Somehow the stairs seemed steeper then. I see them now and I see them as how I must have seen them when I was two. Sometimes I used to manage to muster up enough courage to try and climb it when mashi used to call me upstairs. Those are one of my first, as far as childhood memories go.
As I climbed up fumbling and falling mashi would come from behind and tug at my pants. I would be terrified. Climbing the stairs alone was an unimaginable feat and having to combat my aunt’s nudges made it almost fatal. I remember having fallen down the stairs once but I do not remember if the above-mentioned action was responsible for it.
And of course…there were my cousins, who were a lot older but not old enough not to make up stupid stories and flaunt their possessions to their infantile cousin. I would stare at them, in awe, believing every word of their fabricated imageries.
They once showed me this camera, which produced instant photographs. They managed to convince me that the pictures were indeed of far off lands taken at that moment through the magical camera, which had the ability to be at a certain place and take pictures of other things thousands of miles away from it. I know now that it was just a Polaroid camera. Nevertheless, I believed them then - they were impressed with themselves. And… frankly even today a little part of me believes that they might have been right that night…such is the power of innocence and the memories gathered while our brains are actually taking shape. Today one of them is a software engineer working in Minnessota and the other is completing her masters in Columbia University and just got married.
One of my childhood thrills would be to visit their wooden little room perched on the top of the house were they would keep all their playthings. I’m not exactly sure if the room was wooden. All I remember is that the stairs leading up to it was wooden and blue and not exactly imparting a strong sense of security and I would feel terrified to climb it.
Somewhere around this time, my two-year-old brain sort of assumed that the room was probably wooden too.
As I climbed up fumbling and falling mashi would come from behind and tug at my pants. I would be terrified. Climbing the stairs alone was an unimaginable feat and having to combat my aunt’s nudges made it almost fatal. I remember having fallen down the stairs once but I do not remember if the above-mentioned action was responsible for it.
And of course…there were my cousins, who were a lot older but not old enough not to make up stupid stories and flaunt their possessions to their infantile cousin. I would stare at them, in awe, believing every word of their fabricated imageries.
They once showed me this camera, which produced instant photographs. They managed to convince me that the pictures were indeed of far off lands taken at that moment through the magical camera, which had the ability to be at a certain place and take pictures of other things thousands of miles away from it. I know now that it was just a Polaroid camera. Nevertheless, I believed them then - they were impressed with themselves. And… frankly even today a little part of me believes that they might have been right that night…such is the power of innocence and the memories gathered while our brains are actually taking shape. Today one of them is a software engineer working in Minnessota and the other is completing her masters in Columbia University and just got married.
One of my childhood thrills would be to visit their wooden little room perched on the top of the house were they would keep all their playthings. I’m not exactly sure if the room was wooden. All I remember is that the stairs leading up to it was wooden and blue and not exactly imparting a strong sense of security and I would feel terrified to climb it.
Somewhere around this time, my two-year-old brain sort of assumed that the room was probably wooden too.
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