Posted: November 14, 2010 in Family, Heart, People, Places
Tags: , , ,

… I use to bully my baby sister all the time, even beating her up when I felt wronged by ma-pa . But should ma-pa (or anyone else) even raise their voice at her, I was ready to tear them apart! (LOVE my majj)

… I use to hate my great-grandmother (dadi’s mom, mataji) because she use to hate my kid sister and be on her case all the time even though she use to lavish all the world’s love and gifts on me. (I’ve always believed it was her gender bias, relating to fundas of male progeny >> female ones)

… I use to fight with my dad because he treated my sister better than me. She was the academic performer and I the leader in extra-curricular activities (extending that extra way too much)

… I use to get beaten a lot. By both ma & pa. And it was always my grandma who came to my rescue. Love you mama >:D< (even though I think a bit of it was pity at my state and the rest care for her grandSON)

… my parents were perennially scared of my teachers. Specially, Mrs. Narang. I was pathetic at studies. Never paying attention in class. Always lost in my dreamworld. And extremely lazy (still am). All my teachers gave my parents tons of shit every parents-teachers meet day. (Except my drawing teacher)

… I loved playing in the huge verandah of mataji‘s home, just down the street. Was heartbroken when after her death, her grandchildren divided the property and erected walls. I still don’t give a shit about those people but miss the verandah

… I hated cricket. But loved cycling. Though I never got more than 5kms far from home, I use to believe I was exploring the universe. And then I started cycling to school, on outskirts of town. And led the cycle parade at annual function because I was the only one with a road bike. A BSA Mach1 :)

… I had a hoard of GI Joe figures. I use to plan out elaborate battlefield sequences with them and my improvised armour (tanks made of wooden blocks) in our backyard garden (They’re still safely stored. Ma keeps good care of them. And makes fun of me with them every time I visit)

… my sister was the academic star always fighting for the top position in her batch with her best friend. Now she envies (and curses) me for my CAT & GMAT scores

… I once found a condom while rifling through my dad’s almirah. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what to do with it. But where it was hidden told me it was forbidden. And now that I’d opened the packaging, I couldn’t put it back. So, I threw it under the bed. No one ever asked me even if they found it ;)

… my mom found some love letters I had written to a girl I had a crush on (never gave her). Dad had his first serious chat with me. I also remember him putting lots of senti telling what impression it’d make on my sister if she learnt about them. (Like then, I still don’t know what’s so wrong about her learning above love, or love letters).

… we (me, ma & sister with lots of cousins) use to spend all our summers in Shimla. My mom’s family belonged there. Mom’s dad (bauji) use to pamper us like crazy. And we loved to be treated like kings by the hotel staff. After all bauji owned the hotel. (Then the things fell apart. Badly)

… me and cousins use to walk home in Shimla talking animatedly in a made up language. It didn’t mean a thing but puzzled everyone else to their wits’ end. We learnt to do it by observing those bus-loads of ‘madrasi’ and ‘bangali’ tourists talking in some undecipherable language.

(Now, I rarely speak to those cousins I so loved. Only a little more frequently to my sister. And to Mama, and she – the strongest woman I’ve known – is really weak now. Mataji passed away while I was in Shimla. Bauji passed away while I was at home. Didn’t get to say bye to either. Mataji‘s house and Bauji‘s hotel and house also passed away, as did Bauji‘s son who started the breakup. My old cycle is still there. Ma refuses to let dad sell it. )

I should sleep now. Enough heartache for a day.

  1. […] and talking to Mataji (a great grand mother) & Bauji (Ma’s dad). I wrote about them both (here, in the last paragraph), but I really haven’t written […]

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