The sky was falling and streaked with blood
Recently, I got a chance to visit a friend of mine staying in NJ. Accidentally, for unknown reasons his cable and telephone connections had to be fixed.
A technician of Columbian origin was sent to his apartment to check the technicalities. Soon, my friend broke into a conversation saying “You're from Columbia? You have really beautiful women.”
He replied, “Yes, but they ask for a lot of money.”
In my early childhood, my parents, my brother & me lived with my grand parents. This was a three-storied house, quite large, perhaps a bit ill kept due to its size. The ground (first) floor was living space for all of our joint family, the middle one having bed rooms and a patio, that sometimes was our cricket ground, as there were no playing grounds in near vicinity. On top was the terrace used to evening tea & snacks, playing cricket & kite flying. The next house to ours was quite high, towards the east and particularly blocked all the sunshine in the first half of the day. This left us with quite chilling mornings indeed.
Before Holi, this patio & the terrace was used to dry up potato chips and papads (spicy Indian crackers). And most of the times those chips, pickles & papads were more of a generous invitation to the monkeys. Not only food, the clothes hung up for drying were also unsafe. It was no wonder if the missing clothes were found in the neighbourhood, and sometimes they did cover a lot of distance.
I cannot guess the year it was, my first vivid childhood memory dates back to the day following my birthday. Among my gifts, I remember a replica of a military tank that Daddy brought for me a couple of days before my birthday, which could not survive till my birthday. I was embarrassed when I was asked to show that tank because all I could bring was some mutilated pieces, which I had hid in the closet of our bedroom under a trunk. There was a set of building blocks and I guess there were some books too, but I was always more active to escape that interest.
That day, I had quickly gobbled my lunch and came upstairs into the patio to see if something builds out of the building blocks. Soon, I was quite taken in by my imagination. Minutes later, I felt hands on my shoulder. Assuming them to be my brother’s, I kept continuing with what I was. Soon, it felt an impediment to my concentration. I mumbled “mat karo dada” (Don't do it brother). My humble request didn't make difference to him. I looked over my shoulder, just to find nails long and black and arms more hairy that any human being can have. I screamed. I guess that poor creature got more scared than me and ran in fear.
Alright everyone, a late update. On this Thanks Giving, Thanks to Saurabh Bhaiya for driving me to the Guitar Center. I picked up the guitar I had been eying for about an year.
This was the question of the day on the Intranet site of my company
