The day after the birthday was back to normal, I had secretly wished that the partying would continue, but much to my dissatisfaction it did not… just when I was actually beginning to like all the publicity.
BTW I had forgotten to mention that I had started to run by the time I was 9 months old, was a gifted, hyperactive, “the ideal enemy’s neighbor” Kid. So to restrain me from leaving my home and causing mayhem at my neighbors, the society secretly ran a collection campaign and gifted what was called the “bloody door plank” (by me that is) and my naïve parents accepted and installed the gift graciously.
The “door plank” is actually a piece of timber that is about the same height as a year old baby and is installed at the door, it helps deter the baby from moving out of the door by blocking its way. Elders and grownups just jump over it as if it was just another day to day hurdle in their race and carry on with their life. It’s the baby that’s suffers the house arrest.
I had started to sprout my first tooth then, it was barely visible and the gums irritated like hell. I took to gnawing anything and every thing from metal chairs to cloth to newspapers.
I was totally into news papers from my 18th month, not that I was fascinated by pictures, but because newsprint tasted swell, and it made my tongue go black which amused me a little, but none the less I got a thrashing when my father found out my kick. He wouldn’t have had I known how to recognize items of his interest.
I had accidentally derived my kick out of eating a small piece from the newspaper and was contented with it, however what I did not realize that the piece had the winning numbers of Maharashtra Rajya lottery that my dad had recently purchased to try his luck, which in turn ruined mine. I was given a verbal thrashing accompanied by hours of brushing and tongue cleaning and a domestic restraining order was imposed upon me which came into effect of me approaching within a 2 foot radius of any printed material.
That did deter me from getting close to news papers, and from that day have given up reading news papers, I don’t regret it entirely… the news that are carried now-a-days usually cater to political interests, and I keep myself restrained from politics. The only thing I really miss is “Hagar the horrible” “Garfield” and “Calvin and Hobbes”.
My neighbors’ wife was a swell cook, at least that’s what she portrayed herself to be.
And on her second daughters birthday (the first was the one that eloped) we were invited for the “Party” where she had made everything from the cake to the candles , without reading a book or attending a course or being taught by someone, “it came naturally to her” was her take on it. As for my take she was either multi talented or was having an affair with the local candle maker who wanted his involvement to be kept strictly under covers.
Juicy as it gets, I’ll get back to the party. The cake looked Ok, was a leper Mickey mouse with arthritis, and everybody sang “happy birthday to you… blah blah blah” and clapped to mark the end of the cake cutting ceremony. We were then made to sit with everyone on the table for the special meal that my neighbors’ multitalented wife had cooked.
I had one bite of the cake, and suddenly my body cried… segmentation fault… after which I coolly got upon the table walked to my neighbor who was eating without complaining (but by his face I could make out he wasn’t… if only he had a spine) and took a core dump in his plate… I couldn’t speak then, my vocabulary was limited to “Amma” and “Appa” the local equivalents for mummy and daddy, but this was a classic symbolic gesture that was supposed to mean…
“Eat this, for it might actually taste better”.
We moved out of Antop Hill.
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