After having killed my old blog in a moment of weakness, I realised that a lot of beautiful memories went down with it. I had written a somewhat similar post before, in my older blog and I just had to re-write my thoughts right here, right now.
How far back in time can your memory go? Sometimes, having an elephant’s memory is a horrid thing – you just can’t get the bad instances out of your head until time does its magical healing bit and comforts the wounds. Otherwise, it sure is a phenomenal blessing – to be able to remember everything good that happened in your life, especially your childhood!
I remember the time I was perennially perched on Mum’s hip, even in the kitchen while she was cooking. I would sway my tiny little legs back and forth despite her constant warnings. Like all mothers, she figured I would only learn by getting hurt – and I guess that was my first lesson in life. My baby foot touched the hot iron pan that was on the stove and I never again was on Mum’s hip when she was in the kitchen.
I remember the first time I fumbled with the number ‘5’ and Mum had to cruise me through with practice. I was just not able to write the number for a while – yeah, partially dyslexic. I had given up, at a meager age of all but 4 years, with copious tears flowing down my cheeks.
I remember the time when my brother broke his wrist while playfully jumping over my uncle’s outstretched leg and accidentally landing on his hand. I remember falling sick after hours of weeping, sitting huddled with my 4-year old best friend, Mehnaz, wondering when my family would return from the hospital. I remember not being able to eat a morsel of food until I saw my brother again.
I remember rummaging through a dark and ramshackle alley, which now that I think of, must have been a dump yard! The kids flung a ball out there and everyone conveniently pointed at me, asking me to bring it back. I remember reaching for what I thought was the ball, only to slit my thumb on a sharp piece of glass from a broken bottle. After running up perhaps 3 flights of stairs to Dad, I still remember the expression of dismay on his face, which slowly turned into one of disapproval. I will forever remember the only tight slap I ever got from him in my growing years. I didn’t once step into that alley again.
I remember the time we got back to India and I was very unfamiliar with the neighbourhood I lived in, yes, I was a 6 year old then. Some older girls took me with them to play with and I left without letting Mum know. I remember the chaos and crowd that was looking for me, when I finally got back home after sunset. I will always remember the tears in Mum’s eyes, who for a while thought she lost me forever!
And after all these years, I remember every precious moment growing up with the most doting brother anyone could have, the most loving and generous parents anyone could ask for. Luckily for me, I have begun a new journey of memories – I will always remember the first time I met S and fell head over heels in love with him. The first time we went out, the first time we began our lives together… And now a new beginning, a fresh kind of ‘firsts’ that makes me understand and appreciate my childhood better … An exciting journey lies ahead for us!