Down Memory Lane

“Dileep, it’s like this only as you get old” consoled my mother. “Ma, is 25 an age to say old?” I quizzed and erupted “It must be an injury I am carrying from last week’s run. I am healthy like a horse!”

Sitting at my desk, on a mundane Thursday afternoon I am reflecting on what my mother said. 25 years has been a pleasant journey. I guess I am at a point where I am officially allowed to quip “Those were the good old days.”

But when really did these “good old days” begin?

My first recollection of life is: me wearing a blue Tees and shorts (from which my thighs were bulging out to get a breath of fresh air); standing in front of a lady who was asking me what my name was repeatedly and I was standing blank as a white board as if I had seen a ghost. I vividly remember her sitting on a wooden stool and asking me one last time “Deepu, what is your name?” I was being interviewed to be admitted to my alma mater. Don’t know how I managed to clear the interview without opening my mouth, but I did.

Or hey! Was it when I was running behind my pet dog in the garden and it for no rhyme nor reason turned around started chasing me. I conceded defeat real soon, when she plunged, nailed me on the lawn and licked me while I endlessly giggled. That evening Jimmy and I smelt the same. I don’t remember the horror in my mother’s eyes when she saw me but I bet that would have been a sight to treasure.

Wait! Or was it when my mum took me to the Puja room and urged biting her teeth “Dileep, don’t lie. You are no longer a child. You are a big boy and are 5 years old now. God keeps track of everything you do and writes in a book all the wrong deeds you did after you became Five.” That is the first time I think I was scared, but I am sure I must have lied that the chalks were broken before I took them.

Whichever was the first incident, it doesn’t really matter I guess. But boy! Those were the good old days.