One day I slowly floated away

The mischief makers of the 90s

As I sit and look through some old pictures, a striking picture happens to be of a six year old Cyden, stark naked but confident despite exposure to the elements of mother nature, standing next to dad. Dad caught in his Bruce Lee moment. Long hair, Khadi half pant (he took his job at the Khadi board a bit too seriously) and a brown vest; a super vest at that. Occasionally, I still find it in the terrace- soaking the sunshine and getting ready for another week of wear and tear. A twenty year romance between the two. Second to the one he shares with my mother.

Year: 1990

Venue: Syari

Day: Bath day i.e. Sunday

Its bright and sunny and all the children are lined up in the garden. Our garden is the 'right' size. By 'right' I mean perfect for restless kids like us. Big enough to play cricket, badminton and the like. Long enough to have an air conditioned rug lined up in a straight line, ending with a big cushion (much to mom's dismay) to practice the gymnastic moves we learned under our guru at school. How can I forget to mention the mango tree. A tree that gave us mangoes (of course), a tree that gave us shade, a tree that gave us our first climbing experience and 'THE TREE' that gave me my first permanent scar, right under the nose.

After a hectic week at school, we are ready for our weekly bath. The quarter we stay in has 3 bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, two toilets and a store. Every Sikkimese family, no matter how rich or poor, always has a prayer room, which meant we were left with two bedrooms. Two bedrooms for close to twelve members so you can imagine the plight, the commotion that was omni-present. At times I felt I was in an army camp. But this camp was a little different- Mum was the General, the Colonel, the Commander-in-Chief, the Be-All. Dad played the supporting, and sometimes disappearing, role.

The General made us ruthlessly strip to our birthday suits. We were then divided into two lines. One line stood outside the General's lair, the second (I called them the less fortunate) stood next to the prayer room. We had a guest today. My Aunty, my mother's eldest sister. A kind-hearted soul. A caring woman. But her caring ways were restricted to other areas. Once in the bath, she was as ruthless as the General. It seemed to me she derived some sadistic sense of achievement as she peeled our juvenile skin to display the next shiny layer.

Today Aie (sister) was going to be her first victim. I had this evil glint in my eyes as I stretched my neck to make eye contact with her. It was a silent way of saying "All the best sis". She looked like those small time crooks you find in Sardar Thana today. They know something bad is coming their way but they are just not prepared for it. So Aie stood. Two minutes into the bath and I hear some aiyya and aiyyoo, followed by 'Ambom! bistari' (Aunty, slowly)! The way my Aunty rubs the calves and hands of my poor Aie, she would find no difficulty in getting hired at the local fish market. No need for a chulesi (sharp knife) there. Her hands were enough. It was a war between her and them. Them being dirt.

"Next", I hear. It's my dad's voice. Compared to my monkey-sign sister, the rat in me has a blast. Dad, being a rare foreign returned bureaucrat, likes to use the loofah. Lots of foam, lots of shampoo. It's like being on a paid holiday. Once the ordeal is over, we sit in the sun. The General has laid a non AC rug in the garden this time. The second group sits in the right hand side, Aie included. I sit on the left with the rest. As we put our clothes back on and eat in the boot camp, one can see what each has been through. The less fortunate have redness in their hands and legs, a few tears here and there. While we sit scar-free, both mental and physical.

As I enjoy the aloo-puri, Aunty informs us of her intention to spend some weeks with us. That's when a sudden realisation dawned upon me. Six days to go and the camp would get inter-changed. The General kept record of everything. She wouldn't forget the luxury I had enjoyed this week. With this thought I gulped the Frooti and looked down at my food but suddenly everything had lost its taste.