I came into this bitter world one cold January morning bringing with me a horde of mosquitoes sprung forth from the guttural depths of my dirty city, unleashed with a vengeance on the already suffering population, reeling in the coldest winter for god knows how many long years. To top it all off, the cold was accentuated by a steady drizzle, a sign of things to come, perhaps. My father had just put the lather on his shaving brush when news came from the neighbours (who had a phone unlike us) that my mother was being taken into the operation theatre. He bunked office that day.
At the nursing home, my grandmother (that is, my mother’s mother, my dida) was in a hypertensive state as usual, or so my father says. My grandfather (again, on my mother’s side, my dada, we both call each other dada, which actually means older brother in Bengali, we share a very cosmic relationship) was his usual cool sage-like self My father’s mother( god this is boring, I always did think English was a rigid language, my thamma ,I call her amma. ) reached the nursing home all wet from the rain, and shivering, and my dada ,chivalrous as ever, gave his shawl to her and continued mildly pacing the corridors of the Presidency Nursing Home, medicare was cheaper then I’m told.
I was brought out of absolute protection, me and Caesar, at about five minutes past eleven. I was apparently the ugliest baby anyone has ever seen. My father’s still mad at my mother’s grandmother’s (who is still a young lady at 91 and the healthiest person in the family. I used to call her bhai, which means younger brother in Bengali, and the name has stuck) first expression after seeing me. She was adamant that I had to have been changed after birth, her pretty daughter, she asserted, could not possibly have a son that ugly, like a bear cub. Thankfully time was kind, and bhai and I built up a wonderful relationship, and also I grew up to be a not so ugly baby.
4 comments:
okay, joke: "when my grandfather was born, they passed out cigars. when my father was born, they passed out cigarettes. when i was born, they just passed out."
you see, i'm commenting on your blog. not very comforting. and by the by, you aren't attempting to write your autobio, are you?
I don't know..Kerouac compared his writings to Proust, I compare mine with trash..but they generally tend to take a very selfcentric trend, do they not?
at least mine always do, this is what comes out of being perpetually single, you end up falling in love with yourself....as about the changeling theory, my younger sister could not possibly be related to me, and she is around your own age, could it be possible you are a sibling of mine and i can at last cast her out?
you know, most ppl when born arent exactly "pretty".it just doesnt happen that way.
besides, it feels way nicer when u "blossom" later.
PS: DO NOT COMPARE UR WRITING TO TRASH!!!!!
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