It opened a window back in time! And with the clothes that tumbled out were the days that filled the mind of times that were boundless and virgin!
The blue , pleated skirt was there! The one which read an almost epic like school days of twelve years! Those years of chalk and blackboard, of the wooden ruler, of a marvellous transition from lead pencils to pens! And there she came running, gasping for breath, her pigtails trying very hard to free themselves from the black ribbons! My best buddy! I tried to figure out what she was whispering! But as impatient as she was, she almost disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust on the playground and a bonny lad chasing with all his might! I no more had the power to be a part of that which gave me two slashed knees and a few troubled "Parent-teacher" meets!
What did I see lying next to the skirt? That lovely little petite white and green frock worn on my seventh birthday!
The same dress, which had a replica in the safe and zealous custody of my sister. Though the idea of possessing the same piece was not too encouraging, yet all this was drowned in the incredible high decible noise with my friends pouring in to celebrate the most coveted day of my life each year, my "Happy Birthday", as it was popularly described during those days! Well, a birthday was always meant to be "happy" and there was no other emotion that I could attach with it!! The most awaited moment arrives and there on the glass table lay the cake! Mom's spent a good deal of the day readying it for the evening. The cake is a bunny this year. Makes me ponder with a sense of juvenile pride, "My Mom's very smart!" Its too pretty and I can earn a lot of "wows" from my buddies. With imaptient hands I run the knife midway through the bunny! Oh! Only if I could preserve it!! But there were more significant things yet to be performed, including the ritual of smearing some cake on each other! Even on the 25th one, I couldnt help but repeat the act!! Some habits never die!
Hours of games and laughter just go by and tiny yawns descend on our eyes. It time to say "Good Night" to my friends and address the most important task. Unwrap the gift packs! Sleep cannot divest the giggles and tiny yells of joy that accompany this fanciful job!! I am a year older and I wish it happens quicker the next time!!
Something tugs at my heart. It is one of the multi-colored pair of gloves. The winter descends. I hear mom insisting that both, sister and me should wear our caps and be well-covered in layers of sweater! How I hate the burden. Feel like poor Atlas, who shoulders the Earth! The misty mornings, the daily inner tussle to-go-or-not-to go to school ofcourse! The hands that led me on to the gates of the school! The tales to keep me awake during the arduous tred! The candies I managed to bag feigning disgust for school! When all the while I could not wait to join my friends in the classroom and on the play field. She saw me off everyday! The eyes which kept their promise, the eyes I searched long after they closed for one last time. My granparents taught the art to smile through turmoils. I am yet to master the art! The gloves still smell of their touch, their warmth, their strength.
My legs took me to the corner where lay an old pair of canvas shoe. The blue and white, now popularly marketed as "Converse" and lapped up by younsters and not so youngs! Then they were the shoes which took me to most of the places, the dance classes, the afternoon rendezvous with buddies, the market and for those walks with my pet Dachshund. The pair was not the seemingly feminine one, which I dreamt of acquiring one day! The ones which all the older girls in school wore during fests. But those were apparently not great for girls of my age at seven. The dirt and slush still remain on the pair...
A little more of hunt unravels that the most coveted piece of attire I have treasured. The first proper pair of denims. There I was, wearing it, flaunting it but as subtly as was possible. It was the call of freedom, of the emancipation the teenage soul seeks. The thrill, the exhilaration is stupendous. The feeling that I have arrived! The world seems conquerable! The jeans irons in the realisation of the self, the desire to feel beautiful, the need to be appreciated, the starry dreams which crowded the head. There she was still wrapped those days of confusion and arguments, of furtive glances and impish giggles, the zillion card and notes received proclaiming undying love. The jeans which trekked with me through the new meadows of emotions and the renovated world, which shielded me from the first atrocities the world throws. I better call it the Today Tomorrow pair. The one that kindled the thought to see beyond....
As I fold them back into their napthalene protected shelves of the almirah, the images swirl around me. They dance in gay abandon. They donot have to struggle through another day. They are forever young. 7 to 17 they will remain. They are the schizophrenic illusions which transfer me into the world of carelessness, of dirt and grime, of severe caning and tear stained cheeks, of heart breaks and gregarious flirting, of hemlines rising, of candyfloss still attracting longing eyes.
I still wear denim...just the shades have been altered....
The blue , pleated skirt was there! The one which read an almost epic like school days of twelve years! Those years of chalk and blackboard, of the wooden ruler, of a marvellous transition from lead pencils to pens! And there she came running, gasping for breath, her pigtails trying very hard to free themselves from the black ribbons! My best buddy! I tried to figure out what she was whispering! But as impatient as she was, she almost disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust on the playground and a bonny lad chasing with all his might! I no more had the power to be a part of that which gave me two slashed knees and a few troubled "Parent-teacher" meets!
What did I see lying next to the skirt? That lovely little petite white and green frock worn on my seventh birthday!
