I was watching the fourth episode on the seventh season in Castle, when it dawned on me that I had grown old.
Suddenly.
I don't know if it was the scene where Castle goes to this primary school to get possible witnesses for a murder they were solving (as it is always the case with the series which has, to be honest, become monotonous) or the fact that I've been plagued recently by the worst of troubles, at work, financially as well as academically; but the sudden realisation hit me hard.
Like a truck, as the saying goes.
There was a time, when I was around five or six, and I used to enjoy going to school. There was this pretty girl in my class, and that was motivation enough. That had, unfortunately, been the case right through my school life. When we moved from Chinmaya Vidyalaya and India, to Dubai, it was hard letting go. I had even managed to make a couple of guy friends. One of them, named Aditya, even promised to keep in touch till the end. We were only seven. I didn't hear from him after that, unsurprisingly.
My mom was never with me when I was doing my primary in CV, and it was always my grandparents who got me ready for school, which was an achievement by itself. There were times I'd fake fever and vomitted in the school bus so that they'd drop me back home in time for me to catch the cricket match on the tele. My grandparents never suspected their six year old grandkid was capable of such evil.
Whenever my mom was back home during her extended leaves from work, which was 200 km away from Chennai, she would find time to pack me of to school, and get me my favourite wafers packet, which used to be a riot back then. Especially the blackberry flavours. Even today, the term blackberry strikes me only as a fruit flavoured wafer packet that my mom got me from the nearby grocer, after giving the flustered van driver an earful, telling him that waiting for 30 seconds wouldn't do the school any harm whatsoever. Little did my mom understand that there were 30 other kids who had to get picked up after me.
What was beautiful about all this was the fact that I was blissfully ignorant about whatever was happening around me. I was happy, and enjoying my time at school, cricket practice after school, further cricket at home with my flat friends, and got back home just in time to watch Radhika in Chiththi. My grandmother would feed me my dinner. I refused to eat if I had to eat by myself.
I was six, and had the liberty to make demands.
I was at a liberty to do anything I wanted actually. My mom had her hands full with work, my dad was in Saudi, and my grandparents were left with responsibility of taking care of me and my sister.
While my sister would while away her time by eating sand, mud, stones and any other construction leftovers, I was more picky with my diet. I had only potatoes.
I remember standing on the balcony, and abusing the milkman as he came to deliver milk. When my grandpa would leave for office, I would dutifully follow him to the end of the street. All this, naked.
As I said, I had a lot of liberties.
Sometimes, I took a little too much advantage of my liberties, which resulted in fights between the neighbours and my grandmother. I would take careful care not to abuse anybody when my grandmother was within earshot. Once she was in the kitchen, or sleeping, I'd spot the neighbor walking down the street and would shout at him, in my still unbroken voice "Subriah mama, konjam ipdi vaangole"
Noticing the cute kid (yes, that changed too), being so polite, he would come near our gate and say "Sollu da pattu."
That was all I needed, I'd wait for him to come close enough, so that I didn't have to shout as much, and would say "Poda mayirandi".
This would shock him. He was first, shocked that a six year old could abuse. And then that I had the guts to actually abuse him. He would glare at me, and then would ensue a fight in the evening between my neighbours and my grandmother, who would never ever accept the fact that I would abuse anybody. She always felt that the neighbours hated me for being too cute.
Grandmothers are that way, I guess.
All these were a daily occurance, and what was funny was the the neighbour mama would always respond to my calls, thinking that one day I'd probably have a genuine reason for calling him. That never happened, as he unfortunately passed away a couple of years back.
Thinking back at all this, it is funny that life changes so much when you're all grown up. You cant really wait to grow up, and when you do, you realise that it's too late to ask for another wish. All that talk about age being just another number is bullshit. There is so much of responsibility that comes with the whole growing up package, that it is sometimes not just worth it.
Until the next time, then.
Suddenly.
I don't know if it was the scene where Castle goes to this primary school to get possible witnesses for a murder they were solving (as it is always the case with the series which has, to be honest, become monotonous) or the fact that I've been plagued recently by the worst of troubles, at work, financially as well as academically; but the sudden realisation hit me hard.
Like a truck, as the saying goes.
There was a time, when I was around five or six, and I used to enjoy going to school. There was this pretty girl in my class, and that was motivation enough. That had, unfortunately, been the case right through my school life. When we moved from Chinmaya Vidyalaya and India, to Dubai, it was hard letting go. I had even managed to make a couple of guy friends. One of them, named Aditya, even promised to keep in touch till the end. We were only seven. I didn't hear from him after that, unsurprisingly.
My mom was never with me when I was doing my primary in CV, and it was always my grandparents who got me ready for school, which was an achievement by itself. There were times I'd fake fever and vomitted in the school bus so that they'd drop me back home in time for me to catch the cricket match on the tele. My grandparents never suspected their six year old grandkid was capable of such evil.
Whenever my mom was back home during her extended leaves from work, which was 200 km away from Chennai, she would find time to pack me of to school, and get me my favourite wafers packet, which used to be a riot back then. Especially the blackberry flavours. Even today, the term blackberry strikes me only as a fruit flavoured wafer packet that my mom got me from the nearby grocer, after giving the flustered van driver an earful, telling him that waiting for 30 seconds wouldn't do the school any harm whatsoever. Little did my mom understand that there were 30 other kids who had to get picked up after me.
What was beautiful about all this was the fact that I was blissfully ignorant about whatever was happening around me. I was happy, and enjoying my time at school, cricket practice after school, further cricket at home with my flat friends, and got back home just in time to watch Radhika in Chiththi. My grandmother would feed me my dinner. I refused to eat if I had to eat by myself.
I was six, and had the liberty to make demands.
I was at a liberty to do anything I wanted actually. My mom had her hands full with work, my dad was in Saudi, and my grandparents were left with responsibility of taking care of me and my sister.
While my sister would while away her time by eating sand, mud, stones and any other construction leftovers, I was more picky with my diet. I had only potatoes.
I remember standing on the balcony, and abusing the milkman as he came to deliver milk. When my grandpa would leave for office, I would dutifully follow him to the end of the street. All this, naked.
As I said, I had a lot of liberties.
Sometimes, I took a little too much advantage of my liberties, which resulted in fights between the neighbours and my grandmother. I would take careful care not to abuse anybody when my grandmother was within earshot. Once she was in the kitchen, or sleeping, I'd spot the neighbor walking down the street and would shout at him, in my still unbroken voice "Subriah mama, konjam ipdi vaangole"
Noticing the cute kid (yes, that changed too), being so polite, he would come near our gate and say "Sollu da pattu."
That was all I needed, I'd wait for him to come close enough, so that I didn't have to shout as much, and would say "Poda mayirandi".
This would shock him. He was first, shocked that a six year old could abuse. And then that I had the guts to actually abuse him. He would glare at me, and then would ensue a fight in the evening between my neighbours and my grandmother, who would never ever accept the fact that I would abuse anybody. She always felt that the neighbours hated me for being too cute.
Grandmothers are that way, I guess.
All these were a daily occurance, and what was funny was the the neighbour mama would always respond to my calls, thinking that one day I'd probably have a genuine reason for calling him. That never happened, as he unfortunately passed away a couple of years back.
Thinking back at all this, it is funny that life changes so much when you're all grown up. You cant really wait to grow up, and when you do, you realise that it's too late to ask for another wish. All that talk about age being just another number is bullshit. There is so much of responsibility that comes with the whole growing up package, that it is sometimes not just worth it.
Until the next time, then.
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