Cascading Memories

Reminiscing the happy memories comes with a price. The sad moments linger with their despondent faces bordering the happy ones. The past few weekends have been such cascading experiences. I played caroms and cards, the activities that signified some happy times with my close knit family. Though now, the family lost two very important and significant people, leaving a crippled family with patched up hearts, the fond memories still warm the heart. I have not been good at caroms, ever. I remember my uncle pocketing my caroms just to encourage me to play another game. I was not a sore loser. I learnt humility at a very early age, thanks to my pig-headedness. A very good friend taught me that being grounded is more important than being confident, by taking me up on my over confident challenge of giving her a half round lead in the three round race and beating me by a couple of steps. Though it was a couple of steps, it still was a loss that I never forgot. It taught me to remember that, no matter how good I am, on a given day, it is how best I perform that matters. Journey to the finish line is as important as the result and in being pig-headed, I was not only inconsiderate of her feelings, but also arrogant to the point of humiliation. That day, that challenge, taught me a lesson, hard and fast. I was ten, but, I learnt the lesson nevertheless. Ofcourse, caroms is a different ball game altogether. I was an out and out tom-boy in my childhood. Sitting in a place idly was alien to me. I constantly needed an activity to keep me occupied. I ran wild through the streets, I climbed trees like a monkey, dangled from one building to another, climbed walls like I was born to do them. I challenged every line that our culturally intimidating society set for girls. So, just to keep me home, my family included activities that made me sit and do stuff, like caroms, chess, cards, ludos, ladders, business... Caroms, however took the heart of all those. Playing as a team with mom or dad or uncle or grand pa, gave them a lot of hidden smiles and winks. To me, it gave me some tasty ice creams and cherished time. I always knew when my uncle or grand pa pocketed my coins so as to prolong the game. While I was not a sore loser, I did not like to lose. I did not like doing something I was not good at, period. I kept looking for a way to get out and run in the sun. While I tolerated playing with them, as soon as one of my friends came knocking, I left without thinking twice, despite threats of a tongue lashing. Had I foreseen the future, perhaps, I would not have been so cavalier about those moments.

Now, as I move through the days, the realization that nothing in life can be taken for granted lurks in the corner of my mind. Friends have become a distant past, though there are a couple of strings that are still holding on. Memories fade too and as the promise of a rusty old cub board threatens to barricade whatever little are left, I am still trying to salvage a few, albeit as memoirs here. I am still not good at caroms and now, I can’t even climb a flight of stairs without a heavy breath. Like a past hero, clinging to the fading walls of fame, I embrace these little things that meant something in some distant, yet lingering past. Now, at the threshold of an uncertain future that is changing so frequently, it seems poignant that a simple few things remind that life was not all somber. As the age falls upon me, though, getting old is still a good time away, I am no longer the carefree child disheartened by trifles. Every day reminds me of that. For now, I seem to cherish these tiny moments of peace. A special thanks to the people who forced their way into my life and became an extended family, for giving me something to cheer about.