Popless random thoughts

Heard that they are now making new bubble wraps, silent ones! Who ever thought of this crazy idea? What is life without the sheer pleasure of bursting the bubble? The kick you get when you hear that gentle but firm sound when you press that wobbly ball between your fingers and gently pop it without letting it slip through. Aah!
No one has the right to take this away from us. It is human rights violation! What say folks?

Right now I am sitting on a lazy afternoon collecting my random thoughts. Am home because there is a bandh, a national strike which kind of falls flat in other cities but manages to strike hard on us Calcuttans. Trying to do some office work. Yeah that's how popless life is right now. And I'm craving for the bubble wrap. I have hoarded some of those sheets. Feels like hoarding narcs :). Should I get hold of one and try popping? Well then these will be gone forever...like so many other good things.

It is a dry and dull September afternoon. My mind wanders back to my childhood days when on such hot and dry afternoons I would sit on a sofa reading a nice storybook listening to the crows and pigeons. These days you rarely get to hear the pigeons. Cannot recall seeing them either in most localities. There was a time when pigeons used to live in almost all houses in Calcutta. The old buildings from the British era were filled with pigeon droppings and the sound of the cooing chorus echoed everywhere. There was something nice and warm about that sound. I remember the smell in one of the alcoves in my house. I used to peek in there and see the mommy pigeon guarding the eggs. On days like this I remember that sound and smell. And I miss my mom, dad and childhood.

With the booming of real estate and springing highrises, the pigeons have taken flight. They have also taken my childhood with them.

It's funny how sounds and smells remind you of places, people, incidents.

My mother smelt of everyday things in the morning, of milk, butter, fish, vegetables...but in the evenings she smelt of sandalwood and talcum powder. My grandma smelt of paan (betel leaf).

Sound keeps playing in your head. Sounds of days gone by. Along with many other things, I somehow remember night sounds more than day sounds.

I remember dogs barking on wintry cold nights along with the smell of burnt firewood and chapatis from roadside stalls.

Staying awake in my bed and reading a book with a torchlight under the blanket, I would hear the last tram entering the nearby tram depot. The clanging on the tracks and the tired screeching sound as it would pull in would announce it's 12 even before the clock could strike.

The labourers or local shops would play songs on their transistor sets late in the night. Old hindi songs would drift in, mingling with the other night sounds. I would hear sounds of gentle footsteps, someone whispering, an old woman coughing or a cat mewing. I would shut my eyes tightly and try to focus on the tram. That was real. Then suddenly there would be a burst of emotions on the road. The night shows were over in the nearby movie theatres. I would heave a sigh of relief. There are so many people out there, the "others" will not be able to scare me now. I would pray and try to fall asleep. Soon the streets would be deserted and silent. The other sounds would return and I would wait for sleep to come to my rescue. When moment seemed like eternity I would hear my mother's voice. I would open my eyes and the blinding sun would get into my eyes. Finally, thank god, it's morning.

I don't hear these sounds anymore. My mother, the trundling tram, the midnight flash mob, the gentle footsteps...all are gone.

Well life's like that. You move on and leave your pop days behind.