Went to the balcony a few minutes ago when I heard high pitch giggles. I knew it our relative’s daughter. They happen to live in the same building as us. She and her best friend and other assorted kids her age (all of 6) usually run around the building during evenings, driving cycles, spinning tops, playing hide and seek or simply arguing with one another. Today these two girls were armed with a badminton and plastic cork. From my fifth floor view it was a fun event. Neither was able to strike the cork at first go. It took about 6-7 attempts to touch the cork (of course by chance) and for the thing to whimper a bit and fall not further than 3 feet away. As a result each tried to move closer to the partner. They argued and tried to tell one another how the cork must be hit.
I couldn’t help but smile the entire 15 minutes I stood watching them. And then the realisation sunk in that this was exactly how I was 20 years ago. My childhood memories are something I have always meant to write down in detail. I did make a beginning and start writing. Then I left it after 3-4 paragraphs. Suddenly I am posed with the urge to once again dig into the recesses of my brains. Like bees rushing to the comb to rediscover the honey, I reach inside for sweet memories.
Aspiring writer that I am (ok people who do read this, don’t laugh. Or wait. Go on, I don’t really care) I decided to call those childhood memoirs of moi, ‘Those Jamun Days’. And since I do want to set free those memories so I can enjoy the experiences again, I am going to post them here. As regularly as I can. Not that there are too many of them, but the ones that are, are going to be written.
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