If you met Sheetal this morning you’d see the broadest grin that ever split a face. [Digression: this slipping into the third person is of course the fault of Facebook’s status messages – I always thought people who spoke like that were a little weird but the way I’m taking to it is alarming]. Coming back to the broad smile, it’s because I’ve been doing a bit of web-cam chatting with my family. Internet connectivity at my place has been established, and I’m old enough to marvel at the internet still. Really, it is the best thing since sliced bread, no, since the wheel.
When we were children, gathering at the neighbours' to watch the telecast of the Telugu classic Maya Bazaar on DD, what wonder, what delight there was when Sasirekha (Savitri) opens the magical mirror box to see her lover Abhimanyu (ANR) in it. A magical song follows, and some gentle dalliance. It is all explained now – it was a laptop, of course.
It’s been near three months since I left home and my mother has been saying that she can’t immediately bring my face to mind. It took a little setting up: internet at my end, some software installation at the other, but it was done finally. Shweta looks the same, mum looks gaunter than I like and my father, I’m happy to report, is as sprightly as ever. His excitement at this new activity took the form of breaking into jig behind Shweta, playing peek-a-boo behind her head. And they wonder why we never grow up.
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Since I stir nostalgia, I must slake it:
When we were children, gathering at the neighbours' to watch the telecast of the Telugu classic Maya Bazaar on DD, what wonder, what delight there was when Sasirekha (Savitri) opens the magical mirror box to see her lover Abhimanyu (ANR) in it. A magical song follows, and some gentle dalliance. It is all explained now – it was a laptop, of course.
It’s been near three months since I left home and my mother has been saying that she can’t immediately bring my face to mind. It took a little setting up: internet at my end, some software installation at the other, but it was done finally. Shweta looks the same, mum looks gaunter than I like and my father, I’m happy to report, is as sprightly as ever. His excitement at this new activity took the form of breaking into jig behind Shweta, playing peek-a-boo behind her head. And they wonder why we never grow up.
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Since I stir nostalgia, I must slake it:
2 comments:
How you think of these things to say pa..Cha.. very impressed..
Henge pa, Cha... that sounds so much like you, Meera, I can hear you almost.
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