The Special cracker... A short story

Ting Tong.Ting Tong Pattu, presses her fingers excitedly on her doorbell. Reva ben the domestic help of the household opens the door; Pattu flings her bag on the sofa, removes, rather dumps her shoes in the shoe rack and zooms in, to the kitchen where her mother is busy stacking some washed crockery a part of her Diwali cleaning.

‘ Yahoooooooooo, Mummy, exams are over, no more padhai for one month'.
‘Yes beta, Ave tamera Ghodha chutha.’ She remarks in Gujrati (A Gujrati proverb implying the horses are free from their stable to run)

‘Mummy, give me money, we are going to Goldcoin, the fancy ice-cream parlour for our exam over celebrations’.
Pattu and her schoolmates had a ritual to celebrate the end of their exams over an ice-cream.

Ok beta, but how was your paper? Paper was ok. So are you going to be first in class?
No, Mummy, how can I come first, there are many more smarter girls in the fourth grade.

As the days pass by Pattu`s excitement of Diwali vacation slowly fizzles out just like the dough fizzling out in circles from the sancho into the frying pan to form chakris which her mother is busy preparing. Pattu`s father who had just come out of an elephant bath and is a total foodie, grabs a bite of the chakri.
‘Hmm, its not soft enough, you haven’t mixed the dough well. When you do the next lot call me, ill show you a better method.’

Papa I am really bored of my vacation, I have nothing to do. This was a very common line repeated by Pattu every vacation.

Ok, Lets do some Rangoli, her father remarks as he gulps down another glass of water.

Rangoli session was something Pattu, always looked forward to. It was like an event for her to see her Papa paint and stroke design after design. The peacock was his favourite caricature. Pattu was not really an artist, but her Dad allowed her to fill in the colours, for which she often made a mess, but Papa always obliged. As he stroked the brushes to dish out design after design, Pattu kept pestering her Dad with the weirdest of questions that a 10 year old would have.

Papa when will go on a holiday? Papa were you a artist like MF Hussain? Papa how many prizes did you win when you were fourth standard? Papa why can I not draw like you? The list would be endless

Papa this year, Dadaji is in America so we will not have to hide the firecrackers. When are you getting the firecrackers? Bubli( a neighbour & friend) and her brothers sisters already started bursting crackers yesterday. When will you get firecrackers for me?

Beta, this year I have a better idea of firecrackers, how about bursting some special crackers? Let me finish this Rangoli and tell you about it. After finishing the Rangoli, he takes a seat on the big fat sofa, the sofa is over 30 years. It’s a standing trophy of the prosperity that the family has achieved over the years. It’s the same sofa, where Pattu`s Dadaji was interviewed by Marshall & sons and that job at that time had saved his six member family from stepping on the line of poverty.

Papa,what is this special cracker?

Pattu tell me one thing, when you burn those crackers the happiness that you get is so momentary, it just dies in a matter of few seconds. This Diwali, why don’t you bring happiness and joy in the lives of those children who can probably not buy any crackers and who will probably not even have enough sweets like you.
Although Pattu, was quite a brat being the only child and having been pampered to the brim, strangely she had a good heart and was quite a giving child.

The legacy of this special firecrackers began, as Pattu and her dad walked into the crowded Dadar market, bought some 200 steel glasses, chocolates, paper whistles and cellophane paper. Back home. Pattu was excited with the job of filling those steel glasses with sweets and tying cellophane paper on the glass

The next morning, the family zoomed on the Mumbai- Goa highway and almost 110km later their car halted at a school in a sleepy hamlet in Konkan. Pattu, had never really seen a village in her life, and was amazed to see mud houses, men & women scantily dressed & the starring eyes. The schoolmaster rang the bell as a sign of calling all the children in the school ground.

After a series of sounds of thumping feet’s, screams and laughter, children in all shapes and sizes gathered outside the school. Some of them barely had any clothes on them, but what they all had was a smile on their face, and the curiosity to find out what was going to happen here, they looked at the huge tall sahib, who had his fancy camera pouch tied around his waist, looking more like a gun. They had seen this sahib before but they looked in amazement at the girl with the hair cut of a boy, and the sethani wrapped in a bright yellow and red saree.

