And the reminiscences continue...
The RX135 experience
Although our first love was the Yamaha breed of machines, after much deliberation, we settled for a rather conservatively styled, easy on the gas, 4-stroke Bajaj Caliber when we (finally) bought a bike in the year 2000. Life usually has a twisted sense of making your wishes come true though. Fifteen years later, when the college going me has been put to pasture somewhere in the deeper recesses of the mind, I got to ride an RX135 across the city to my heart's content. This bike, borrowed from my cousin, has clearly seen better days, has logged over 40,000 kms and could do with a wash and a real lock instead of the chain and lock arrangement. But it is a Yamaha RX135, remember? And that makes up for all the shortcomings. It is a fast bike and can still turn heads with itsmating call engine roar. Or as I call it, 15 years too late. If my wife is reading this, I really love you honey! Within an hour of driving it, two people came up to us at a red light and offered to buy it. True story.
A man, a bike and his 4-year old son: it is a beautiful thing. My son would perch himself on top of the petrol tank in the front and demand to be driven around the block every time I came back from somewhere. At the end of that ride (at perhaps 20-25kmph), he would make an appreciative comment or two about my speeding skills. I need a tissue please. *sniff*
A test victory and the day-after Hindu write up
Savoring an Indian cricket win abroad live on TV, then wading into the sports page the day after and later analyzing the game threadbare with friends at college was a religious experience. A Sachin special followed by an R. Mohan or a Nirmal Shekar special in print (on a plain vanilla, black and white The Hindu) the morning after was like having good, cold beer with fresh, crisp onion pakkoda on the side. So while I was in Chennai, India won a test in Colombo and later the series. And our copy of The Hindu was at the doorstep even before I was up. Now, the series itself was good from an Indian fan stand point and the cricket was intense given the circumstances. The come from behind win in spite of missing both the openers mid way was heartening. As was the performance of the spinners, the openers and the fielders. The tail even wagged when it mattered. My only wish: drop Rohit Sharma and go with Che Pu instead. And I get this feeling that this team would be better served if they are aggressive in intent rather than behavior. But the magic was somehow...missing. Can't really pin point why. Oh and The Hindu? I continue to start reading the paper from the sports section even today although for an entirely different reason: to avoid actor Prabhu with his 3 chins jumping out from page 0 peddling jewelry.
The Avani Avittam reduction
As mentioned here, the fervor that once surrounded avani avittam in our house has all but evaporated. From a full blown man-festival replete with silk veshtis, ezhai kolams and meals with payasam in the nineties, avani avittam around the house has now become a mere ritual devoid of any fan fare. In 2008, in the wake of our mother's passing away, the three of us had donned our respective new poonals at different cities in India. In 2009, it was just me and appa going about the routine at home that day, while I doubled up as the cook too. Well, tripled up as the makeshift vadhyar too. If those were bad years, I think we hit rock bottom this year. Appa, unable to sit on the floor on account of a recent surgery, changed his poonal seated on a chair. In fact, he was wearing it after having been without one on medical advice! And this time, I didn't even try to put on my cook's hat. And so the post-poonal meal? Curd rice at Saravana Bhavan. Changed times, new reality.
The one bucket bath
We are true T Nagar old timers what with our family calling the very heart of T Nagar, or Mambalam as it was known then, home since the early 1930s. In other words, we know water shortage. Ever since I was a kid, a half bucket of water was all that was allotted for the daily bath. Even was we moved to relatively water-rich locations across the city, water frugality as a habit has stayed with us. Things have changed with moving abroad and all. But this time, I went back to the bucket. No surprise that it is the most sensible thing to do anywhere in the world. Made me re-realize how much cleaning can be accomplished with under a bucket full of this precious commodity.
The RX135 experience
Although our first love was the Yamaha breed of machines, after much deliberation, we settled for a rather conservatively styled, easy on the gas, 4-stroke Bajaj Caliber when we (finally) bought a bike in the year 2000. Life usually has a twisted sense of making your wishes come true though. Fifteen years later, when the college going me has been put to pasture somewhere in the deeper recesses of the mind, I got to ride an RX135 across the city to my heart's content. This bike, borrowed from my cousin, has clearly seen better days, has logged over 40,000 kms and could do with a wash and a real lock instead of the chain and lock arrangement. But it is a Yamaha RX135, remember? And that makes up for all the shortcomings. It is a fast bike and can still turn heads with its
A man, a bike and his 4-year old son: it is a beautiful thing. My son would perch himself on top of the petrol tank in the front and demand to be driven around the block every time I came back from somewhere. At the end of that ride (at perhaps 20-25kmph), he would make an appreciative comment or two about my speeding skills. I need a tissue please. *sniff*
A test victory and the day-after Hindu write up
Savoring an Indian cricket win abroad live on TV, then wading into the sports page the day after and later analyzing the game threadbare with friends at college was a religious experience. A Sachin special followed by an R. Mohan or a Nirmal Shekar special in print (on a plain vanilla, black and white The Hindu) the morning after was like having good, cold beer with fresh, crisp onion pakkoda on the side. So while I was in Chennai, India won a test in Colombo and later the series. And our copy of The Hindu was at the doorstep even before I was up. Now, the series itself was good from an Indian fan stand point and the cricket was intense given the circumstances. The come from behind win in spite of missing both the openers mid way was heartening. As was the performance of the spinners, the openers and the fielders. The tail even wagged when it mattered. My only wish: drop Rohit Sharma and go with Che Pu instead. And I get this feeling that this team would be better served if they are aggressive in intent rather than behavior. But the magic was somehow...missing. Can't really pin point why. Oh and The Hindu? I continue to start reading the paper from the sports section even today although for an entirely different reason: to avoid actor Prabhu with his 3 chins jumping out from page 0 peddling jewelry.
The Avani Avittam reduction
As mentioned here, the fervor that once surrounded avani avittam in our house has all but evaporated. From a full blown man-festival replete with silk veshtis, ezhai kolams and meals with payasam in the nineties, avani avittam around the house has now become a mere ritual devoid of any fan fare. In 2008, in the wake of our mother's passing away, the three of us had donned our respective new poonals at different cities in India. In 2009, it was just me and appa going about the routine at home that day, while I doubled up as the cook too. Well, tripled up as the makeshift vadhyar too. If those were bad years, I think we hit rock bottom this year. Appa, unable to sit on the floor on account of a recent surgery, changed his poonal seated on a chair. In fact, he was wearing it after having been without one on medical advice! And this time, I didn't even try to put on my cook's hat. And so the post-poonal meal? Curd rice at Saravana Bhavan. Changed times, new reality.
The one bucket bath
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