My Daddy Strongest - Landline adventures

 

Old Town, Barcelona 

There was a time when I still lived at home with my parents and my siblings, that there used to be a lot of 'prank' calls to our telephone landline. I was in college and I don't know who I met during those days who decided that he or she wanted to harrass me. My home phone number fell into the wrong hands and the problems started. Every other day, we started getting phone calls where someone would either hang up the phone immediately, stay on the call without saying anything or breathe deeply into the receiver or giggle and hang up. 

There were weeks where nothing happened, some days where there were a number of these calls and then a call coming in once in a while. I think it was a guy because one of those times, I remember being spoken to but after a few minutes the person hung up. While we didn't know who was behind this, it had become evident that these calls were targeting me. I was embarrassed about it but no one in my home blamed me for what was happening.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the living room of our small Mumbai apartment watching TV and had a hazy awareness that my father was on a phone call. I was too immersed in the TV programme to hear any part of the conversation even though Daddy was only about five steps away from me. I do recall that at that age, what my father spoke on the phone didn't interest me at all. My father hung up the phone and by pure chance I looked up and asked him who he had been speaking to. It was a question asked more out of politeness and a will to chat with Daddy than out of curiosity.

Daddy then told me about the call. Turns out it was a young man on the phone who had called and started telling him things about me. He had told my father that I was not the girl my father believed me to be. That I was not trustworthy and that I did all sorts of disgraceful things. He continued to talk and my father continued to listen. I believed my father when he told me that because I had heard no reaction, no raised voice and no reference to my name. Then my father had asked the caller what he did. Daddy discovered that he was a student. He further asked him where he lived to which he didn't answer. But my father continued to have a conversation with him. Daddy enquired about his family, and who he lived with. The young man replied that he lived with his mother. When Daddy enquired after the caller's father, the voice on the phone said that his father had passed away a few years ago. 

By this time, I was a bit worried about what consequence this call would have on me at the end of the day. I asked my father, "And what did you say?". To which my father stoically answered that he had told the young man "It's normal with a son like you, no father would stay alive. I think it's better your father didn't live to see how you turned out." Needless to say, the mischief-maker promptly cut the call.

I stared incredulously at this amazing, calm man, my father! Daddy had proven to me once again with his patient and relaxed attitude that one could disarm the strongest in war by using wit and biding time. Daddy was in no way influenced by what the world had to say about his daughter. He knew me and that was it! I looked at him standing there and saw in front of me a WARRIOR in the true sense of the name. A defender to his clan, a man who provided an abode of peace to anyone who was his.

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 6 - Typing Tickets

 

At the age of 13, I got a chance to earn some money. My older sister had started a data entry operations company. She and her associate had a small office where they had installed three PCs. Some were the 386 and some were the 486 kind. The operation was to transfer the information from actual physical paper air tickets and log the information on there into an operating system.

It was obvious that at 13 I had no work experience and no typing skills. I was informed that the office had a sudden rush to complete the deadline and I was more than eager to earn some money.

The work was not complicated. We had to enter the passenger name, airline name, booking number and the starting and destination cities. I would earn a fair wage, the same as was being offered to the girls who had been employed by my sister. They were at least 20 years old and had been to typing institutes to get an official typing speed on their CVs. 

I walked to my sister's office with one idea in my head. I was obsessed with clothes and buying jeans and t-shirts of my choice was something I loved doing. If the money was mine, no one could deny me wearing what I wanted to. Also, at that age, I had a limited wardrobe because I would inevitably outgrow my outfits very soon. I was tired of being told what clothes I could own and wear and was desperate to be able to wear things that I fancied. 