The schoolmaster announced, “Sagle ek line madhe ubhe rahava” ( Stand in one line). As the children left the school compound they flinged the cellophane paper in the air,blew the paper whistles and gulped the chocolates in to their hungry mouths. The atmosphere was full of noise and celebration and as Pattu looked at them, she felt so happy and satisfied; this special cracker had given her even more joy then any other firecracker she had ever burst. And after that day she never lit even a single firecracker, the only thing that she wanted to light was the special cracker. As the sparks it created were magical

Navratri Ki Yaddein

It’s the long weekend and all the catching up on sleep during the day has made me like an Owl in the night, thus am compelled to do nothing but flip TV channels. As usual there is nothing interesting on televison but I happen to stop by on a channel playing a rerun of that nights Falguni Pathaks Dandiya ras. Although the Navratri this year has not managed to generate any interest in me, but as I listen to “Jode re Jodar”, & ‘Rangalo’ two of my favourite garba songs, I cant help but recollect all those wonderful memories of Navratri

Cousins coming to stayover,Going to Juhu beach, Juice center at Khar for a after Navratri snack, dressing up in the special Chania Cholis that Dadi would stich for me, almost winning the best dressed kid every year, listening to Papa sing at the Navratri gatherings, Participating in Papa`s relentless efforts of teaching me the steps year on year, Standing at my building balcony to watch all the action especially on days I couldn’t go, as I would have an exam the next morning, Sometimes visiting different Navratri venues. It was a different world altogehther

Last year I happened to visit the most popular Dandiya – Sankalp.

Flashback Dandiya 05
The true Dandiya queen- Falguni Pathak`s voice definately has the power to get one`s foot tapping. As i stood, there reflecting at the thousands of people, present in that ground, some watching just enjoying the music, some trying their first hand on the garba and some simply dancing to kill .I wondered what is it about,this festival that drives people from all communities to come and enjoy the thrills of Navratri ? Is it all about advertising and the hype? Is it about particpating in ones festival ? A youngsters excuse to go to a parents authorised disc or is it simply the festive spirit. I still remember, as a kid i always looked forward to Navratri, which happend in our buildings. There were no loudspeakers, but a simple dholwala and people would sing. I was never to good at the dandiya or garba, so i dont know whether it was the drive to learn it or was my fathers singing at these Navratris that drived me to not miss even a single day of the Navratri in the building. As time passed by the small celebrations in our buildings came to an end and it went on to the big disco dandiyas that happened, thus me taking a seat in front of my television screen and flipping channels to watch the diffrent dandiya`s. But what i really love about Navratri, is that it brings out the folk culture of Gujrat, Infact some day i would like to go and watch Navratri in Ahmedabad or Baroda. i have heard, the celebrations there have still kept the traditional elements intact

The Garba Rass for the year is over, but if you still want to give your hands a shot with Garba and Dandiya- Sharadpunam should be a day to watch out

Mumbai by night- Savouring the festivities of Ramzan

“Oh meri zohare zafi tuje malum nahi” This retro Hindi number plays from one of the blaring Dandiya pandals near the Police gymkhana at Marine drive as we walk towards the Islam gymkhana from the calm waves of Marine drive to begin our night food trail.
The atmosphere was festive as girls and boys dressed up in their Navratri outfits passed by, in an open ground we saw a group of men dancing and singing something which seemed like Nepali, maybe it was the Gurkhas dancing to their cultural tunes. We meet our guide and host for the evening who is busy finishing a strawberry gola outside the Malai Golawala with his toli of friends. Since all of them were dressed in their traditional outfits the kurta and the customary topi for a moment, I am little baffled and wonder if it’s the same people I am supposed to be meeting, to add to it our guide for the night, who is also a very good friend of mine has a uncanny resemblance to Osama Bin and my wandering mind happens to think if he is really related to you know who.

The Malai golawala stall is crowded with people surrounded around him with requests for the strawberry, chocolate malai gola. Malai gola is basically gola dipped in milk instead of the sherbet gola which is commonly available everywhere. The background is full of Disco Dandiya music, cars passing by on the main road and of course the view of Mumbais skyline and the Queens necklace.

Finally after every one has had enough of the malai gola we move towards the Minara Masjid at Mohammed ali road. As we arrive at the road under the JJ flyover there seems to be total chaos there, jammed roads with cars, buses, people walking by, it is nice to see Mumbai in so much action even in the middle of the night. As we wait at the corner of Minara masjid lane I cannot control my excitement seeing the dozens of chappal stalls, although I don’t want to buy any chappals I cant stop myself from buying the cutest little kid chappals for my niece.

Amongst all that crowd, I happen to notice the “Khilona ka pheriwala” the kind of hawker who is usually seen outside marriage halls. Suddenly I go back to those days when I would nag my parents to buy me something from that stall, when I take a close look at the stall, I wonder how toys have changed from times, the simple bow and arrows, puppets, tea sets are replaced by Barbie mobile phones, Ipod, play grids.

