coca cola aunty

Her name was Mrs. Jain. she was our landlord's wife and she lived right above us. we were on the ground floor and she on the first. she was a rolly-poly jolly woman and she liked having me over. those days i was rather cute, a tiny-tot with curly hair, large brown eyes...

She would pamper me, whenever i went over. the treat i looked forward to the most was coca cola. this is the late sixties in India. coca cola was a big deal then. we never had it at home. only if we went out on special occasions, we might be allowed to share a coke.

So sitting there in her living room and being served coca cola was like being treated like royalty. in the afternoons when she was getting bored, i guess (those days tv had not become ubiquitous) she would ask me to come up and entertain her in her parlour. her kids would be around her as well. but they were more grown-up, compared to me - they went to school.

she would ask me questions about this and that and they would rejoice and giggle over my replies. then came the highlight. she would signal to one of the children to fetch me something. at times she would ask me "what would you like?" i would say shyly "coca-cola", for i was taught not to ask for things in others' homes. they would laugh and call me the coca-cola girl. but my name for her was 'coca cola aunty'.

the gift of a rose

i am in love. i am in nursery school and i am in love with my nursery teacher. i think she is the most beautiful woman in the world. every day she comes dressed in impeccable saris, smiling her warm smile, alas not at me.

there is a girl who sits in the front row. every day she brings the teacher a rose and gifts it to her at the start of the class and the teacher smiles her thanks. i want to be the recipient of that smile. i want to be the one handing the teacher a rose, at least one morning, if not every morning.

i cannot conceive where the girl gets a rose each morning. i imagine she must be very rich, she must live in a huge house with a wonderful garden. a garden that yields a beautiful rose that she can pluck and bring for the teacher. more likely there is a gardener, who plucks the rose for her and hands it to her so she can bring it to school to hand to my love.

i have no such garden. i have no such rose. i only have a heart that yearns and longs. unfortunately it turns to jealousy as it can see no way of meeting its goal or fulfilling its desires.

inner child work

i get to school. the teacher is standing at the door of the class. she is greeting each student as s/he enters the classroom. as i come to the door she gives me a special smile and caresses my cheek as she welcomes me saying my name. my heart blossoms and i smile at her in return, a smile that expresses all of my love. she sees my smile and gets it. she hands me the rose that has been gifted to her. i am joyfully surprised. "for me?" my wide eyes say, she nods and goes back to her seat. i feel fulfilled. everything is right with the world!

the house on mango street

just read "the house on mango street" and it has inspired me to blog my memories. currently working on a painting all in blue, a continuation of my mandala series, this one will deal with the inner child and healing.

an ice-cream cone.

sitting in the movie theater with my parents watching a movie, some typical Indian Bollywood masala film. post intermission i have an ice-cream cone in my hand filled with softie ice-cream. this is a rare treat, i have never had an ice-cream cone before. i have had ice-cream of course, on sticks, my favorite being choco-bar.
i enjoy my ice-cream cone even while watching the movie in a mesmerized state. i dig in to the cone with my little tongue, deeper and deeper as far as i can go. finally i cannot reach any deeper and in frustration i throw the cone away. a few minutes later my mom asks me what happened to my ice-cream. i tell her i finished it and i point to the cone on the ground a few seats away. she shakes her head and tells me the cone is edible too. 'now she tells me' i think 'well too late'. but for the rest of the film i watch the cone from the corner of my eye half wishing i could pick it up again. but i don't, more because if mom notices me eating the cone from off the ground she would definitely scold me.
now as i recount the tale i feel more ashamed about the unabashed littering i did back then. not my fault that is what everyone around me did, back then. yet there is a wistfulness for the uneaten cone and the little girl's ignorance.

a piece of inner child work
little girl i see you now. it is not your fault that you wasted the cone. you did not know that it was edible. you had no previous experience with it. i understand that you are sad that you got a rare treat but could not enjoy it fully. your parents ought to have told you before you threw the cone away that you could eat that as well. i understand too that you feel you cannot be mad at them because they gave you the cone in the first place. i understand your conflict in wanting to pick up the cone and eat it to find out what that hard cover shell might taste like. you were intrigued, how can cardboard be edible? sweet little girl, enjoy your movie. you will have plenty of chances to eat all kinds of ice-cream cones and there will even come a time when you will prefer to eat green vegetables like broccoli rather than ice-cream!