Sounds (music, in particular) always evoke memories associated with it. Some are wonderful memories, and they hijack you into a nostalgic trance. As I weave through these memories, I meet people (the ones that I can still see in blood and flesh now, but in their old-memories-attached-form), I walk the streets of the dusty neighbourhood of my childhood, I try to recall the smell and even other sounds of that time. When I wake up - shaken, no doubt by the harsh realities of the here and now - I can only sadly resign to the fact that I have lost my childhood and youthful mirth. The material things, and the elusive, questionable wisdom that I managed to gain, in exchange for all that I lost suddenly seems of no worth. I caught a strain of chicken pox when I was preparing for my class XII public exam. I stayed in Mama's house all through my study leave. Lakshmi periyamma was a hard task master who made sure I woke early, and at least kept making sounds to prove that I...
...of the cousins, by the cousins, and for the cousins under the Tamarind tree