Lateral Perspectives

The huge world inside a tiny head

Archive for the tag “memories”


Rekha. No, Rekhachechi.

A name that had started to fade somewhere along the back of the mind, catapulted to the front now. Pictures come running through the mind as if someone has put a flashback on.

With both hands her in her pockets, the image of someone walking on yellow tiles that smells of disinfectants, here pristine white coat covering her bright saree with colorful designs.

With wide eyes and a mischievous smile, she would come around to look for me, if she knew I was around. Did she have dimples in her cheek, and  a touch of sandalwood streak on here forehead?  I cant remember. Come to think of it, I don’t even have a picture of her at home, and a fuzzy remembrance of how her face looked.  The only thing that I do remember with clarity was the love with which she would call out my name. I may even have forgotten the voice, but the love remains etched, like the birthday card greetings that she have left behind, which are still kept in a little box in one of the shelf.

Now you might be wondering, what this is about. This is about Rekha. She used to work with my mom in a hospital. Chechi is a term of endearment and respect, that which one calls and elder sister. Much like Akka in Tamil or Didi in Hindi. I was very little then, probably around 10-12 years old. Even back then her name piqued curiosity. It felt unique, and even now, I haven’t met anyone with her name. Her name means “A line”. Simple enough, but may have different interpretations.  A mathematical line, or a line that’s supposed to be drawn on the head,which also denotes faith, or it could even be a ray of sunlight.

I remember going to her wedding along with my mom. I remember being adamant that we should not be going empty handed and having wanted to give the gift myself. If memory serves me correct, it was a small miniature of a wedding couple with Happy Married Life or something written on the bottom. Hers was the first of the only two Hindu wedding that I have taken part in. I remember talking non stop about the taste of  food we had. It is one the tastiest vegetarian food I’ve ever had.

She left the hospital after her wedding. Mom moved to another clinic. I saw her many years later. She had a vegetable store, and lived in a flat above it. She looked completely different. Married, working and with a kid, she looked older. We caught her in the middle of work. She looked flustered, yet happy to see us. The hair was dishevelled, the face starting to show wrinkles, signs that she had left her youth far behind. The remnants of a mischievous smile still playing on her lips, surviving, somehow.

Why did I think of her now? Come to think of it, how many Rekhachechi’s are there in my life? For some reason, I find myself reluctant to think about it. Is it a sin to forget people whom we once loved and respected, but had moved out of our lives long back, slowly faded out?

Yet, there is a strange feeling of happiness for having though of her now. At least I have thought about her, written her down, and through this, some years in the future, I might return to read this, only to remember a lovely voice calling out my name dearly.


Digital Memories

You exist,deep down
in a folder hidden so well
With distractions along,not because
other might find you,
but so that I shall lose
my way, from keep going back

You exist, hidden among thousand pictures
your laughter, gay and static
beside the beach, and with me
somewhere in the corner
and because of the thousand pictures,
I won’t pretend to see it

You exist,far back in my brain
as dreams and moments and memories
like waves in an ocean,
you come back at night,
during high tide,
many a sleepless night

you exist, among the hundred commuters
on the train, in the mall,
all the places that I go to
I try my best not to glance at them,
out of fear, what if i see you?
And sometime, I do see-
bits of you in the smile,
part of you in the child’s dance
the lovely glance of the old couple

And why do I keep all these memories,
these digital memories of you?
I tell myself I don’t want to look back
Yet, destroy them, I do not

So I will let those , let be
souvenirs of a bygone time
A happy time, nonetheless
a dot in my past,
A digital memory.


Came across this video below a few days back. To say I was stunned would be an understatement. This is what I love best about cinema- the visual art. It stirs and moves something inside you. It makes you writhe with pleasure to see something you can identify with. Something you long to return to, something that has been lost ever since you grew up. Something this current generation will never be able to understand. Our childhood, the safely kept aside, hidden, sweet childhood.

What astonishes me is the total lack of applause for this visual treat. It speaks tons, my readers, tons!

My own childhood is very well a blend of this, heavily leaning to the rural side.

It shows the life of two girls growing up. One, a rural life, a conformist, the other, a rebel.Even at this time, the director was able to portray the rural life quite accurately. The visuals might resonate best with women from Kerala,India.

The actors, the growing up phases. Even the scene where the milk glass is on the ground and biscuits around it  is oh so lovely!  How both women looks at the world around them, their doubts, their anxieties, the curiosity about their bodies, Aashique Abu, you deserve a golden globe, sir.

There exists a third category,  a blend of these two. I am one of them. Sometimes I feel this identity crisis- am I a village   boy, or an urban one?

You can check out the lyrics here.

Laughter and friendship

I was on the MRT the other day, and the cabin was mostly empty. At  a stop, 4 malay teenagers came in. They were from ITE. They were very loud. No, strike that, they were NOISY!  At first, I felt annoyed. But then one of the guy started laughing. He was very tiny, and guessing from the way he looked, one might put him around 14 years old.

And I loved the sound of that laugh. I took me back to my own school days, particularly a day when my friend cracked a joke, and I lost my sense of environment and burst out laughing-in the middle of the class- while the being taught. And I kept on laughing! I was mixed emotions, I tried to stifle my laughter, but bursting out. I was afraid that the teacher was angry. I was embarrassed for letting out that huge belly laugh.I was 15 then.

And here, eight years later,  at a time when I was commuting for work, dulled by the monotony of the working life, I came across another set of people, whose language I did not know, laughing. Oh how time flies! I would probably give everything to go back to being a student in high school.

To have petty worries about exam, to rush and do the homework before the first bell, to poke a friend in the ribs, to veer his hand of course while writing, and most importantly, to be happy and let out that deep belly laugh.

Not while she is teaching, hopefully.

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