Pieces of my past

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Every day bears it’s own recipe; a recipe that’s quite unique and never tries to replicate another one. This day was one such with its own blend of joy, happiness and tinged with grief. I was sitting in my bed with arms perfectly rested beside me and my toes down on one side of the bed. The quiet battle orchestrated between my grey cells and retina. Some could say that, something was eating up my mind, with my eyes locked with the limbs. My eyes were trying to focus on the wiggling of my toes, but my brain failed to indulge in such cheap pleasures.

All this melodrama came to an end, when I heard my mom calling my name, perhaps a nickname ‘bobby!!! Do a final check with your passport and visa papers!’ I was all set to leave Australia for my research program. The much awaited day of my life and perhaps the most important rung in my career ladder. Things have started to move with alacrity in the last couple of weeks. It was an acid trip for me with my mind caught in a whirlpool of events that has occurred in the last couple of days.

Felt a shot of adrenalin pumping in my blood, when my feet touched the bathroom floors. I never knew how I made it to the bathroom with my mind lost in a labyrinth of emotions. The cold water from the shower head rushed across my body and brought back my senses for a while. By now there was a whiff of steam from my mom’s idli kadai, making a mockery at my olfactory lobes. With a least resistance to this teasing appetite, I rushed myself to enjoy the breakfast.

Three idlies were lined beautifully in my plate in the form of a spade with a spoonful of coconut chutney and milagaipodi, making a perfect color balance in my plate. I wonder how long will it take for me to experience again such culinary delight. Every part of the breakfast tasted divine putting my plans in a spot of bother. My mom was making a remark, “Australia la idli kedai kadhu, ingeya nalla sapudu” (“ u won’t get idlies in Australia, so eat well”) .

How does it feel, when you know that you can’t taste your favorite filter coffee; walk across the road not caring a shit about the incoming traffic or you don’t have to wait for the signal; play the roadside cricket with broken bats and worn out cricket balls; travel in footboard in overflowing buses, just trying to catch a glimpse of that girl in red salwar; here comes the worst part, that you’ll be denied chances of watching thalaivar’s first day shows.

Man, this really sucks, wondering what I would do, being totally teleported to a different place, which is devoid of pleasures that I ve been enjoying since my childhood. I m wondering, do I really need to go through all this to earn in 5 digits and pay a sizeable amount in taxes for the Australian Government. The battle was still on inside my head, while my hands were busy trying to explore the empty pockets of my trousers.

Voices seem to echo from the living room and my brother came rushing inside the kitchen. “appa s calling!! “ Once I went inside the living room, I could find dad’s friend Chandrasekar uncle chatting with my dad.

“ enna thambi Australia kelambi achha?? “ (“ r u all set to fly Australia??”)

“ aama uncle, iniku night flight” (‘ m leaving tonight uncle”)

“aparam enna, payan Australia poi neriya earn panna poraan, inni ungaluku oru problem ila” ( once ur son earns u won’t any problem)

            I could see the hollowness dwelling in my dad’s face, but still he tried to conceal that with the smile of pride. Perhaps he was thinking about the first day of my school, where I was crying holding the bars of the window exhibiting all my tantrums. Wondering how things have changed or we‘ve been rushed through the banks of our lives when the fate was flooding.

            “ naan than romba kashta patuten, en payan atleast kashta pada koodathu,” (“I ve been toiling all my years, my son should live a comfortable life”)

            The eyes of my dad were ebbing with tears and he was looking at me, waiting for me to approve his last statement. Neither my head nodded nor words escaped from my mouth. My dad’s hands were holding my elbow, he does that when I look grim or sad, gesturing ‘everything’s going to be okay’.  I choked for words, but still I replied with my tears running down my cheek.

            “For your dreams“

Ps:
I tried to write a honest one, without much fiction. 5 digit salary and taxes are the fictional part.