Now that I have touched upon our family shifting to my grammys residence, I realize that there were quite a few incidents that took place in sector VII that weren’t touched upon, a majority of them are covered here and ill try to fit in everything at sector VII so that we don’t keep revisiting the nightmare.
I was brought up in a conservative manner, my parents both staunch iyengars harbored the belief that if a child mixes with children from other background (essentially meaning religion) it might sow seeds of imperfection in their religious lineage (they have toned down… but not entirely). So it was my parents who chose my friends for me. It felt real bad as the saying “God gives us our relatives… but we get to choose our friends” didn’t really fit me. Here I was stuck between money crazy fanatic paternal relatives who’d give a damn unless money was involved and they were at the receiving end, A friend chosen for me because he used to top his class, bore neutral grounds, ate whatever was given to him without making a fuss, looked so shoddy that grass never grew on the path the tread and my maternal relatives who were extremely giving, forever had a listening ear and wouldn’t think twice before taking a loan to help a friend in need.
So I grew up with a balance knob on my life, similar to the ones we have on radios that is used to control the output to either of the speakers, but the label on my lifes balance knob read:
Paternal relations --- Chosen Friend --- Maternal relations
As you might have observed my maternal relations were always rightJ. For most of the time (in my control) the knob would have been positioned either in the middle or at the far right. Wasn’t too fond of my friend but I had no other way to vent out my feelings, that and his dad used to be a professor and get cool gadgets home. As for my friend he was naïve enough to believe that my dad owned the gateway of
The last link that binds me with Sector VII is the accidents that I have had there; I was hospitalized thrice for a cut in the chin, and once for scraping my tongue. At all times I kept the knob at the far right as I knew that they were the ones who would truly care. I still remember my maternal uncle running with me bleeding from my freshly cut tongue around 5 kilometers to our family doctor… I still don’t know if I would ever be in a position to repay him. My parents seem to have forgotten the debt, but all that matters is that I haven’t.
I guess that wraps up all of my ties with the sector under consideration, will bring up a mention in case something pops up later. For now… I am schooling…
No comments:
Post a Comment