age of around 99 years she passed away silently in sleep three years ago. I remember it was coincidentally Valentine’s Day (Feb 14) when she breathed her last and still so much associate her with being a symbol of love.

During her last days she had lost her vision and memory too and she could not even walk. But I remember her holding my hand tight (a few days before she left us) bringing a faint smile on her face, as if trying to ask me to help her walk to the kitchen so that she could make my favourite Suji Ka Halwa for me.

That was the last time I felt her touch, but it touched me deep inside the heart. She and her caring ways are still fresh in my mind and will always be missed a lot.

The Trunk Call

I am sure those who are now in their teens would have never heard of this term – Trunk Call. But my friends would have and reading this must have brought a smile on your faces. It’s extinct now but takes us back to the years when making a long distance call would mean booking a trunk call.

Those memories are fresh in my mind when my parents would book a call even for talking to someone a few miles away. It would be routed through the telephone exchange and at times even took an hour to get a call from the exchange with the operator on the other end connecting you to your dear one. And we actually waited for the phone to ring once the call had been booked and at times even sitting staring at the instrument till the Tring Tring, the only ringtone which existed at that time would ring.

Trunk call would mean shouting at the top of your voice as if making an effort to make the person listen directly and not from the phone. But it was nobody’s fault as both ends could not hear clear for a simple reason that technology wasn’t that advanced. And the best part would be when the call would get disconnected in three minutes if you didn’t extend it by requesting the operator.

Those days of booking a call no more remain and you are connected with hundreds of your contacts saved in your handheld device. But nothing can match that yearning to hear someone close to you after a long wait. That excitement of booking a trunk call by actually dialing the conventional dialer using fingers was then much more exciting than just searching for your contact and calling him or her by the press of a button now.

I still miss the hour long wait after the call was booked, that moment of excitement when the phone would ring and those three minutes we longed for to share all that we had. There were four of us and each got a little more than half a minute to speak but that one trunk call would bring a long lasting cheer to the simple lives we led.

Playing Hide and Seek With Childhood

It brings a smile on my face remembering the times when simple games we played as children brought so much of excitement. All of us would get together for hours playing…Tipi Tipi Tap, What Colour You Want, Oonch Neech (or Oonch Neech is a rural and urban street children’s game of North India), Gulli-Danda (An amateur sport played with wooden sticks), Hide and Seek and even marbles at times.

I am sure most of you will laugh hearing of all these names, which are more or less obsolete now. But many of you must be very familiar with them and must have even played them too. I am writing about them for two reasons. We had no computers or play stations but still these ‘real’ games were far better than virtual ones, which interest children more than these conventional yet full so full of excitement games.

I remember how we would play hide and seek in a warehouse near to my place. It was that of a food factory where my dad worked, so we would all hide behind the cartons and it was a tough job looking for someone there, but it was pure fun.

Playing marbles was considered too rustic but we did play and it was so exciting purchasing marbles of different sizes from the market, each costing 1 rupee to 2 rupee. And the best part was digging holes for the game, which was as exciting as playing golf for us at that time. It was wholesome entertainment!

It’s all like a dream now, and more so as one doesn’t even see anyone playing these games around. Children around are confined to their schoolbooks striving hard for better grades, or glued to their computer screens. Many like me who have been played them all still have them fresh in memories, but what about children today who are totally missing out the fun part of childhood. They won’t even have even memories to cherish.

I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…These three words make your heart skip a beat if you are in love. It’s that time of the year again when there is love in the air.

When I went around the city card shops I found so many youngsters thronging as if there was some big party. But yes the reason is Valentines Day when we all make our loved ones feel so special.

I have seen this meaning of love changing over the years, especially when most of us reading this belong to a generation which has never seen such kind of love which is so special on one day of the year. No doubt, I love this day, while many of a generation next to mine don’t, but it reminds me of some simple gestures of love which was years back, when I was just a kid.

Being in school, what love meant was more of infatuation and there was not one day which was observed as celebration of love. Fortunately or unfortunately I have never been in love when I was in school, but would often seen the cupid struck girls and boys who would often bunk their classes, to be moving around in the city in their uniforms.

In those days it was a big thing and a trend that followed was going out for movies by bunking the school or now even for a coffee or even more than that, which is better not said. But love at that time would mean something which was felt from the heart and I am not saying now it’s not from the heart.

It is still there, but with changing times, it’s more of showing through gifts and cards that you love and care. In those days when there were no gifts or cards, love was still there. There were letters written with your own hand and not keyed in on the email. There was nothing in the market to express your love, but your heart, which said it all.

This Valentines Day, do get a gift and card for your loved one, but also give him or her some tender words of love, your time and let him or her feel your love in whatever you can do. It’s a special day symbolizing so beautiful love, a feeling which has to be felt and not seen.

So let your love be felt in your special ways or care and not just seen in the gifts you give. And never take for granted, someone’s love for you because when you are loved in abundance, you seldom feel it, but if you don’t value it, you realize it too late. Love once gone cannot be brought back, so make this Valentines Day a day which is lived everyday, and not just February 14.