Ruth Sequeira

I've been looking out for inspiration for a new blog post for the past few weeks. Like most things that I'm searching for in my life it came straight to me, I just had to wait, with arms wide open. In this case, however, inspiration whacked me straight at the knee, in the form of a rubber cricket ball.

Goans don't usually welcome dry days, but after almost a week of being stuck indoor thanks to the rain and the thunderstorms, it was warmly welcomed. At times like these, the women dry damp clothes out, the elderly nervously go for their evening walks, the children run out to play and the men (being men) continue to watch Star Sports. Going according to what I have just mentioned, my brother Luke should ideally have been indoors, but when I went out into the garden, I saw him playing gully cricket with a bunch of school boys. I've always known Luke to have a very childish side, but it was only yesterday that I noticed a similarity to Peter Pan.

I walked over to where they were playing and the boys (being young boys) gave me a derogatory stare, which very clearly conveyed their message - 'girls aren't allowed here'. I walked ahead, smiling from ear to ear, hoping to make friends, but judging by the intensity of the vibes, I wasn't too confident I would. Luke didn't notice me at first, but when he did, he gave me a very sheepish smile. When the boys saw their captain and coach smile at me, they decided they should end all hostility.

I had seen most of these boys in their half pants, running around, creating chaos, but I didn't know them by their names. I asked Luke for introductions, but he was too busy bowling. Over time, I figured out a) their names and b) that Luke didn't know their names. There was eleven year old Cyril, who Luke called Damien (“a stark resemblance to Damien of 'The Omen'”), ten year old Pritish whom Luke called “Munna”which is incidentally his father's name, then came ten year old Daniel, who Luke referred to as “you” and finally 8 year old Emanuel who was tagged “smally”.

The boys were playing the usual roadside cricket, with basic rules of; “If the ball hits the red wall, you're out”, “If the ball bounces once and then you catch it, your out”, “If the ball goes all the way to the yellow wall. It's a four” and finally and most importantly, “If you break someone's windowpane, everyone must flee within 15 seconds”.

It was very amusing to watch the boys playing, I am absolutely certain that the kids I played with 15 years ago were more skilled than this lot. Daniel didn't seem as brave as his biblical predecessor and often gave a little shriek when the ball headed in his direction. Damien, on the other hand, was a bit too bold. When fielding he took his position right in the middle of the pitch and at some point he was nearly smacked on the face by Emanuel, who was finding it difficult to control the heavy bat. Pritish was the only guy who seemed to have some cricket in his blood and gave Luke some competition. Little Emanuel sat with me for most parts of the match and when he did venture on the field, he was very distracted and missed quite a few catches, which annoyed Pritish greatly. In the one hour that he did play, he slipped and fell five times, which is more than the number of runs he scored.

I joined the boys at their game and unlike earlier, the boys seemed to have no objection. On the field, we were all the same sex and the same age. We were now buddies. I was glad to have met these young lads and shared the evening with them, I was transported back to my childhood,(not such a long time ago) where I was always the only girl playing with all my brothers' friends. It was a complete deja vu moment when I was bowled out and was given a second chance by these fine gentlemen, because as one of them explained “you're a girl”.

One fine May morning, many years ago, I befriended an old aunty, whose name I no longer remember; who gifted me something, I now mourn over. That May morning, Old Friendly Aunty and I decided to visit her ancestral house. It's ironical to think that a person can be afraid to head back home, however, after so many years of being apart, I could sense that Old Friendly Aunty was indeed very frightened of the memories that would hit her.

The house, like most other abandoned houses in Goa, had caved in. The wood work had gone thin over time, while the owners overseas had grown plump with new wealth. Cracks crawled over the walls and shame crept over Old Friendly Aunty. We had not returned to a home, or a house, but to a ruin. Old Friendly Aunty had returned with the hope of fixing and renovating, but this home was not something that could be mended and restored. I felt bad for Old Friendly Aunty, but she was stronger than she looked. She walked ahead with a new purpose, to salvage whatever was not already destroyed. She picked up random objects that were scattered around the house, picking up random memories as well.