We walk in the tiny by lane of Minara masjid.The atmosphere is so charged, with not even a inch of place to move. The tiny bylane is full of food shops, men busy cutting and stirring food in huge vessels, bikes trying to find their way out. Our guide tells us that the way to begin the meal is to have zabban soup.From this tiny bylane we cut across to another tiny bylane again full of food shops and tables layed out for guests to sit. We are sitting at Bade Miya.it’s the only place you get to eat zabban soup.(goat tongue). Its more of a starters kind of place. Bheja fry, kaleja fry all that is available here. I like the way one of the waiters tell the cook ( Yeh Bhai ka bheja de do). I am a vegetarian so obviously I can’t eat anything here, so I want to drink some chai. The waiter screams out to the owner of Café Noorani just opposite where chai is being made in a gallon. I scream back to the owner giving him my instructions on the tea. Next to Café Noorani is a barber shop. The barber seems to be doing brisk business even at this hour. My chai arrives in a nice thick glass cup, and is amazing.

As we move towards the dinner place(Janta Hotel) I cant help but stop at the sweet shops to see the action. The smell of pure ghee, the malpuas being dipped in a sea of ghee and the speed with, which the workers wrap them putting a spray of malai on it, is simply amazing.

It is very hot outside, thus its definitely a relief to go to the AC section of Janta Hotel, although there is place only for 4 ppl, while we are 8. The waiter who I later learn to call chcha and not chacha tell us the other table will clear in a few minutes. to which the my group mates joke over the guests sitting on that table “ Yeh to Aadhi jaan hai, kuch kha nahi payenge” on the context that they would finish soon.

Finally we get our table and order the specialty which is bater, tittar, chicken 65. I ask chaccha what veg stuff I could get. He says “ Aapa veg main to sirf roti or dal milegi,woh bhi bajoo se mangani padegi”. I like being call Aapa, when I enquire what it means, I find out it means, ‘Sister’ and then I think of Khala , with the obvious connection about a character from recently read book, Sacred Games where the Khala is Sulemain Asa right hand, taking care of his operations in Mumbai

As we sit across the table, my groupmates joke about each other. One of them who is really hungry and supposedly a very hot tempered guy is being provoked by all types of comments, another one who is a married and is going for Omra in a couple of days(which means going to Haj, during the non Haj season) seems to be in a hurry, as he has forgotten his home keys and this reason is being used as a weapon to tease him about the whippings he will get from his wife for coming late. One of the other group mate tells us about staying in Karachi for three weeks to attend a wedding, and he tells how Shia`s hide their identity as they are often killed or harassed by the Sunnis in that land. They also tell me that the Ramzan feast is not as grand in Karachi as it is in Mumbai. As the food arrives there are more rounds of laughter with one or the other groupmate being the victim of some joke. Finally when all finish, the guys tell chccha to get the Sadma(shock), they tell me its just a fun way of asking for the bill, to which one of the groupmate remarks “ its good we don’t say zakht to the tip we leave behind.”

Its almost 2:00a.m now, but the rush of people coming in and out of this tiny bylane hasn’t reduced much. We park ourselves at the sweet stalls, there is so much to choose, phirni, kesar and plain, gulab jamun, masala milk, jalebi, and ofcourse the all time favourite malpua. When we get out of the lane I ask my guide if there is a night bazzar, he tells me that further down there is the Bori Mohala, and Madanpura. Madanpura I have heard this name before and I want to go and see it. After a round of Khudha hafiz, the rest of the people retire for the day, we give our condolences to the wife beating victim and then the four of us walk towards Madanpura. I love walking on this road, under the flyover.

I look at all those people who are sleeping so peacefully, on the streets, devoid of their daily worries of survival, or cockroach or rat attacks. The earth is their bed and sky is their shelter. I wonder what happens to these people during the rains.

As we walk further I see the Noor Mohammed hotel which is famous for its Nali- Nihari a sort of delicacy next to the very famous Shalimar hotel. On the side we see groups of men chatting, playing games of carom. As we walk through the lanes of Madanpura, in another tiny bylane I watch a man stirring something in a huge pot, I go and ask him what he is cooking, He tells me he is making kheema and this is the preparation for Sehri( Sehri is the food they eat in the morning). He tells me they buy 600 kg of meat every day during this season.

