Beginning

 Have not started blogging in earnest.  Lots to do, unwrap memories, live the times down the memory lane, all waiting my itching fingers.

Since the earliest memories, at Matunga, KAS road, the Keraleeya Samaj which brings a concoction of mixed ayurvedic aroma of kashayams, singing "Vande Maataram, Sujalam,,," with tears flowing the punishment of undergoing kindergarten education, my life flows.  The benevolent Gujarati lady in her late 80s draped in whitest sari  like snow clad peaks of the Himalayas scattering wheat for the fluttering pigeons by hundreds scrambling, riotous claiming their share baffled me whilst many stood near the ration shop for rice, wheat and kerosene with a disfigured ration card with red colour which had sobered down.  The card read the entitled family members who deserve ration, inked and partially smudged due to wear and tear and rains.  The lion gargoyles at the entrance scared my pants off though couple of times sat on it to ensure they were harmless and would continue to be so, at least till the two years of aromatic existence.   The compounder who dispensed medicines was verisimilar to the Malyalee heros and comedians of the yore, buffed hair, coconut oil dripping from the hairs on their forehead, blackened hair like charcoal, add to the horror a Hitler moustache, they were menacing figures, vengeful to release any expletive or spanking that they had received from the dominant matriarchal counterparts.  Somehow looking at the palm and mango trees, chirping sparrows, cooing pigeons, learned the English and Hindi alphabets and names of  a few fruits and vegetables, animals, birds and flowers.  The guy with pink fluff of sugar candy was strategically poised to make us crave to bite our teeth into it.  The small shop owners displayed zebra lined round toffee along with orange, green, yellow peppermint too irresistible to claim a few from our escorts.  The window shopping itself was too awesome and we could dream for days together till we got 5 paise to revel!  It was heavens to pocket a few and share with a few of same height and stature defying any gender bias.  That bliss still lingers, the frame of innocence and carefree existence. Sometime 1970s!

My grandfather took me to all the schools around Matunga, Wadala and Sion.  Little Angels, Don Bosco, SIWS though SIES was hop skip and jump 4 buildings away.  The Schools did not suit my taste, and didn't want to join any.  Then, I pitched into SIES High School.  Somehow, I liked it instinctively.  The gigantic clock like big ben was a beauty, it worked for some years.  I do not recollect the time when it got entangled at twelve and refused to move any further.  Class IC was the first one next to the Administrative office.  The lush green trees, the open view to the outside world, the smell of fresh earth on the ground floor worked magic.  The hawkers, cycle bells across the road had an assurance that I was free to jump out of the class and run home instantly .  That gave me ample security that I need not be a convict.  The building view opposite to the school with tenants drying clothes in shining daylight or casually gazing the roads made it more lively.  The post box 3 feet tall with red body and a black cap had seen many hands dropping envelopes, post cards, inland letters and some lunatics pushing their hands deep inside the throat that the written missives reached the rock bed.  Data privacy was not the issue; it was just to ensure that it doesnt get stuck elsewhere in the nooks lest the recipient is deprived of the latest news, scoops and scandals. When the bell rang at 12.00 sharp, it was time for lunch and I launched or rather propelled way home for nourishment of a topping curd rice with small mangoes floating blissfully in the ceramic jar to pop in my plate of pleasure.  It was like a great achievement having attended half day school and needed the healing, soothing touch of curds to restore the wear and tear.

😀