Chewing Gum and Mumps

I think we all remember the first time we did / learnt something.  Remember the first step you took? - umm... okay not that... That is saved in our parent's memories.  So the first time I rode the cycle all on my own,  the first time I forged my mum's signature (this was also my last time, its a story I will post  some other day), the first time I had soda (yep, even before I had cola), making Rasna on my own, my first camping trip... There are soo many firsts.

When you are child you have your own perception of the world and how it works.  You tend to make your own inferences based on what you see or have heard someone talk.  When I was six there was a fete held at school and they had this one section where a couple of girls were playing a guitar and singing.  They had dressed up funny - wearing a chain of tomatoes around the neck, green chillies as earring, a straw hat and bright red lipstick.  You must know from my previous posts how short I was and to me this giant woman in this description was very scary.  I had heard stories about witches, their crooked noses and pointy hats.  So when I came to this particular stall saw the girls singing...  One of girls came very close to me and smiled (she was being nice) but what I saw was a giant witch from the stories coming alive and smiling the wicked smile at me (like I'm gonna take you away!).  I even thought her face looked green (given my imaginative mind)! I let out a scream and ran from the stall.  That was the first time I had encountered a witch (so I thought then). When I reached home I told mum the story between sobbing and sniffing and she explained to me that witches exist but only in stories and the girl was only trying to be nice.

The reason I mentioned the above incident was to give an example how I interpreted things from what I had heard and imagined.  The real story for the post is about chewing gum and what I thought happens when you munch on too much of it.  (I think you're guessing what must have happened).  I remember the first time I had chewing gum, before that I only had candy that is chewed and swallowed.  My Mum had got this packet of Chiclets (remember those?) and she instructed me - Only chew it DON'T swallow.  When I put it in my mouth the minty taste was almost bitter and I had that whats-this-I'm-eating expression but I soon got the hang of it. I think I did swallow it the first time (bet everyone does that).

Mum would always only give me one gum at a time and I wanted to have more.  One evening when  she was out I flicked the packet of gum from her bag and put five pieces in my mouth all at a time. I hopped out of the house and into the nearby garden and coolly sat chewing on the now-big piece of gum feeling glad about successfully achieving my target. I munched on the piece for a long time.  I returned home after couple of hours of chewing was complete, by now my jaws were starting to hurt.  At night I came down with a fever and next morning woke up with sore jaws.  My cheeks had swollen and I could not open or move my mouth., not even to speak. Mum took me to the doctor who diagnosed Mumps (An acute, inflammatory, contagious disease characterized by swelling of the salivary glands. This disease, mainly affects children)

I assumed I had contracted it because of the stunt I had pulled off the previous evening.  Thought it was God's way of punishing me for the crime I had committed - not listening to your mother. I did not dare say a word of it to my Mum.  After that day for about six years I stopped chewing gum altogether because I had imbibed this strong idea that chewing gum causes mumps. It was a case of co-incidence and naïveté coming together.  Years later my Mum talked about the time I had the mumps and it was at that time I mentioned about the flicking act and why I had stopped chewing gum.

When people talk about the things that leave an impressions on kids and what huge impact it can make I remember this incident and think - Indeed!

Stop and Smell the Roses

Talk about generation Y, take out food, instant noodles, life on the move. We seem to be in a real hurry to get somewhere. That's not it...some of us live our life only on the weekends. And the meaning of 'Living the life' means going out for lunch / dinner, partying, shopping, getting away from the city, just lazing around the house or taking care of other chores (very much my life). Are we really 'Living' the life? There are some who are lucky enough to pursue their hobby as a career and there are those who are addicted to the work they do.

People from town are moving to the cities (or other country even) due to job prospects, leading to a lifestyle where they end up living alone (away from the family).  It is important to learn to manage things on your own and this helps.  However, the career driven age is driving out the heritage values that we would have learnt at home.  To take an example, how many of us know to cook everything that our parents knew? We are learning from other mediums but we are losing out on the home touch.

My  grandmother knew how to cook everything on her own. starting from light refreshments, a full meal, sweetmeats, everything. Plus she also knew knitting, sewing, stitching, and other bunch of arts. I understand there are classes and courses available for acquiring such skills but its not the same as learning them from someone at home (things like home remedy for sickness or a secret ingredient in the recipe / best practices etc.).  I was looking for some recipe online today and found this blog which said cook like your grandmother cooked; nice recipes and were well explained.  We have cook books available titled 'Learn to cook like your mother did' and we learn it from a book! We also have pickels and sweets which sometimes have a label or tag - Home made / Just the way mother made it. But is it ever the same?