In pockets we pass through garment shops, where the tailors are busy at work cutting and stitching, burkhas, topis etc. I notice some really old building yazdar mansion, ali Mahals of the world. We cross through the by lanes of Nagpada and Bhendi bazzar. These places were supposed to be the most dangerous, but there is nothing really dangerous about this road. Its calm and silent with people sitting and chatting at the nukkad, or restaurant workers getting ready for the next meal, or hoards of hawkers turning their carts into their beds sleeping on it. I would have just loved to have walk endlessly through these roads if it wasn’t for my old friends who just couldn’t walk any more.

I completely enjoyed seeing a totally different side of Mumbai. Mumbai can always surprise you with something new all the time

Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra

It all began one Saturday afternoon, when I sat starring outside my window, looking aimlessly at the green patch in front of my house and sulking about something. The phone rang.It was Nitin aka Godfather. He had called to tell me, that he has managed to get hold of a signed copy of Vikram Chandra`s much talked about book Sacred Games.I don’t know whether I was ignorant or indifferent,but I hadn’t really heard about the book or what it was actually about. But when I was told that its related to Mumbai and crime scene, for some strange I developed an instant urge to read that book, inspite of being warned of it being a 900 page hardcover(7kg in weight).


Sacred Games - A must read

This book is a crime thriller, not a dhishom -dhishom kind of thriller but more of a detective book. The main plot of the story is investigating the self-murder of a big crime lord of Mumbai aka Ganesh Gaitonde by Sartaj Singh an senior sub inspector. But amidst this main story are weaved even more interesting tales. It’s the story of the thousands of youngsters who float into city to make their Bollywood dreams, the story of their survival, the human side of gangsters and their team mates, their triumphs, their failures, betrayals, the story of partition affected families, a story of the Bangladeshi immigrants in Mumbai, to the story of infidelity in marriage. It’s a story of faith, belief and betrayal.

I love the way Chandra has weaved the characters in the story, with every character having an interesting tale to share and it is very real.

The novel is so gripping& entertaining, that you will not want to keep it aside until you finish reading it,no wonder over the last 3 weeks, even the crowded train compartments, full of chatty and loud women,or the tiresome bus journeys or the jerky Rickshaw ride has deterred me from closing my book (not to be forget the instances where I have been mocked by friends and collegeous for carrying such a huge book around)

That’s what I love about books; good books have the ability to help you dissolve your worries and troubles, getting you involved in the lives of its characters. Books are your best friends, and great company, never to betray you.

Very well written & gripping.An excellent book. I have enjoyed every minute of reading this brilliant book.Great job Vikram!

Beyond Classrooms! Lessons of Life

Teacher’s day brings back memories of celebrations at school, where we practiced for skits or song recitations days before the d-day, competed with each other to give the best gift to our favorite teachers, for some it was a chance to erase that bad picture they had painted for themselves, while for others just, an opportunity to simply acknowledge the presence of those who had really made a difference in their lives

Post my classroom days, every Teachers day, I like to reflect and think about all those non- classroom teachers who I have met throughout my life. These people have never thought of themselves as my teachers but they have shared with me some important learning’s, experience, knowledge which has helped me graduate year on year with flying colors, and that is what makes them my special teachers.

But I would like to tell you about the Biggest Teacher in my life, who saw me the second I entered this world.

He always had a smile on his face, energy in his eyes. He had an ability to mesmerize people with his talks. He could talk to you about anything under the sun, from the way a certain teacher troubled him, to how he and his school gang(golden gang) played pranks on students, to anecdotes about his interesting friends ranging from the 80 year old Dadima in the building, to the middle aged women of the navrati group, to the fathers of some of his friends, to those countless travelogues of trips that were planned on a spur of a moment to gather handicrafts, to tales about his young entrepreneur ventures, stories of his weird clientele, to his escapade from foreign countries, to his survival trip adventures, to theories on best crop yield, land , plantation, to the techniques on making some of the best dishes, to Indian Mythology and Hindu philosophy, to Psychology the list can go on.

What was unique about my teacher is that you would always take back something new at the end of a conversation with him. His style of teaching was not advisory, but mostly sharing oriented. I think he didn’t want to be a preacher, but someone who wanted to share what he had learnt.

On this day, let me share with you some important lessons that I learned from him

Never be attached to anybody or anything, because if your attached to something, you will have expectations from it, and if you are bound by it, it’s very difficult and hard to let go if it, if it’s gone tomorrow. Don’t be indifferent to what you are attached to, but develop the ability to live without it if it’s gone tomorrow.

