Its was raining here in the big TO and warm and cozy in my office I thought of the
I used to travel by bus train rickshaw and battle the sometimes heavy raindrops in order to get to my destination. The days spent huddling under an umbrella, or in a cab, or rickshaw, without any heating in any of these vehicles, just body heat and the spirit of youth keeping us warm!
The sometimes warm sometimes nippy sea sprays, the jumping in puddles to splash water at a friend, even the twigs we used as "boats" when I was even younger; boat races in the gutters close to home, with my mother despairing that I would get wet and get sick!
Reaching work soaked to the skin and in a filmi style squeezing my kurta to get as much water out as possible! The rain dance my neighbours and I did, sort of a strange ritual to welcome the first downpour in the afternoon, with overcast skies and suspicious neighbours in the apartment building next door wondering what this spoilt brat form the bungalow was doing on her terrace in the rain!
The bhuttas (corn on the cob) with salt, chilli powder and tangy lemon juice, it made one’s body alive. Maybe that’s what I am missing here. I have a life but am I alive?
Not sure whether this is my memory alone or my imagination or a combo of both that makes me so nostalgic - I fear that upon reaching Bombay, whenever that is, I might go "Jesus is THIS what I was missing!" and my sundar bambaiyya sapna might tooto!!! :-)