Pitfalls of growing up

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

I must have been around nine or ten, a chubby, spirited little girl. We lived in a bungalow on a sprawling estate with a spacious garden fenced off by shrubs of white flowering plants in the front, a hillock on the right, cherry trees on the left and to crown it all, a neem and a peepal tree hovering majestically beside each other.

The back yard had its own lot of papaya and sugar cane. Besides climbing trees and balancing across huge waterpipes that ran over a ravine, we loved to practice jumping over a rope with one end tied to the cherry tree and the other held by one of us. And as we aced each jump, the edge tied to the tree would be moved a few notches up. It was one of those days when my younger sister and I were at it, watched endearingly from the portico by my father…. It was my turn and my third attempt, after two successful leaps. I ran and jumped. I woke up in bed, a few minutes later, shuddering under the feel of cool water being sprinkled on my face and my parents and sister, standing beside me, looking relieved.

Summer holidays were all about hitting the beach with our cousins. We cycled and raced all the way. The water glistening under a scorching mid-day sun, could not be more inviting. Without much ado, we plunged into the cool waters and swam to our hearts’ content. Exhausted, we withdrew to the shade of the trees after an hour and hogged sandwiches ravenously and quenched our thirst with refreshing coke. After some rest, the boys took to the waters again while we lazed on the sand as the sun played peek-a-boo through the leaves of the golden bough above.

Temptation again! To swing on a rope fastened to a thick branch. No sooner than done! There we were, swinging away gloriously. At last, it was my turn and I goaded my cousins to push faster and faster. A huge thud! And the next I knew, there I was, flat on the ground almost blinded by the blazing sun! The rope had frayed and given way.

As a college student, life in the hostel wasn’t bad, especially with my own coterie of friends. And we did everything together -- studying, playing or going to the mess. Sundays, of course, were better as the hostel mess served a sumptuous lunch, followed by a mouth-watering dessert. After good food, we were taking a stroll on the campus, as was customary, before retiring to our rooms. On one such Sunday, as we reached the far end of the field, to our dismay, we found the small gate to the hostel, locked.

Of course, I took the plunge only to come crashing down, flat on my chest, with the edge of my long skirt torn, and dangling, from the railing of the fence!