Fight your own battle. This is something I have grown up with, my teacher never came in the middle to be a mediator to solve my quarrels, he wanted me to fight my own battles. He often told me. “Life is your own battle, do not expect others (including your parents & children) to come and support you, because they have their battle to fight, if you expect them to come and they don’t turn up you will be hurt.”

Give. A giver is what my teacher was. I often argued with my teacher, that we shouldn’t give to people who didn’t deserve, or do not acknowledge what we do for them. But I liked what he said, “God doesn’t grant everyone with the ability to give, you’re the chosen one, so give and there will never be less”

Trust. My teacher often said, “Don’t trust anybody in this world, not even your children or parents.” I had thought that maybe he was being very cynical, but having seen the outside world, I somehow am forced to believe it is true

Smile- The world is full of sorrow, share your joys not your sorrows. He had an uncanny ability of hiding all his sorrows under his smile and those cheerful talks.

I wonder how big this list would have been, if all had not ended on 29 December 2001, the day my biggest teacher closed his books from the world. But as they say a Great Teacher always lives in the knowledge and learning’s that he shares, just like Papa.

Independence Road-adventure

Ticket to Ride

Day 1 - August 11, 2006

I zoomed into Bombay central station, a little before the meeting time. As I got of the cab apart from the normal Coolie`s pestering me to carry the luggage, two train-ticket touts came enquiring if I needed to buy the Rajdhani train tickets. I ignored the first guy, but when a second tout approached me , I couldn’t help asking how much it would cost, he replied just 200 rs extra. It would be interesting to know what kind of money these guys make in this business

At the station, the atmosphere is charged with steaming engines of the trains awaiting departure, people waiting for their travel companions. Hands packing and unpacking baggages, people catching a few winks before the train. & ofcourse the anticipation and excitement in the eyes of those viewing the train arriving at the station .As I await the arrival of my two friends & also my travel mates for the journey at Desi Deli I decide to look around. On one side is the old IRTC canteen serving the normal snacks and adjoining it is the swanky MC Donald’s & Desi Deli air-conditioned eatery. The arches and the architecture at the station remind me of the Grand Central station in New York. As we walk towards our train the Rajdhani,I remember the last ride I had taken on the train almost 10 years ago with Papa & Ma where we had just managed to board the train just a minute before its departure

We find our seats on the train, and are greeted by newspapers. One of my travel mates who has probably never traveled in a long distance train is amazed and reaches out for his wallet to pay for the newspaper & water just to find out that it is just a part of the services offered by the Rajdhani. Three of us park ourselves on or side window berth. It’s a nice view outside as we pass through the green fields, the rivers the lakes. As one of our travel mates rightly describes it, “ Its like viewing nature through a plasma screen” There aren’t any interesting people sitting around us, except two small kids in the next cubicle who keep scaring us by howling like dogs.

I walk around to the hot air buffet car, where some workers are peeling a sack full of potatos, one guy is cooking chicken in a pan, and another is frying the cutlets. Apparently they are cooking for the first class passengers. They also prepare the breakfast for the entire train. This is just a open kitchen no food is served here. I move ahead and check out the first class compartment which seemed very neat with each cubicle having private doors. The first class compartment also has a bathing room equipped with hot water.

Prank stories, annecdotes, weird experiences spiced with snacks and a scrumptious dinner later we decide to retire for the day. As I begin reading my book, I cant help remembering all the characters i had met on my last train ride couple of months ago. They had kept me entertained with their tales & queries keeping me distantly away from my book reading.

Day 2
Ride to Rishikesh

The day begins on an exciting note. Its 4:30a.m I wake up at Kota station, I struggle to open the door of the train as curious onlookers stare at me from outside the door. Finally one of the policemen standing outside, opens the door for me and I request the chai wala to make me chai without sugar and he sweetly obliges. Back in the train, I try to wake up my oldie travel mates but all my efforts are gone for a toss as they continue to sleep. Later I try to catch a wink, as I don’t want to miss the morning, which is beautiful. At 6am I am finally up and happily glaring out of my plasma screen window. Its beautiful, the clouds have just come out, the green fields with workers toiling away in the field, old village houses, women filling water, people resting on their khatiyas.

Finally we reach Delhi station and get out from Paharghanj section of the station and get into the swanky CRV that we have borrowed from Bhuj,who had just left the city a couple of hours back to spend her weekend in Rajashtan. Mukesh our driver is in full form with his swanky sunglasses. A lady Rickshaw driver passes by the station making us all excited.

