My mother tells me that I almost drowned in a bucket full of white wash when I was two years old. Only the quick actions of a night watchman prevented a disaster. Of course, I don’t remember any of that.
By the time I turned eight, I had become an expert at dunking in and out of water, muck, and raw sewage. At five or six, I fell into a pond while following an older girl around—nobody told me that bad things tend to happen when you hang out with bigger kids. Another fortunate adult-interference left me no worse for the dowsing.
The next plunge took me back first, into filthy muck. I don’t even want to reveal how I landed in that position. Suffice to say that my father, who dragged me out unceremoniously, probably wanted to give me a good thrashing after that incident.
One would think that I would learn not to fall into anymore messy situations. I did it again. For my seventh birthday, my father bought me a shiny new bike that all the neighbourhood children coveted. One evening, an older girl who was supposed to look after me, took my bike out for a spin with me sitting side saddle on the bar between the handle bar and the seat. When we landed in raw sewage, I never lived down the consequences of that disaster to this day.
Needless to say, when I look back to those childhood days, I find many episodes and events that inspire my stories, like my recently published non-fiction piece, Alfie. Another chapter of my life gave me the setting for A Midnight Feast to Remember. Check them out and be transported to a world of innocence in a way of life that has ceased to exist. If you enjoy listening to Alfie or reading A Midnight Feast to Remember, do send me a note.
Labels: Dhapa, drowning, Tangra, white wash
