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Imprints Of Childhood

We recently moved homes and on moving day when we did a final check of our flat, I noticed a few stickers on the freezer. My eyes then found their way to a few permanent marker stains on the skirting boards and very unexpectedly I was overcome with emotion. These were the very stickers and marker stains that I was annoyed about a few months ago. I remember losing my cool with my toddler and trying with limited success to restore the state of our house. 


In the quest of a clean house, we often forget that memories are being created. In those stained walls and tainted mirrors lie precious moments and memories of childhood. 


If you are lucky enough to visit the home of your childhood, cherish it. I wish I was able to. I still remember it very clearly. A two bedroom flat with a small garden - a luxury in Mumbai’s urban landscape. The colour of the walls, the design of the floor tiles, the markings on the doorframe that marked our height as we transitioned into adolescence..


The wooden dining table had marks etched onto it during dinner time conversations and perhaps also when attempting to solve a particularly tiresome Maths problem.


My bed frame had stickers of every kind - Jungle Book to WWF wrestlers! I even stuck precious birthday cards onto it.


A wooden door that led to the bathroom and loo was also adorned with our art work - paintings and sketches we did at school and other more random doodles. 


The window sill of the living room! Oh it bore the brunt of our craft work - paper lanterns, bird feeders and decorations. The mosquito net had our pen marks and a few holes thanks to our naughtiness. 


The frame of the full length mirror in my parents bedroom had a plethora of bindis of different sizes, shapes and colours. I loved choosing one for my mum and me when we attended weddings and other events. 


The kitchen workspace or ‘pedi’ as we call it in Konkani had faint stains of turmeric and other masalas; reminiscent of the many delicious meals cooked for us with immense love.


Finally, our garden was never bereft of chalk marks on its concrete ground. Hours and hours of playing games like hopscotch, dog & the bone etc along with our very random sketches and “art”. 


So today, when my sons scribbled on the banister with a paintbrush I would like to think that I gained new perspective. After all, I’d like to think that this is just a smidgen of paint in their canvas of memories slowly taking shape. 

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