As the three of us debate on whether he looks like Dubeyji from Monsoon Wedding or Om Puri, Mukesh takes on the role of the perfect Delhi guide and drives us around Akshardham. Akshardham is an impressive temple. At about 12 noon we halt at a nice Coffe Day and coax the outlet to allow us to eat the Sabudana Khicdi that Mom has made for us. At that time, sabudana khicdi seems like heaven for us, the fasting souls. As are Michael Schumacher, Mukesh takes on the wheel, we feel like we are on a jet passing through the sugarcane fields, the dhabas, the tractors, the rivers, the overcrowded rickshaws & buses with people hanging outside.

After crossing three states, Delhi, Uttarpradesh & Utranchal we finally arrive at Rishikesh at 3:30 a.m. After various discussions and debates we finally find a cozy place called Ishan Guest house to stay at Lakshman Jhula with the most outstanding view of Ganges. Later we check out the German bakery adjoining the hotel frequented by Firangs. We relish our chais & milks and begin our long walk to the Aarti in the evening. It an interesting walk through the Jhula, shops and the temples.

The Aarti is one of the most divine experiences, which every visitor to Rishikesh must definitely have. We sit on the banks of the Ghat, dipping our feet in the cold water of the river. Its yet sunny & the kirtaniyas are just setting up. On one side are the mountains, in the middle is the Lakshman Jhula( Jhula is a kind of bridge on top of the river and supported only at the edges, it sort of looks like the Howrah bridge).

The cool breeze, the setting sun, the scenic view of the Ganges, you just cant help but close your eyes to believe your actually here. Peace is all you can breathe in. But not for too long, as the bhajans, begin the crowd also starts pouring in . Some of them talking so loudly that you could easily get distracted . We do the aarti and then let the leaf bowl full of flowers and diya float into the water. The entire experience can leave you with so much energy. Some dignitaries have also come for the aarti, from the people we know its Murli Deora, the Petroleum minister, we later learn he was in town to attend some ONGC conference. We are in the mood to meditate so we walk further down the ghat, just to find a tranquil spot to mediate. Finally we do meditate on top of the well or waterboard. It is rejuvenating.

After that peaceful experience, we look forward to dinner at Chotiwala. Chotiwala is a simple eatery serving a mix of Indian & continental food. We get a spot at the terrace and gulp down the scrumptious thali full of vegetables and rotis and some good sweets. We all have mixed reactions on the food, I personally thought they put too much of oil in the food thus killing the actual flavor, while my other two travel mates liked the food.

Some arguments later we take a rickshaw ride back to the hotel.Well our tiredness does not deter us from further doses of laughter, music and free cyber cafe sessions on one of our travel mate’s computer, post which we retire for the day

I hope to write about my complete journey soon & upload some cool pics if my travel mates send them to me. Watch out this space for more

High Chair

It is a beautiful Sunday morning in Goa.It is so peaceful and calm. As I laze through breakfast savoring the scenic view of the endless sea at this fancy restaurant, I suddenly happen to glance at a very neatly crafted high chair across my table. As I look at it, lot of thoughts came to mind

I am reminded about the numerous instances where my friends, cousins, aunts etc have requested for a high chair for their little ones. when we had dined at restaurants. I think about the times I have laughed at the young parents trying to keep the energetic kid seated on the chair, or the times they have struggled to feed the little one.Times when I have really felt sorry for these young parents who had to keep up with the tantrums of the little one, just taking away the pleasure of having even one peaceful meal

As I looked at it again I wondered when I would need to ask for a high chair. Over the past couple of years I have developed a sudden fondness for children. It’s fascinating to know that just a small cell has the ability to grow into something so beautiful, so innocent, and so joyful. I wonder how my parents feel when they see me. They have probably seen me in a shape of a little cell, and today, I am this overgrown infant.

Motherhood must be such a divine experience. The ability to give birth to a living creature just fascinates me. I have loved to hear the fascinating tales of young parents. Stories of not being able to sleep, holidays turning into disasters and the un- explanatory satisfying stories of the first walk, the first word, the first day in school etc.

So as I sit here on this lovely Sunday morning, free from of any worries, any responsibilities, equipped with the freedom to do what I want, I wonder if I really want to be the one asking for a high chair. But I guess life is about having a plethora of experiences, and the film that the almighty has scripted for us definitely has Time for everything. ( just like that famous song from Forest Gump. There is time to laugh. There is time to cry..). So when the time comes I am sure I will have the opportunity to pick up a high chair.