The same dress, which had a replica in the safe and zealous custody of my sister. Though the idea of possessing the same piece was not too encouraging, yet all this was drowned in the incredible high decible noise with my friends pouring in to celebrate the most coveted day of my life each year, my "Happy Birthday", as it was popularly described during those days! Well, a birthday was always meant to be "happy" and there was no other emotion that I could attach with it!! The most awaited moment arrives and there on the glass table lay the cake! Mom's spent a good deal of the day readying it for the evening. The cake is a bunny this year. Makes me ponder with a sense of juvenile pride, "My Mom's very smart!" Its too pretty and I can earn a lot of "wows" from my buddies. With imaptient hands I run the knife midway through the bunny! Oh! Only if I could preserve it!! But there were more significant things yet to be performed, including the ritual of smearing some cake on each other! Even on the 25th one, I couldnt help but repeat the act!! Some habits never die!
Hours of games and laughter just go by and tiny yawns descend on our eyes. It time to say "Good Night" to my friends and address the most important task. Unwrap the gift packs! Sleep cannot divest the giggles and tiny yells of joy that accompany this fanciful job!! I am a year older and I wish it happens quicker the next time!!
Something tugs at my heart. It is one of the multi-colored pair of gloves. The winter descends. I hear mom insisting that both, sister and me should wear our caps and be well-covered in layers of sweater! How I hate the burden. Feel like poor Atlas, who shoulders the Earth! The misty mornings, the daily inner tussle to-go-or-not-to go to school ofcourse! The hands that led me on to the gates of the school! The tales to keep me awake during the arduous tred! The candies I managed to bag feigning disgust for school! When all the while I could not wait to join my friends in the classroom and on the play field. She saw me off everyday! The eyes which kept their promise, the eyes I searched long after they closed for one last time. My granparents taught the art to smile through turmoils. I am yet to master the art! The gloves still smell of their touch, their warmth, their strength.
My legs took me to the corner where lay an old pair of canvas shoe. The blue and white, now popularly marketed as "Converse" and lapped up by younsters and not so youngs! Then they were the shoes which took me to most of the places, the dance classes, the afternoon rendezvous with buddies, the market and for those walks with my pet Dachshund. The pair was not the seemingly feminine one, which I dreamt of acquiring one day! The ones which all the older girls in school wore during fests. But those were apparently not great for girls of my age at seven. The dirt and slush still remain on the pair...
A little more of hunt unravels that the most coveted piece of attire I have treasured. The first proper pair of denims. There I was, wearing it, flaunting it but as subtly as was possible. It was the call of freedom, of the emancipation the teenage soul seeks. The thrill, the exhilaration is stupendous. The feeling that I have arrived! The world seems conquerable! The jeans irons in the realisation of the self, the desire to feel beautiful, the need to be appreciated, the starry dreams which crowded the head. There she was still wrapped those days of confusion and arguments, of furtive glances and impish giggles, the zillion card and notes received proclaiming undying love. The jeans which trekked with me through the new meadows of emotions and the renovated world, which shielded me from the first atrocities the world throws. I better call it the Today Tomorrow pair. The one that kindled the thought to see beyond....
As I fold them back into their napthalene protected shelves of the almirah, the images swirl around me. They dance in gay abandon. They donot have to struggle through another day. They are forever young. 7 to 17 they will remain. They are the schizophrenic illusions which transfer me into the world of carelessness, of dirt and grime, of severe caning and tear stained cheeks, of heart breaks and gregarious flirting, of hemlines rising, of candyfloss still attracting longing eyes.
I still wear denim...just the shades have been altered....
4 comments:
Must say ur article was too engrossing.... The title itself refreshed a few thins in mind... So engrossed was i in it tat i missed dinner!! But by the time i reached ur last para feel tat it was worth it!! And ya if i were to write a biography of a jeans pant wud definetly include the last second para!!!
first its literally not an adulation - the dextrocity & the lingo with which the author has articulated the point of wearing a pair of jeans, clearly ushers where she stands... the best part that i loved was that when she made the statement that a Jeans Pant, does not only mean muck, freedom, whimsicality, youthfulness, etc. but also amplifies the desire to feel beautiful(perfect personification between a woman & a pair jeans)... i feel lucky to be the first one to read it. well it would be unwise to comment more on it, but yes one thing for sure, i found a sanctitiy in her writing... which i look forward to see more of it...
honestly i wanna say a lot of things....but on the other hand i just wanna be silent..! as i read through the lines i somehow got lost in the times bygone n realised the importance of small things in life which we never find time to treasure..! i have the honour of knowing the author but i never realised that beneath that beautiful confident n tough young woman still lies a sweet innocent girl....as i read through the lines i couldnt help reflecting on my old days..the same desire to compete with time n grow up as soon as possible but later on realising that the best part of life was when we were small..those carefree days which we now yearn for....yes i agree that the jeans doesnt fit nemore n the shades have changed....but would give everything to get back into those pair of jeans again....netime !!!!
Wonderful play with words to describe your sweet memories :) I could almost feel and see things happening. A nostalgic feeling arises. Feelings very close to your heart are unraveled. i feel its worth thinking to write a beautiful book out of this... let people feel it! It almost feels like you took it out from one addictive autobiography or a wonderfully vividly described book of fiction. I m being very honest :) you have the potential to become a very good writer. I would like to immerse myself in one of such books and escape my own mind... particularly it would be interesting to read yours for some obvious reasons :)
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