Those were the days..

While sipping the customary lemon tea and exchanging pleasantries for the day with couple of my colleagues during our early morning banter, we ran in to a conversation that seldom fades away.

Our younger days are our inspiration and the greatest teacher (few would disagree with me on that). We cursed our teachers, accused our parents of being dictators and loathed on the paramedics of a delightful world that laid its shadow on us to beget. Well, or to say, besieged the frivolous mind.

In retrospective, I feel that our misdeeds have made us the mettle that we are made of today.

As a kid, we needed the cosy shields of our parents and flourished precariously. As teenagers, we saw them as paid liabilities, :). The most affluent aspect of a students life is to vanquish our teachers, and we take a lot of pride in such accomplishments. Our freedom is on a sabbatical journey and our aspirations look outrageously impressive.

We are at the disposal of every opportunity that encourages naive inhabitants and we strictly believe in the classic theory: all that glitters is certainly gold. Savouries, clothing, G&G, girls.. Merchandise was alluring and the opposite gender is swooning over your persona of callous grammar. Or, vice versa, for starters.

Dad’s money was RBI’s self funded economic mystery; I would be happy as long as it kept swirling out of his wallet. To our dismay, having five bucks in yours pockets in that glorious era was an aberration and spending them was equally distasteful. But honestly, dad’s money had its own flavour (still has!) and the cash coming out of his adorned enclosure was a boon. I might have more bucks in my pocket today than he does, but, somewhere down the line, I miss the chemistry.

Ek taakar cha, ded taakar singhara, 2 taakar garam kachoodi aar aadai taakar lengcha: the denominations look primitive but for me, these are priceless and offer life.

How could I forget ‘Symphony’ in the bustling corridor of Dharamtalla! Dad’s hard earned money lies in his little wooden box of overflowing proportions and I would gorge upon the store to wait for the new releases. Today, I am disposing my Dad’s souvenirs!

Folks, this juggernaut will never stop but got to go for good. But my coherent legacy will get me back and I assure to take you down the memory lane, again.

Published by lifeoholic

Flamboyance meets me, and I could be contagiously luring. It kind of comes off in my writing, as my stories of passion and indulgence unfold.

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