To make you reminisce about some of the moments that gave you so much of happiness! So much so that that they never fail to bring a smile on your face even today.
And in my case the digging through old photographs happens every now and then :). It doesnt matter if the photos are thirty years old or three years or even three days old. I love to look at them and go on a nostalgic ride of my own.
It could be a photo taken a few decades ago of my then-4year old brother flaunting his newly-shaven head and flashing the cutest smile in the world :). Or it could be a picture of my father all dressed up to go to work, having his breakfast while my brother and I plant a kiss on his cheeks and our mother looking on adoringly. Or it could be a picture of my child being held in the arms of her father, both of them smiling at each other.
Oh there are times when I click photographs and immediately rewind them to have a look at them again. No.. not just to check if they have come out well but to simply think of those moments again and relive them.
And sometimes I find worthy company in Namnam who keeps insisting that I narrate the stories behind the pictures.
And it makes the ride even more enjoyable 🙂
Today was one such day when old photographs beckoned me and I went browsing through them.
I had started looking for a suitable photograph for the Thursday Challenge, but instead came across this particular one which had me laughing thinking about that moment when Namnam had found digging into her father’s ear amusing and majorly indulging. I had a clicked a sequence of shots which had her digging and poking till she emerged thoroughly satisfied after her foraging.
Let me share one of the shots from that moment and step into the weekend with a wide grin and happy heart 🙂
My virtual day has just started and as usual I have no specific subject in mind, but I am suddenly driven by this urge to write something. So here I am tapping away some non-sense just to quench my drive! Bear with me if you do stumble by my abode to find my utterances utterly boring 😀
A couple of days ago, while waiting at the traffic signal, a car zoomed past which looked very similar to the one I used to drive previously. When the signal turned green, while all the static vehicles vroomed towards their respective destinations, with them, began to roll a few thoughts in my mind.
The car that zoomed past me made me think of the similar one I used to drive and realize how rarely I talk of it or think of it. Oh no I hadnt had any nasty experiences with that car nor was it an ill-performing one where it needed constant repairs and checks. It was an excellent car, and I used to love driving it. But over the time we felt the need to go in for a sturdier vehicle, hence we let go of it and bought another one. However, what doesnt surprise me but disappoints my husband no end is that despite owning it for a reasonable amount of period I dont miss the car at all. R keeps giving me these ‘how can you be so heartless’ looks whenever he sees me happily driving my current car, take it to the petrol-station for refilling, ensure the lube-change whenever the need arises, wash it regularly…without so much as a single word of thought or rememberance for the previous car. And I keep reminding him that I used to do all of that and take care of my previous car just as much. The only thing is that I dont feel attached to it. Nor do I feel so towards my current car.
Ok, come to think of it I am sounding heartless, aint I? 😦
But that’s been the case with all the cars that I have driven so far. I dont ‘miss’ them. So if I am to let go of my current vehicle, I know I would be able to because I am not very attached to it. I do love to drive it, but more than the car, per se, its my love for driving which makes me go for it even more.
Oh I dont want to gender-specify it and say that its a womanly-attribute for they are ‘supposed’ to go for jewellery and cosmetics instead of machines and gadgets. I for one know thats not true because I am not at all into jewellery and cosmetics and I have loads of girl-friends who swear by the car they drive and virtually attain nirvana when they get to test-drive all the latest models in town! I’d rather like to believe that it has more to do with me as a person than me as a woman.
I dont even miss my first bicycle, cars are a long shot away :D. I do remember my first fall off it, I even remember crying profusely for the embarrassment I had felt standing there in front of all the on-lookers in my colony and I fondly remember learning to ride it with my father’s encouraging push. Thats about it. But if you ask me, what make it was, whether it had a seat in the back or a basket in the front or ribbons dangling from the handles, I would just give you a plain dumb, blank look for I dont remember any of those intrisnsic details
Even the first car that R & I bought jointly after our marriage unfortunately has the same status-quo. Yes it is special in my life for it was the first car- a white maruti 800- that we bought together and more than R, I have driven it and yet I dont miss it :(. I do remember driving it for work, pickng and dropping R on the way, going for dine-outs with my then new-hubby, driving around the city while listening to the good old hindi classics and even banging into a pick-up van right at the nizamuddin bridge and getting into a major tussle with the driver for bringing about the first dent in my car! And yet when it was time for us give it away, I could easily negotiate with potential buyers and seal the deal without any tug at the heart! While R who was miles away sitting in the Gulf had his heart shatter to pieces when I told him that the car had been sold.
