Breaktime!

Who invented the game?? I don’t really recollect but it sure was plenty of fun! By lunch time our lunchboxes went empty. The only thing remaining was the silver foil. I remember that day. We were confined to our classroom as the rain was pelting outside. In groups we sat chatting and getting bored. Then the idea struck. So out came the many foils and began the war with the foil balls…There were no points to be scored, no goals to reach and only one rule, the game will be played within the class boundary.
Within moments silver balls of all shapes and sizes were flying around. We just had to hit anyone and also avoid getting hit. Simple.
Sometimes tired of running around we just sat on the giant windows. Still wanting to be a part of the game we would aim the shiny 'weapon' at an unsuspecting player and then phat!! The look on the confused guys face!Gawd! And we would sit there with straight faces while he would try to figure out who, afterall hit him. Well, no one ever suspected us for long as we were not the “naughty” kinds.
There was this one time when we made the guy with short curly hair, Hari(name changed to protect privacy) our target. For him the weapon had to be a little modified. Small round silver balls. But what's the point you may ask..he wont even feel it. Well, that was precisely what we wanted. Target area: his stiff curly head.Warning: launch weapon one at a time! Phat.. phat…and there those shiny tiny things stuck in his hair so gently. And Hari,so blissfully oblivious. To our joy he remained that way for the remaining break, busy trying to dodge the flying weapons, trying hard to get his aim. He, however,eventually became suspicious at our constant giggles and finally realized what had occured. We recovered about six of our 'weapons' from his hair!
Sometimes some memories just make you smile. In this case it made me giggle!

Joyride

The Jeep. Travelling from the city to my ancestral village meant taking the jeep. One will find atleast a dozen of them at a time at the central market.Young boys in their teens chewing paan would 'lure' passengers to their repective jeep. "Ima(mother),make your way to this jeep we assure you a comfortable ride!" Women who ran a shop in the bazaar getting back home.Women returning home after the month's shopping loaded with five six spiky pineapples tied together,a plastic bag with a picture of a chubby chinese girl in hand.Old men and women coming back from a 'Sorat'(funeral service) of some distant cousins father-in-law. They would often be carrying packets of sugary prasad or the kabok(puffed rice rolled in sugary syrup) for their grandchildren.Pretty young girls in the traditional wrap called phanek and blouse, and neatly drawn chandons(sandalwood paste) on the nose. One by one these regular commuters pile into the jeep modified to accomodate many."Tomba(a typical name of manipur), lets go", calls out one lady. "Ima,just a few minutes more". By then the girl wearing a red frock and black bata school shoes has gone off to sleep on her mothers lap.The jeep is full. Just then two ladies with oiled hair neatly tied in a bun and a sweet smelling flower tucked in it enter.We shift,shuffle trying not to disturb the sleeping soul. They seat themselves in the cane stool(moras) provided by Tomba.In the molecular spaces of the jeep we place the moras.Tomba finally obliges us all and starts the jeep now joined by Nanao.Well, must say Nanao was a goodlooking young boy. With a little refining of his dress sense(he was wearing a black leather jacket and bandana!) he would look like a gentleman! The jeep makes its way through the rice fields where the roads are kaccha, creating a sandstorm like haze behind us.By this time there is some familiarity among us and the air is pleasant.Everyone joins in the conversations and gossip of the old ladies present.One of the passengers with the kabok offers it to us. One of the ladies would already be browsing through the goods Iche(sister) Thasna is carrying back from her shop…she even buys something.Such unrestrained bonding among strangers, a rarity which i miss in the metros here. After about 30 minutes my stop arrives..the green gate. Keeping the 5 rs note ready I get off and give it to Nanao.He smiles flirtatiously.Suprisingly I’m flattered…

The Green Gate

The gate to my ancestral home is green. A rich green once upon a time, now a dull green, chipped in many places , the rust clinging on to it like a child. Opposite the gate is a rivulet which has a host of fables to its name-many funeral piers have extinguished on its banks!
The gate is my friend, someone whom I have lost touch with but still very dear. It is generally open during the day, welcoming all. The pebbled path beyond the gate leading to the house is truly a ‘memory lane’. Looking over the bamboo fencing on the right one was sure to find someone fetching water from the murky family pond. Lotta and her son Mickey would be the first to welcome us with their wagging tails. Many a times I think I’ve seen Lotta smile..but well that’s just between the two of us! It has seen us fishing for tadpoles in the tiny stream, it has been the stumps for our game of cricket. It has even been my playmate, allowing me to swing on it.I bet it laughed at me when the ripe mango fell on my head during our play and how all cousins ran after the mango instead of attending to the poor crying child!It has seen me sad at leaving my cousins behind only to meet again on the next weekend.The many incoming and outgoing wedding processions of uncles, aunts and cousins have passed through it.At such times it would get a makeover and look dashing in its new coat! It has been adorned with posters put up with zest by the political parties and revolutionary groups alike, which we detested. With equal zest we tore them off it. Wonder how it looks today...
Hmm...well the day's not far when i'll pass through the green gate again!