i write coz i got to. i mean i HAVE to. i just need to write.
before this blog. i'd write really really lengthy emails to friends. before email i'd write long letters. to ppl, to myself etc etc.
or keep a personal diary. actually thats a sad story.
i did have this diary.. did i tell this one already??
u know the one where i had this diary. it was locked. it was just another place i cud vent. and write and stuff. and my mom found my locked diary, read it and...
"aah your home"
"boy was school tough today. heyy wats that your making? pakodas!! i love it" < unsuspecting teenager walks in without a clue"
"yes why don't you sit down and eat some" < mom casually frying pakodas >
"why don't you tell me about this" < and places the book in front of me while i'm just stuffing the fourth pakoda into my face >
"uh oh"
< all hell breaks loose >
..
"you weren't supposed to read that! it was Private!!"
"i'm your M-O-T-H-E-R. there is no such thing as privacy for kids. you see too much HBO. no more tv"
..
oowww owww owww that smarts. she broke her chapati making rolling pin on my back that day.
aaaah the good days.
but i DID learn an important lesson after that. never put anything on paper. and if you have to , BURN it after its written [ which i did for many many yrs till i got a computer and discovered password protected files ]. tahts how i started writing stories and if all my stories had a running theme of prison break... heyy its just a story. stay away from those sheets of paper!!
oh no no no. you DON'T want to know what i wrote in that diary. let me just say i FULLY deserved the beating i got. no. trust me. you have NO idea. i deserved the shoe beating i got the next day too. and the one with the broom, and the pointy hairbrush [ ouch that one drew blood ], the hangar, the steel ladle........[ my mom had a weak arm you see ]
aaaah the good ol days...
but the point was that i always needed to write. when i needed to write. so stop searching for an order or logic in this. its just random.
aww babes.. i know its amazing how much we can take the sufferings from our own people, but is it an irony that we still love them the most inspite of holding grudges against them for years. For making us the kind of person we are now, u have them to blame, and no one else.
ReplyDeleteBut u continue to live with it.
anyway ur mom sounds so much like mine.
besides the innovative tools she used, my mom made me slurp spilled milk from the floor, coz i would always look for an excuse to spill it. i dunno how old was i then, but i know i never spilled milk after that, jus watered it to the banana tree outside once... n then covered it with dry soil.
I always wondered if my mom was the cruellest.. she probaly was.. err is.
oh.. but i feel soo much better now.
cheers!
xox