So here we were, Old Friendly Aunty and Young Girl, who didn't know what to do. Mama says the best thing to do when you don't know what to do is; to be quiet and still. Of course, I did exactly the opposite. I went about snooping around and making small talk with Old Friendly Aunty, just to keep her distracted. While I went about investigating, I stumbled into what must have years ago been one of the most frequented rooms- the Pantry. There among the termite infested wood, I saw her. While everything else was scarred with age and negligence; her beauty, though hidden behind a thick layer of mud, was still intact. A beautiful black kettle with a garland of bright pink and orange flowers around her middle. Old friendly Aunty came around and examined her as well. She casually said I could have it. I was going to, even if she denied me the permission, such was my awe for the object.

The black kettle, stood proudly on my Mum's carved antique black table for years. Any one who visited would come pay homage to this beauty. I soon took it for granted though, I was now accustomed to the usual praise and it soon merged with the rest of the house. After 3 years in Bombay, I returned home to discover, that my brother David, with his carelessness had accidentally dropped it down. My mother has still saved the broken bits in the backyard. One look and my heart was broken just like the black ceramic pieces lying on the garden floor.
I finally understood, what Old Friendly Aunty went through that fine May morning. I too had once cherished the kettle like she cherished her home, but over time I had taken the kettle for granted, assuming she would always be there, just like the first day I saw her. I had left her behind, gotten so involved with my world, that it was such a shock to return to find her in bits. I knelt there, beside the remains of my black kettle, picking up random pieces, remembering random memories.

To

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On the 12^th of August, while the TYBMM Ad class took in the news that college was to be shut for one whole week with great pomp and joy, I woke up took my two afternoon tablets and the news and rolled back to sleep. It was Day 5 of my fever and body ache days, and yes, I was glad to hear that college was shut for a week, it meant that I wouldn't miss out on attendance and any one who's been in the BMM will know that attendance comes second only to mere life. So there I was happy that college was shut for a week within that span of time I hoped to be fine. How ignorant I was of what I was in for.

While everyone else holidayed that week (except for my group members, for reasons we wish to keep private); I was kept under house arrest by my mother. It was not like I had the energy to venture further than my garden but it still felt horrible to be in Goa and yet not be able to go anywhere!

One fine Saturday morning, I woke up feeling not so fine. Three blood tests, 4 doctors, 26 Crocins and 11 days later, I was diagnosed with Typhoid Fever. Typhoid is something that you get from eating or drinking unhygienic food or water, the sad part is I don't even know what it is that I ate or drank that's given me Typhoid; if I did know I'd have loved to have sent a sweet little thank you card to the place. As if typhoid isn't bad enough, after blood test number 3, I was diagnosed with Jaundice! Everyone who saw me when I was first ill and in college was worried I'd give them Swine Flu, not to fear, I only have Typhoid and Jaundice.

The most super splendid part of having Typhoid and Jaundice is that all you can eat is boiled foods and liquids. And here's the deal, I'm a hosteler, I crave home food on a normal day and here I am for a week in Goa and all that I'm allowed access to is kanji which is brown Goa rice boiled and you have it with the water it's cooked in. I was asked the other day, which was the most painful moment so far, let me tell you. Yesterday, my Mum made Prawn Curry- Rice and Fried Fish for lunch and my entire family was happily digging into their plates and guess what I was eating. Boiled vegetables- yummy! NOT. That was definitely the most painful moment, even when the blood test man was burrowing my skin for a nerve it didn't hurt as much. What's worse is Mum says that I'm not allowed to eat out for the next 3 months! No Samosa Pav, no Pani Puri, No Subway not even a simple, stupid French Fry! If you're reading this and eating something yummy, I've already sent you evil vibes, you heartless person.