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Sunday, 20 May 2007

bombino rice

you know am a rake and a rambling man...free as an eagle fly...look at me now and tell me the truth...do i look like a daddy to you...do i look like a daddy to you. don willams sang all day long. and angulimal would walk with his unkempt hair...cigarette between his fingers and telephone calls one after the other. thats what i called him. angulimal. that was a demon like character in my hindi text book - kishore bharti, in class 4, i believe. he killed people and wore a necklace made out of human fingers (anguli in sanskrit). but my angulimal was just namesake. he was a cool chap, my best friend once upon a time. i could practice short put by flinging the breakfast pack while he helped me cross the nala to reach my bus stop in saket. i must have been barely 7 or 8. but i remember him so well. he was such a good friend. when we reached the bridge...he would look at me and hint...its time to throw...what!? my breakfast...which i hated to eat, anyway. i would give the world's widest grin and throw it as far as i could...and wait till the aluminium foil sank and went deep down into the black waters of the nala. i was a poor eater all the time. mom wud fish out weeks old sandwitches and chappatti rolls from under my mattress...and wud thank god that the place was not infested of ants and the like due to chilly wheather. most of the time she wudn know whether to scold me or to laugh. but i wouldnt eat anyway. was v stubborn. another day our neighbour was cleaning her walls and found her parapet which was rt under my room's window...things like unopened fruit cake packets, fruitys and the kind...mom was v upset by now as she had to get me rid of this habit. slowly it was the talk of every party. i got sick of it. but i wudn eat. i was growing thinner by the day i weighed 9 kilos lesser than i shud have. soon i acquired a new name. angulimal called me somali kutty (meaning...the one from somalia, the land of the impoverished). i cried the whole evening, as i was hurt. then he took me around and refreshed my mood with an orange candy ice cream...the only thing i loved to ingest...as my tongue wud go orangish red and i wud stick it out on all windows that came by while we strolled in the market.
my sister joined me very soon in the act of disposal. not that she did not like eating, but she was fascinated by the task i wud engage in every morning...infact every meal. once mom left us some special rice called the bombino rice, brown rice. i found it yuck...like most otherthings that had to pass my mouth. but i knew my sister wud play brutus. she was too young. so told her we will play a game and we make big long kababs out of the rice...and one by one we dropped it in the western closet and flushed it. she shrieked...'ayye it looks like potty!' i told her...it also tastes like potty so thats why i am sending where it belongs. angulimal grew up and got lost somewr along the line of time and place...we all flew across to different places and are v far from those mindless days. but my sis n me still laugh over the bombino rice....

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