THE CHALLENGE: I REMEMBER
- Freestyle memory. Write I remember at the top of your post, hit start on the timer, and write about the first memory that comes to mind. Ten minutes. Don’t stop.
My earliest memory is confined to the vast borders of my tiny village, set in the picturesque and pristine district of Thrissur, in the state of India called God’s Own “Country”, Kerala. My earliest memory is also one of my funniest.
The memory is of me hunting chicks. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I meant the chicks of chickens. So, here is the picture. I was a pretty ‘good’ hunter, good to the chicks, that is. I hunted with one of the most primitive weapons, a stout stick that was about as tall as me. Not that I was that tall, I was 2 years old and had height proportional to that… so a few centimeters. So, every few days, whenever I was struck by a bout of boredom (which usually happens after I am finished with traversing my maternal grandfather’s gardens, feeding the hens with my grandmother, playing with my cousins and taking a view of the surroundings from my vantage point from the gate’s huge post), I used to take up hunting!
Back in those days, you actually had chicks in your backyard and you didn’t need to go to the nearby pet shop and buy them. But the thing is, when you grow chicken in your backyard, you had a helluva time and a helluva number of chicks to cuddle, to play with and for me, to hunt. So, I take up this stick and run behind these small yellow, cute, fluffy, little, cuddly things called chicks and I try and rush them all around, because I loved to see the sea of yellow rushing around along with their tiny squeaking noises. I must say that those chicks must have been very grateful to me in their later years when they had to run away to be saved from being converted to chicken ‘varathu arachathu’ (a very popular local dish) and also the gravest injury that had come to any one of them (besides cramps) was a broken leg, for which I repented and sat up an entire night with my mom and taped it up and took care of it till it got better.
Every time I visit my maternal ancestral home and I take a walk through that backyard, I still reminiscence about the huge uproar I would have created over there. Just imagine, a tiny tot with a huge stick running behind a whole horde of bright yellow chicks. Life in those days was truly colorful.
So, thus I can say…. it was fun talking to you all.