None of the above is meant to be a criticism but to highlight that in this fast paced age we don't just need to stop to smell the roses but also plant a few flower bushes if possible and water them daily too :)

Here's a quote from the book "The Walter Hagen Story"

You're only here for a short visit. Don't hurry. Don't worry.  And be sure to smell the flowers along the way.

 Cheers to Life!

Heaven and Butterflies...

Do you ever think about the time when you were just a kid and remember how huge the world looked?

I was a short little thing - stood usually second or third in the school row. I remember holding my mum's hand and going to school... she was soo tall I had to look up like at the sky to see her face.  When I was in a room with adults seemed like I was in the land of giants.  I was a very stubborn and a happy child known to be a day dreamer since those days!  My teacher complained about my day dreaming to my mum but that did not stop me.  I must say I am lucky to have such a cool mum :D she did reprimand me but never discouraged me about dreaming. She would after that day often tease me by calling me a Day-dreamer.

I am still able to recollect some of the discussions that happened between my friends and I when we were in the elementary class.  There was this one time (we were 6 year old) we were standing in line for the assembly and I happened to look up at the sky.  It was cloudy but in a good way that is.. it was covered with white clouds and I pointed it out to  my friend she looks up and says " Hey look, they are the steps that lead to heaven.  If you climb up you will see God waiting for you" And I in all honesty believed it, may be that is why I still remember this dialogue.  It was the first time someone outside the family had talked to me about God and heaven.

Catching Butterflies and Dragonflies at that age was nothing less than a great adventure.  This one friend taught me how to catch butterflies and also told me tales about how she caught the dragonflies and tied them with a thread and then let them lose (I know this is mean but sounded soo cool when she told me about it). Under her guidance I managed to capture a few butterflies myself and I remember the moment when I showed her my first catch... she was very proud of me :)

One time I caught a butterfly when I was on my way to school.  I used to see the butterflies everyday while I walked to school and decided that one day I would take one with me.  So I carried an empty matchbox and put the tiny creature in it. When I was in class I told my friends I had something to show them.  Almost all of them caught butterflies but no-one had ever got one in class.  The butterfly I caught was still alive so when  I opened the matchbox to show them it flew out of the box and also right out of class.  But there was a lot of excitement for those few seconds that the insect flew around.

Thinking about where I am now... No butterflies, no chats about clouds and the world does not seem so tall anymore.... Its a whole different playground... still a Play Ground :)

That Night - A Poem

This was a poem I had written long long ago... 

I held your hand with both my hands

and tried to pull you hard

But the storm was too strong 

And I could not stop you long

It was the darkest night of all

The most fierce flashes of lightning

It seemed cruel and endless

I couldn't believe myself

Did I really let you go?

I tried to fight the night 

To get you back with all my might

But I was just too late and

You had gone too far away

The sun woke up from his deep slumber

Dispelling the night's dreadful blunder

But I had lost everything

As you alone were it all

I had lost everything

The storm had taken it all...

Washing Day

This story is dedicated to all my friends living away from home and have to do their own laundry, much like me.

The most critical activity over the weekend is doing the laundry. Living alone on your own teaches you a lot of things one of them is how to do the laundry (unless you are sending your clothes to the dry cleaner).  We do not realise how important it is to do something the right way unless it goes terribly wrong. 

When I was at home (my home in Goa) doing the laundry meant putting the clothes in the washing machine... just dumping them in.  Mother would take care of the rest.  But it was only after moving to this city and doing my laundry did I realise how not-so-simple it is.  The first week I would wash clothes on a daily basis after returned home from work. By the end of week two I had started collecting clothes to be washed on the weekend.  The first weekend when I had gathered a pile of clothes. I thought of home and missed not having mum around.

That day I learnt something - Always separate the whites and the coloured clothes (this applies if you wash the clothes by hand or in the washing machine)  This is very very important, I regretted not being careful before I had soaked the clothes.  I had a lovely red and white T-shirt, a yellow kurta, a white shirt and a green salwar kameez which I put in to the soap solution all together.  I kept is soaked for an hour.  It was when I got to rinsing the clothes that I saw what had happened - The red and white shirt had now become red and pink, the white shirt had patches of pink  and yellow on it, the yellow kurta had orange patches and the lovely green salwar kameez looked like rotten spinach green! (note: its almost impossible to get the colour off) That day I learnt this very important lesson and never again did I attempt washing all clothes together.

I remembered watching a show where this person goes to the laundry he had put all whites in... but when he  took out the clothes they had turned pink because there was a pair of red socks at the bottom! Found it pretty funny at the time... but when it happened to me... I wasn't laughing.  Anyway was a learning experience.

Hope you liked reading...

Lost in Big City

I was a wanderer since childhood and there were a couple of episodes when I got lost while playing and the grown-ups would then be looking for me.  However today's post is of an incident when I had just arrived in this city (Mumbai). 

