It’s in a country without summer,
That I perhaps learn to be gentle.
With things like insects and bees.
It’s not with annoyance or fear,
that I wave you away.
Little winged one. I do it to send.
You, away in the direction of the
your very last flower.
buy cialisorder cialis online
In the three years since,
other birds have hatched.
But it’s in parrots,
beaks like red chillies,
that I suddenly see,
you take another flight.
Dear Lali,
3 years to the day. Really miss you, with my mind wandering to you everytime I make rasam, see a crossword, write a poem or listen to Rafi. Or see order cialis onlinebuy viagra onlinea parrot.
Love,
Chinna Ponnu (older by 3 years, but still…)
PS: Silly me. Forgot to send you a song. Here, you quite liked generic levitrathis one. Even translated the Telugu version for me.
One of the loveliest things about being my age (nearly 30) is how a number of close friends start having babies. And suddenly, just like that, your email inbox is full of pictures. Of babies that can call you Aunty without you breaking into a scowl.
When friends have children, it’s like being given a chance to love your own friend like they were a baby. In their children, I see them.
I now have nanna munna rahi-s all over the world. How lovely is that..
How utterly lovely are these old Singer machines? Gold lettering on a heavy body. I have such fond memories of being asked ‘to help’ my mother by turning the hand wheel. After a while, my hand would tire, and I would use the other hand. Then my sister would step in. From lining curtains to hemming, the Singer would step out on Sundays. A little box full of spindles and bobbins, and stray hooks and buttons.
It’s funny how when I was growing up, I assumed a lot of brands were Indian. Like Bata, Colgate or even Horlicks. I never for a moment though Singer was a common feature in households outside India. And now, as they become one of the ‘retro-look’ staples, I feel ancient – really, something I grew up with is retro now?
At Madras Central (or Chennai Central as you young ones call it) in the 1980s, I looked forward to buying books at HigginBotham’s. It was the beginning of the journey back home. The last 36 odd hours on a train before you had to go back to school.
But much as I loved books, I always bought my books at HigginBotham’s because I thought it had something to do with Ian Botham. People were still telling young impressionable children like me about the Ashes in 1981. In my head, any book bought at HigginBotham’s got me closer to Ian Botham.
(Actually, I love you HigginBotham’s. You saved me from a life of literary privation. And you made a small eight year old girl feel like she was shaking hands with Ian Botham.)
“The secret to watching test matches is to know when to when to have a nap.”- great-uncle who passed away but has left me the legacy of love for a test match.
