Khatte Mithe Pal Jeevan ke, nostalgia, experiences, family, humour

I was waiting eagerly with my son. The waiting hours seemed to be too long, but finally we had a sigh of relief. Our wait was over! My husband and daughter were proudly coming to us with their prized possessions in hands. Don’t get me wrong! They had not completed any marathon and returning with prizes! Actually they had been standing in the queue to buy the books for my daughter. The school had authorized only one shop to sell the books and there were many parents like us who had waited up to last day to buy the books and now paying the price by standing in the so called queues consisting of unruly crowds pushing each other in order to reach the counter. Standing in queue is a pain, but when your turn comes, you feel like a winner. As I recall my memories regarding queues, each of them leaves a smile on my face. ·         During my school and college days, buying movie tickets was a great achievement as multiplex culture had not come and online booking was not even imagined of.

On our way from Shimla to Kullu, I phoned my mother-in-law and said,” Don’t wait up for us for the lunch; we have got late on the way!” “Why?” was her natural response. “Because we are coming by taxi; our car has gone faulty”, I replied. When she asked as to what had happened to the car, I said,” actually a truck hit our car lightly so we are coming by taxi. But don’t worry; we are safe and unhurt!” Her reaction was of panic as expected, but I convinced her that only the car was damaged and we were all safe. What I didn’t tell her at that moment is a tale that still sends chills up my spine! I cannot forget that day. We were going to visit my husband’s native village in Kullu from Shimla by car. My husband was driving and I was sitting on front seat while my daughter was lying on the back seat of our car. We were happy to have started early as we could reach our destination on time. On a blind turn, we noticed a truck coming from the opposite side. The

 “Madam, how did the back pane window glass of your car break?” asked the driver of my official vehicle, while driving me to office. “Sahib was reversing the car yesterday, when it hit the tree”, I noticed him hiding his smile as I replied. “What happened?” I asked to which he replied,” Naresh (my husband’s driver) and I were discussing that Madam could not have broken the glass, it must have been sahib!” I smiled at the compliment given by a professional driver. Though I have never considered myself a great driver, but the fact is I never faced difficulty in driving even on hilly terrains during my stay in Himachal Pradesh for 12 years, despite having learnt driving in plain areas. And the credit for this goes to my father. Though witnessing a girl driving a car today is no big deal, 25 years ago, when I learnt driving, it was not so common site, if not a rare one. At that time, not many people opined that girls should learn driving.  Many of our relatives discour

There was total chaos in the room. The kids were speaking on top of their voices trying to overpower each other. The scene was similar to that of parliament house as everybody was shouting and no one listening. The cause of action was my newly bought smart phone which had driven the kids into frenzy. My daughter was excited about the latest chat application in the phone and wanted to test it, while my son wanted to check the panorama   feature of the camera. My neighbour’s four year old son was also not far behind and was keen to check the Spiderman game on the phone.   I was trying to control the situation but feeling as helpless    as the speaker of the Parliament house. In fact when the salesman in the mobile phone shop asked me the kind of phone I wanted, I just told him that I wanted a phone which (apart from voice of course) supports 3 G data and has a decent music player and camera. Hearing this, the salesperson smiled at my innocence and told me that these are the basic

The unpleasant sound of breaking of glass forced me to come out of my room. I thundered at my daughter, “what have you broken?” presuming she had broken something. “It’s not me Mamma! Didi has broken a glass.” replied my daughter bravely, referring to the housemaid, who was now cleaning the broken pieces of glass. My expressions changed completely, as I addressed my maid in a sugar-coated voice,” Never mind. Glasses are destined to be broken. I hope you aren’t hurt?” She nodded in negative as I concluded the matter, “Now clean it up quickly. And be careful not to injure yourself!” I returned to my room fully aware that I am being followed by my daughter, infuriated at my partial behavior. She did not wait to express her anguish, “Mamma! How you changed your tone seeing it was Didi? You love your maid more than your children.”. “ History repeats ”, I said to myself as I smiled at her innocence, remembering that there was a time when I too used to label the same allegation on my mothe

My sister was telling me how her neighbor was in fits of blues, as her daughter’s name did not figure in the draw of lots for admission in nursery class, held by the most prestigious school of the city.   She told me that the mother was literally in tears cursing her hard luck and was now on a wild-goose chase for some powerful approach to secure a seat for her daughter.   But as my sister told her, these days it is almost impossible to secure admission in a good school through any approach, and it is purely your good luck that can get your child’s name selected through lottery.   My sister said, “Now it is very difficult to get a child admitted, earlier times were better, when the child was judged through an admission test.” This reminded me of my experiences during the admission of my children.   Were those times better? I began to recall. For the admission of my daughter, around 11 years ago, we had applied for two of the best schools of Shimla, the city we were pos

I cannot forget a scene from a short skit on TV, which I saw years before. An old lady is lying on deathbed and doctors have lost all the hopes. At that very time, her daughter-i-in-law whispers something into her ear. The lady instantly gets up, puts her shawl on her shoulder and moves out. When asked about the miraculous words, the daughter-in-law reveals that she had just informed her that there was a sale in the biggest store of the city. Such is the magical power of sale, that one can forget all the worries and run ahead on hearing about a sale. I remember that in my childhood days, “sales” were not so ubiquitous, as they are now. May be, because those were the days, when the middle size cities had not caught “brand fever”. I remember that in my city there was a unique craze of “Garden Saris sale”, which was organized in a hall rented by the company. My aunts waited for this sale for months together. When the sale was on, it was talk of the town. Ladies finished their house