“Angel baby naughty”

As the years go by, memories of long ago float up, unexpected and uncalled for. Like the flotsam and jetsam of a long sunk ship.
When I was very little, we had as an adornment in our modest dining room, a ceramic baby cupid in blue and white. It sat perched upon the kaanch na vaasan ni cupboard (a glass fronted cupboard which held the fine China used on special occasions) looking down upon every meal the family had. I thought cupids were always supposed to be happy and smiling. But this one was sadly crying. Whenever I was extra naughty, our ayah (domestic help) would say "Angel baby naughty, so mummy né usko cupboard par bitha diya. Tum naughty hogé, tumko bhi cupboard par bitha déngé (Because the angel was naughty, mummy put her on top of the cupboard. If you are naughty, she will do the same to you)!”
This vile threat always had a sobering effect on me.

Ceramic baby cupid carries childhood memories

Years passed by, I got married and set up my own home and baby cupid came with me. By then it had lost both its wings and had broken a hand and a foot. But it was a part of my childhood and I had come to love it. It now sits on a shelf in our bathroom. I smile every time I see it, remembering how scared I was of being put on top of a cupboard, while the rest of the family whistled their merry way through the day!
Food memories are always an integral part of most people’s childhood. For us, more than the taste of the food, it was the funny names added to favorite dishes, which linger. A simple, oft cooked dish of ladies’ fingers was given the title of "Bapai na bheeda (grandmother’s ladies’ fingers).” My daddy Darub loved this dish because his mother cooked it often and it was one of the memories he had of his mother who died when he was very young.
We had gory names for our best loved desserts. The all-time, ever favorite caramel custard, which we had at least once a week, was called "lohi nu pudding.” The caramelized sugar looked like blood to our child’s imagination.
An unmolded, raspberry or lemon gelatin dish was called "dhujti jelly” as we shivered in anticipation of eating it.
But the most cherished and beautiful memory of my childhood was doing my lessons with my dad. Every night while mum laid the table and got dinner ready, dad would sit me on his lap and gently ask about what happened in school that morning; and then take me through the next day’s homework. It was fun because it was interspersed with stories and sayings and memories he shared of his school days. Tuitions were unheard of in our home.
Maybe those days were more precious to me because they were so short-lived. Daddy passed away before I completed seven years of age.
My school days were very happy for the most part, except for one nasty memory!
My writing was never as neat and beautiful as the sisters of St Joseph’s Convent wanted. After repeatedly chiding me about it, to no avail, Sister Pascal pinned a particularly untidy page of writing on my back and made me stand outside the class, all through the lunch break. It was a double whammy! No lunch and all the staff and students passing by, laughing at my predicament.
By the time I entered high school, my bad handwriting was overlooked because of decent grades. But now, my nemesis was sports. I tried hard but could not get selected to represent the Green House in any sports event. In hurdles I would knock down the lowest rod. In the relay race no one wanted me because I would be the last one panting up with the baton, to hand over to the next runner.
I hated the ignominy of only taking part in the sack race.
I decided to try basket ball and after one season of practice, I thought I was getting the hang of it. The inter-house basket ball tournament date was announced and I was picked for the team. I was delighted! Even though I was a reserve player. The captain of our team told me I had a 50% chance of playing, in the event of someone getting injured or being unwell and not turning up.
I persuaded my mother to buy me a new pair of white sports shoes and socks. All the better to run with, my dear. D-Day came and I was ready and excited, secretly hoping someone was unwell and had not turned up. Suddenly, I heard the captain of the Green House team call "Lalkaka!” My joy knew no bounds! Now was my chance! "Yes, here I am!” I shouted back. "What size shoes do you wear?” was her next question. I was confused as I could not imagine what that had to do with my filling in for someone who had not come. Anyway, I replied "size 5.” The captain shouted back "Good! Take off your shoes and give them to Philomena Rodrigues. She is not wearing sports shoes.”
At that time, I was devastated. But now I look back upon it with a smile, as a lesson in not getting what you want every time.