An apology, long overdue

I had this classmate in playschool... I don't remember her name or her face, but I remember one of her dresses. It was green and white, with a green cord running running around the waistline. On this cord were strung several large, bright, plastic beads. And she had the habit of sliding those beads from one side of her waist to another, the way one would slide beads on an abacus...

I was fascinated by that dress. And I was jealous, too... none of my dresses had fat, multi-coloured beads on them (now I'm really glad they didn't, but I was three then. I liked neon-bright beads). I loved that dress. I thought of it a lot. I never said anything to anyone about it, but one night, my parents and I were in bed, and I muttered (in my sleep?), "Her parents buy her such pretty things. My parents never get me anything!", that too in an accusatory tone. The moment I realized what I'd said, I promptly burst into tears, had a bout of coughing, and then threw up. My parents were really hurt, and for good reason too. After all, they've been the best parents I could ever hope for.

I still feel terrible when I think of that incident. It's a memory I wish I didn't have. I'm one of those lucky kids who got whatever she asked for. If you ask my folks, they'll tell you I never asked for anything, but that's not the point. The point is, they fulfilled every wish their kid ever had. They were my Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, teachers, friends and 'everyday-heroes', all rolled into one. They still are (not Tooth Fairy, of course..). I'm extremely grateful to Someone up there who let me have such wonderful parents.

I' still feel terrible about what I said that night, seventeen years ago. I wonder if my parents remember it at all... I'd like to say, nevertheless, Amma, Appa, I'm sorry!

Yours, Sinega.

I once received an SMS on my mobile- something about taking revenge on the British, who oppressed Indians and ruled over us, by butchering the English language as much as possible. It looks like people really are doing their best… check this pamphlet out. A little girl gave it to me in a bus. I was supposed to return it after reading, but I liked it so much, I kept it.

I also had a lot of fun reading the hoardings and boards in Vellore. Here are a few signs I noticed near the Vellore fort:

“Do not commit nuisance”
“Do not do impure here”

Then there were the usual ‘puncture shops’. ‘Puncture’ is probably the most widely misspelled word ever: Puncher, Pancher, Punchar, Punchur, Pantcher, Pancter, and on one memorable occasion, I saw Buncher

That was probably because of the Tamil indifference towards differences in voicing. That would also explain this board I saw hanging outside an ice cream parlour:

“Sold availeble here:
Chacopar
Garnetto
Bista-Badam
Gulfi”

As it turned out, people also had a lot of trouble getting my name right. I thought it was a simple enough name. Neha. Two syllables, and neither /n/ nor /h/ is especially difficult to pronounce. But the Vellorians had to struggle to get it right. Occasionally, they somehow managed to mutate my name into ‘Megha’ or ‘Rekha’ or something like that. ‘Nega’ was bearable. But more often than not, people called me ‘Sinega’ (that’s how they’d be writing ‘Sneha’ in Tamil). And so, to make life easier for the people of Adukkamparai, I let them call me Sinega. And whenever someone asked me what my name was, I’d just take a deep breath and say, “Sinega”.


Now you know at least one reason why I’m glad I’m back home… It’s good to be Neha again!