Face book is such a wonderful time machine. Time and again I have gone back to various eras of my days gone by just to realise that I have such crystal clear memories saved in the hard disk of my frontal cortex from the past -whether remote or recent.
Just recently I came across an old photo from the Kashmir days put up by one such dear friend.
Oh those Kashmir days! They merit a full post of its own, which I shall complete narrating soon.
But today I wish to share a beautiful story from my Kashmir days ( 1970-78) but with a difference that it does not have that ‘happy ending’ that one would expect from a Bollywood movie shot in the beautiful environs of Kashmir Valley.
About less than 24 hours ago, a friend from the same Kashmir days revealed how I used to terrorise him. I wondered for a second.
YES, he certainly is exaggerating, but NO, there is some grain of truth in it too.
I remember being very playful and naughty as a child. Bold and loud mouth that I had been all my life, despite several resolutions and attempts to soften down a bit. But to no avail. Time hasn’t been the best healers for my ailment of speaking my heart out.
Well he has every legitimate reason to call me a ‘terrorist’ now. The reason will become obvious by the end of this note.
Poor fellow that he was, because he had become the butt of my teasing and the target of the roving eyes of two of my other friends in the neighborhood. But wait, he certainly wasn’t that poor either–with such perfect good looks and flawless pink complexion that he made us average looking girls envious of him. Not only was he such a looker, he was a shy, blushing kinds and we enjoyed teasing him for one lame reason or the other. Just the sight of us and the realisation that we were up to some pranks, would turn him into a red hot pepper.
God had really taken some extra time to create him. Not just those looks, he had the best lock of hair I have yet to see in four and a half decades of my life. And as if this wasn’t enough, he carried those locks with such utmost grace that we girls were put to shame by our unkempt hairdos. The way those silky locks would slip over his forehead covering half his face and then he flicked them back with his hand and a head jerk was a sight, which only the lucky ones like us had the pleasure of witnessing.
It’s hard to put the pixels of the real picture through words. And am not exaggerating even an iota, I can furnish the proof of his flawlessness through his picture too.
He knew he was the target of our roving microscopic eyes. My friend (name with held) had a crush on him (imagine we were barely 12 at the time) and she loved talking about him. We talked about his hair and copied his hairdo in front of the mirror and then flicked it back with a head jerk exactly the way he did it in real life, almost every five minutes.
My friend was too ‘serious’ about him to even laugh when I made the ditto mimicry of his hairdo and the action associated with it. And then there was a third girl in the group who had some extra loyalty to this bhaiya of hers and always frowned at me for having made fun of him.
Oh those lovely days!
This whole secret had laid buried deep inside my heart for all those 32 years and it was just a 24 hours ago that I shared this story with this erstwhile good looking friend of ours from Kashmir.
But what an irony?
I could not believe my eyes when I saw his current profile picture -the fellow who I remembered with best lock of hair in the world– has none left over his scalp any more. Yes, I mean it. None at all. Not even one strand.
Gosh! This means God had second thoughts after bestowing this lucky guy with that ‘best lock of hair’ in the world.
It was such an anticlimax and my image of this ‘goldilock guy’ came down with a loud THUD.
Time is such a terrible player.
How cruel of you God!
Or is it my ‘black eye’ that engulfed his hair.
Sure if that’s the case, I admit being a ‘terrorist’ in his eyes.
I have been wondering this since the last 24 hours….