When I was in the final year of college I was chosen by an MNC through the campus recruitment program to come work for them.  The office I would be working out from was located in Mumbai (I had studied in Goa). So this company provided the outstation recruits a free two week stay at a nice hotel and in the mean time we had to find a place for our stay.  Imagine this - you're in new city for the 1st time and have a deadline of finding a new place withing 14 days (that too after work hours).  We (my batch-mates) were divided into two groups or it was more like I was singled out from this group to work in a different shift.  While in college I had assumed I would be doing a night shift job and was prepared for it.  However, I was the only one from the outstations recruits from my batch who was selected to work for an 'Asia shift' i.e. 6.00 am to 3.00 pm shift and the others were going to do a night shift.

The office folks (morning shift guys) were really nice there were a couple of girls who were from other cities as well and they helped me by suggesting names of hostels, PG (Paying Guest) accommodation and apartment brokers. One lady from my team told me about this PG place that was in her area and volunteered to take me there. We took the BEST bus from office to this place, after we were done inspecting she dropped me back to this one bus stop and asked me to board a particular bus number and told me where to get off to get back to office (the hotel would send a car to take us back to the hotel only from the office).

So I was waiting for that bus and it arrived after about 25-30 min.  That day I noticed something about buses in this city... They don't really halt at the bus stop, they slow down, people run and get in and they start picking up pace and leave.  So I had to leave the first bus as I was unable to get in through the crowd (it was 6. pm and people were returning home).  I prepared myself for the crowd and getting on the next bus that comes. 

The second bus arrived after another 45 min.  This time there was some commotion happening and there was a lot of traffic so I had to move ahead about 20 steps.  By the time I had spotted the bus it had started to leave! I ran after it bit but was an useless effort.  Now the time was almost 7 it was getting dark and I was still at the bus stop... Waiting... Growing worried and tired.  I had no idea which part of the city I was and how far away from the Office.  I decided to take the Rickshaw but none of the drivers agreed it was apparently quiet far away (I realise now it would be about 1.5 hours if I had taken the rickshaw). I did not have the phone number of the lady who had dropped me there and I thought I was doomed! All negative thoughts were clouding my mind I felt like the wave of ambition I was riding had crashed on the rocks. I was lost and would not be able to get back to the safety of my hotel room. I felt I had enough of this city, I had proved my mattel when i got this job.  I just wanted to go home to my family, back to my town. I thought of calling home and telling my parents but decided not to as it would be of no help and they would be worried as well.

Two hours past this way and I was really afraid for the first time in my life it was past 8 pm.  A bus had just halted in front of me and I read the destination it was the name I had read on the office envelopes I quickly boarded the bus and bought a ticket to the last stop. I felt better as the bus started taxiing, I was at least moving to somewhere.  I got off at the last stop and asked a couple of people about this supermarket building that was infront of the office. One lady told me she knew where it was we got into a rickshaw, she then dropped me at the superstore.  I had called the hotel staff for the taxi to pick me up and it had arrived by the time I walked back to the office entrance. 

I had never before felt so relieved to find my way back somewhere as I did that day on reaching the hotel room.

I know I did not really get lost but felt much worse... First time I experienced fear when I was sort-of lost.

Three Bags Full

So here's my first attempt at  blogging after reading so many of my friends blogs.  My friends think I'm very talkative but the fact is I have things to share  (I consider myself a very quiet person) :P. So here goes nothing...

When I first left home I arrived in this big city (Mumbai) with just two big bags and a backpack. Over the years my luggage has increased depending on the cupboard space available.  Its funny as the space increases it also gets occupied leaving with again cupboard full of items.

Over a period of last 4.5 years i have shifted 3 times to different PG (Paying Guest) accomodations and have managed to adjust my saamaan in whatever space was available.  I go shop for new things only when I need them, agree there are times when I splurge on stuff  but that is only because I would be using it sometime in the future. When I'm out shopping I always think about the space remaining where I can stack up and that the total items I have can all be packed up in Three bags at any point in time (three because that is the total number of bags that I can manage to carry on my own).  Not a very good feeling.

I was out shopping last weekend and when i got home realised there was no more dumping space left! So this morning the first activity was to sort out everything in my cupboard and give away things that I have simply been hoarding.  Going through some old clothes I realised the amount of weight I had put on and how thin I was when I had first arrived here (that is a whole different story).  I clearly exceeded the limit of three bags and had to throw away old things (clothes, shoes and other things) and make space for the new ones.

Very often I wish I had my own place, not because I could shop and dump stuff at home but because I would not have to constantly think about moving.  I crave for stability, knowing only better change is the only thing constant.... until I settle down for good.