In the span of 6 years we spent in Muscat, we had two cars which hardly find a mention in any of my conversations today, primarily because I never drove those cars as I had not got my licence then and secondly the same-old lack of belongingness to the machines! If you do want to know about them, talk to R and he’ll pour his heart out to you 🙂
Having said that the one car that I do remember fondly and miss too to an extent as it has become extinct today is the first car of my life. Its the Premier Padmini which my parents bought way back in ’96.
That was the first ever car of our life, hence very special to the four of us- father, mother, brother & I. I still have vivid memory of the glee-ful anxiety writ large on my and my brother’s faces when our parents brought home the car :-). I learnt to hone my then newly-aquired driving skills on this car- with able back-seat driving from my father of course :)- and went on to love and enjoy driving to the hilt. And what’s more, this is the car sitting in which I went to my marriage!
Still at the end of the day if you ask me if I am sentimental about cars in general I’d have to say no. So hows it with you all?
Pallavi had put up a status on facebook, a couple of days back wherein she mentioned how she couldn’t remember who Rama’s father was while narrating Ramayana to her son.
The status made me laugh out loud thinking about how well I could relate with her situation. I’ve had moments where, while reading out stories to Namnam, I have felt completely lost about certain characters and instances. So much so that I’ve even left them mid-way and tucked the books back in her shelf. * Shamefaced*.
But what Pal’s status also made me do was reminisce about my own story telling sessions with my grand parents. About the wonderful memories that are still so much a part of me.
The formative years of my childhood were spent at my maternal grandparents’ house. As both my parents were working and did not feel very comfortable having babysitters or Nannies around, it was only natural that they left me and my brother in our grandparents’ care, who lived just a few blocks away.
Story-telling sessions were an integral part of our stay at my grandparents. Especially stories from our Indian Mythology. The sessions were a wonderful way of bonding with our grandparents. We learned about the vastness of our culture and tradition from the different stories that they told us. They helped us widen our imagination ad infinitum.
Whenever I wanted to hear a story the first person I ran to, be it day or night was my grandmother,my Ammamma. She had some of the most precious pearls in her kitty. Her innate way of narrating stories made me want to live in those mythical eras. It was as though the characters sprang to life every time I pictured them in my mind.
To give an instance which is still so vivid, when she told us about Jatayu, while narrating Ramayana, I remember forming a very ferocious and huge image, in my mind, of a vulture fighting it out with the giant Ravana. And then the image would transform into a very meek, broken,beaten bird lying on floor hoping desperately that Rama would come by just in time to be informed about his wife’s abduction. I remember feeling desperate myself at that point of the story, no matter how many times I would have heard it from her. Each time Ammamma reached that point I could feel that sadness and desperation creeping inside me.
Another instance that I can give is when Ammamma narrated the story of Mohini, the only female avatar of Lord Vishnu, who tricked the Asuras by her enchanting ways, into handing her the Amrit, the nectar of immortality, and distributed it among the Devas. I remember having an image of a vast ocean with hundreds of Devas standing ashore to drink the Amrit. And for some strange inexplicable reason I imagined the Devas standing in a line, like school children waiting to get their candies!! Even the ocean that the Devas stood in front of, had the power to churn out Amrit, in my imagination!
While still on Devas or Suras, to this day I cant approve of them as genuine or godly as they are made out to be. I always felt they were a selfish, opportunist bunch who took advantage of their appearance and proximity to Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, to get the better of their infamous brothers, the Asuras. Thats my perception though.
Even Achachan, my grandfather had an engaging way of reading Bhagwat-Geeta, Adhyatma Ramayanam or any book for that matter. Hearing him and then having him explain it made us understand the essence of Indian Mythology in a far better way than we could if we had read them ourselves.
Stories begin to look and sound so much better when narrated by grandparents, dont they? I’ve observed how engrossed Namnam looks when her grandparents tell or read stories to her. I do read stories to her from Amar Chitra Katha, Panchatantra and other books but I know its so not the same as being narrated by the grandparents. They are a true blessing!
Being away from home, I still feel though, that Namnam is missing out on a huge chunk of fun moments and learning from her grandparents. But I’m glad whenever she gets to be with them, she makes the most of her time.