Facts laced with a little bit of fiction- III (F.R.I.E.N.D.S)

Those were days of paltry living. Those were days when Mumbai used to be called as my favorite Bombay:)

We lived in a modest abode then of 1BHK. At nights, the bedroom would get occupied by my parents, the living room by my brother and me being the youngest, was left with no choice but was unceremoniously handed over the balcony to sleep. Not that I had much to complain about because the balcony was of a decent size, fit enough to be called a room. It had a sparse bed and an old sewing machine turned into a writing table for company. My childhood friend who lived in the house adjacent to mine also slept in her balcony and only a thin wall separated both our rooms. 

From the time we came back from our respective schools we would be inseparable like conjoined twins. We would chat and chat till the cows came home. As dusk would settle in, our mothers would call out our names, but we were so meshed up in our own little fancy world that we were unaware of the happenings around us. Finally, one of the mothers would come out and threaten to thrash us if we didn’t abide. Once back home, I would get busy in gobbling up my dinner and packing my books for the next day. As a ritual at sharp ten every night, the lights would get turned off as I had to wake up at dawn for my early morning school. 

Since my flat was located at the ground floor, quite often I would hear strange sounds and notice bulbous shadows emanating from outside. Sometimes the sounds were of hurried footsteps and on other occasions it was the raging wind howling outside. Later at some point in time it would get pitch dark as the nearby household lights used to shut one by one except for a thin ray of light that would shine weakly from the street lamp outside, casting ghostly patches on my window pane. All this would result in scaring the daylights out of me, and I would be too frightened to even hop off from my bed and rush to the comfort of my parent’s bedroom. Rooted to my bed I would get busy in counting sheep in my head. 

The only reassuring factor was that my best friend was also sleeping in her balcony located on the other side of the wall.  

As sleep would continue to evade me, I would keep tossing and turning on the bed, until a faint knock surging from the cacophony of all imaginary sounds around would alert me. It would feel like music to my ears to notice that this sound was different and was coming from nowhere else but from the other side of the wall. A wave of happiness used to then engulf me, making me realize that my poor friend sleeping in her cushy balcony was also grappling with the same feeling of heady terror that I was encountering and was hence softly knocking on the wall to check if I was awake.

Excitedly, I would plaster my ears to the thin wall longing to hear the knock one more time. There it was heard again. Two fat knocks repeated this time. I would respond enthusiastically by tapping the wall twice from my end. 

And then the game would continue just like the strings of a sitar, striking one note after the other.

The knocks were in perfect unison like a jugalbandi taking place between two music maestros. They would then slowly fade, becoming lighter and lighter as sleep used to overcome both of us. But the thought of my closest pal sleeping next door was strangely comforting, making me feel lighter and ready to fight with all the imaginary demons that prowled around me that night.

So this was an important lesson I learnt that night and one that stayed with me for many more nights to follow. Have friends in abundance, but allow a handful of them to seep into your lives, tell them your deepest, darkest secrets, your dreams, be true to them, guard them with all your might and if there ever comes a time when you are all alone and frightened just stand still and seek out for that knock. You will hear it. And once you do, let those friends inside your heart. They are the ones who are the definite keepers. Have them tightly bound around never letting them go.

P.S. -- Till date, the thought of sleeping all by myself in a pitch-dark room terrifies me. At times when I am pushed with no choice but to sleep all alone; my room then resembles a lit-up Christmas tree, as every light in there would be turned on J

Facts laced with a little bit of fiction- II- Childhood memoirs

In a child’s mind, the imagination always seems to run wild. There is nothing restrictive about it. It is carefree, innocent, boundless, and life is always seen through rose-tinted glasses. 

I would have been around five or six years old then. Wearing a summer frock with bold red flowers printed on it; my two well-oiled pigtails dangling in the air, I ran as fast as my little feet could carry me. Seated on a stone bench surrounded by shady trees, I dug my hands deep into the pockets stitched at the insides of my dress and got out my booty of hidden treasures; an oval shaped ivory colored stone, that had smoothened at the edges, a tiny exquisite shoe of my ragged doll which had glittering studs woven all around its heel, a half broken scented eraser and a packet containing colorful bindis. The bindis were stuck to a wafer thin piece of cellophane paper which had got wrinkled over time, but it was the striking round globules of different hues that held my rapt attention. I had seen Ma’s forehead adorning the same dots, red in color and slightly bigger in size and sometimes there would be a dash of red vermillion that would stand out from the parting of her hair. 

So caught up was I in playing with my treasure trove, that I failed to hear the rustling sound coming from the nearby shrubs. A sudden movement at the grass below made me look down to the sight of a thin frail baby mynah limping towards me. It had wounded its left wing, which suggested that it might have toppled from its nest perched above the giant peepal tree. Hurriedly stuffing my precious treasures back into my pockets I yanked at a nearby Taro leaf and gently placed the wounded bird on it. Nestling it on the massive leaf I then carried it home. By the time I rang my doorbell I could sense that the little bird had stopped moving. For a moment, I consoled myself thinking that it had fallen asleep, but there were warning signals shooting in my tiny brain that something was not right and a lot more had happened to it beyond sleep, the reason for which I couldn’t fathom whatsoever. Ma opened the door and one look at my pitiful face and the lifeless bird in my hand made her realize the enormity of the situation. 

That cold evening I squatted besides Ma and helped her dig a trench with my picnic shovel at the backyard of my building. As the shovel hit the dark red colored mud, I could feel my eyes brimming with tears, involuntarily. I felt disillusioned and cheated.  It was the first time I had seen death up so close. My hands felt cold and clammy as I stuck my head into my mother’s bosom hugging her tightly. Heavy sobs wreaked my little being. That cold wintry evening it dawned on me that nothing lives forever. People die, animals die, birds die, and the little baby mynah lying in front of me with its feet upturned was dead and even if Ma had chanted all the mantras she sang early morning to appease the divine the bird could not be revived. I had lost it forever.  

I probably cried myself to sleep that night. 

But the mornings adorned with its freshness and bountiful energy spelled new beginnings. It managed to clear off the muddle and the cast of gloom caused by the previous day’s incident. In addition there was always Ma waiting for me with her abundance of hugs. She was my hug factory then. One tight hug from her used to leave me with the warmest of feelings flowing within which used to be even better than her famous besan ladoos. 

I don’t hug her so often as I used to then… 

Adulthood comes along with its own packaged instructions. The Do's and the Don’ts created by our own insidious minds robs us from the simple pleasures of life. We grownups tend to assume this cloak of consciousness around us little failing to realize that our souls lying deep within are still so childlike. 

A hug, a touch, a comforting word is sometimes all that one requires to get through life’s toughest battles. 

For me hugs matter a lot. Least of all it doesn’t come along with any "packaged instructions" stating that it is injurious to health. So if you haven’t hugged anyone lately, go do it now. It could be anyone... A friend, a lover, a child or even your pet…

And if it’s your Mum squeeze her even more:)

xxx