Innumerable school day memories always come rushing to my head, when I am not thinking of something crazy (which doesn’t happen too often). I still remember the teacher who hated me, another, who actually loved me like she would her daughter. If only I could wind back time. At school whatever mischief I got into, however big a hurdle befell me, I knew Papa would be there for me. Sometimes it was to squeeze my ears in front of my teachers, but still he would buy me Frooti on the way back home, as a sign of apology. And back home, Mummy would be there, supporting me even if I was wrong (but never if the grades are low).
Now my Mom bakes cocoa cakes like no other in the country. My friends would come home and attack the cake seconds after it is taken from the oven. In a few minutes, it would look like a mountain of brown rice, and we would be uncivilized barbarians, until not even a tiny morsel is left . Even today, I cant properly make chocolate milk, given milk, sugar and chocolate cream or if I did, the kitchen would look like a war zone. Only God knows how she makes those little brown pieces of heaven.
Days passed and Papa showed signs of diabetes. So it was my turn to play ‘Papa’. I would give the cold ‘how-dare-you’ stare at wedding lunches when the caterers come to serve ice cream. Papa would look at me like a lamb and I would finally yield to a small spoon of ice cream to taste. Mummy is lucky enough not to have diabetes history in her family, but rejects even a spoon of it ( 'Papa's food, is poison for Mummy), as she thinks it would change her voice and made to sing ‘bass’ with other men in the choir.
I also used to be in that choir.
Which is not funny if any of you are laughing.