Deepavali
I remember Deepavali through my uncle’s cracker shop, my brother, childhood friends and evenings filled with smoke, noise and daring. Now I mostly watch the lights and long for a time when such small joys meant everything.
I remember Deepavali through my uncle’s cracker shop, my brother, childhood friends and evenings filled with smoke, noise and daring. Now I mostly watch the lights and long for a time when such small joys meant everything.
I remember Samyel first as the formidable school watchman who rang the bell, guarded the grounds and frightened us with his cane. Looking back, I see a far more complex man behind the figure we feared as children.
An examination-day assignment unexpectedly takes me back to my own school years—to examinations, anxieties, teachers and the people whose presence quietly shaped those years.
I remember the long train journeys between Nellore and Anand—the unknown stations, passing landscapes and the strange excitement of imagining where every road beyond the window might lead.
I once thought of Sankranthi mainly through Bhogi fires, sweets and my mother’s enthusiasm. After my parents were gone, returning to my father’s village made the festival feel more deeply connected to family, ancestry and belonging.
I remember how a meal from home, or an occasional Andhra lunch in Madras, could suddenly reconnect me to my roots. Perhaps food tasted different because affection was as important as flavour.
I still remember my first hostel dinner in Chennai, the unfamiliar food and the homesickness that came with it. In time, those same Tamil dishes and small street treats became part of my growing-up years.
I remember Mona Madam as a cheerful, generous teacher who loved children instinctively. To me, she was never merely a teacher; she showed how naturally learning and affection could belong together.
I’m thinking of you Under the coconut tree When we whispered words I glided through like a chameleon From word traps And verbal images You were tired Trying to lean on me From the edge of an existence I apologized I was not interested I made a good long sentence Firm and full of common…
Who was she? This struck me repeatedly. She was young and in the full bloom of her youth. She didn’t seem to be clever. Though she was not over thirty, she appeared to be over forty. She had dry, ragged hair, an unkempt appearance, and seemed to want hygiene and cleanliness. She seemed to have…