                                           

386 PC Illustration by Lucie Colinet 

I remember sitting in front of the screen with a huge pile of tickets next to me. One of the other girls showed me what to do with about 20 tickets. After that, I took over. And I typed. Ticket to screen, eye and brain checking the spelling I was typing. Laughing at some of the names of the passengers and discovering the airport codes for several cities in the world while doing so. Then moving to the next slot using the 'Tab' button, Typing again. Checking from screen to ticket, ticket to screen. Pressing 'Save'. Putting away the physical ticket and picking up the next one. Repeating the process. Again and again. With nearly no breaks, I stopped only when the other girls stopped for lunch. I rushed home to eat my meal. I rushed back. And then resumed for the afternoon session.

Soon it was 6 p.m., the other girls had to leave. I was ok to go on. My sister looked at me with her mouth open, surprised that I was not tired and said "No, it's fine." I hung around the office hoping to be allowed to type more. My sister counted the lots of tickets the three of us had typed that day in those eight hours. She was incredulous and surprised me with what she had discovered. "Using just those two fingers, you made more money than either of those girls today"!

I was delighted and asked, "Will you pay me today? When can I come next?"

You may like to hear me read out this story on Spotify or Apple podcast in my show 'Lekha writes, then reads' or listen to it here...https://open.spotify.com/episode/5QOWeay9k70WzytWqedLSu?si=h9qmVxopTSGvcZSiYaB-AA

Like what you read? Read the series here

Part 5 https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-5.html

Part  4 https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-4.html

Part 3 https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-3.html

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 5 - Enacting our real life personas

 

In my teens, everyone in our lives had known or knew some sort of corporal punishment. Having grown up with an older sister and two older brothers, I was no stranger to this. However, getting pinched, smacked, kicked didn't make me any less naughty than I was. And no punishment was big enough for me to feel like a victim for more than an hour. I was having too much fun enjoying my childhood and school days.

Back then my older sister was studying to be a teacher. She had to submit a very important assignment. Funnily enough, this assignment was to bring to light how children were being beaten at school and home and what effects this was having on children and on society in general. She had borrowed a camera from someone and wanted to take photographs portraying a scene of this 'violence' for her assignment. Since the camera had a reel inside and she probably had negotiated permission to use a limited number of photos with the person who owned the camera, she was determined to get the shots right. 

I remember her asking me and our brother to participate in the 'experiment'. My brother was younger to her but older to me. My sister repeated how important it was that we get serious when she takes the photos. Our home was very small with very little furniture. We set up a tiny teapoy (coffee table) near the door and decided that was the best angle to get clear and bright pictures. The plan was to portray a 13 year old girl doing her homework and her older brother coming to talk to her and then argue with her. The next scene was the 'action' scene where the older brother would beat the girl. My sister was of course hoping that we would capture the whole scenario with four images. 

Now wanting something and getting two young people to act it out is not the same thing. Even though the scene was something that probably happened every other day between us, my brother and I couldn't get serious about it. We kept breaking into giggles as we envisaged the scene to be enacted. My brother had awkward pauses wondering how to place his body correctly in the frame. He kept uttering "now what?" and I kept saying "What's so difficult? Do like you always do! Treat me like I'm a football which you are about to kick". 

Looking back, the whole scenario was so funny and we both had a very harassed sister to deal with. She kept asking us to pose without actually taking the photos. She had to make sure each photo taken was worth it as developing a photo those days cost so much money. And here we were, not listening to her and getting flustered doing the role play again and again. 

In the end, her assignment was successful and we laughed as we looked at the photos printed out a couple of weeks later. The theme was violence, but to both me and my brother they looked purely comical. This was one example of our sibling fights which were more comical than painful when I look back.

Ragini meets Rama in Chennai- Part 3 of Ragini travels to Chennai

Lisbon, Portugal 

At Chennai Station, Ragini soon found her cousin Asha. Asha has not changed much, that's what Ragini felt. Asha gave her a hug and led Ragini out of the station to the parking lot. Asha had always been such a role model in their family. She owned a car and knew how to drive. Ragini didn't know many women in Mumbai who drove cars. In Mumbai, those days, very few people owned private cars. 

Asha's home was very big vs Ragini's own apartment that she shared with her parents. At home, she met Asha's two little boys who were playing with the maid. Ragini had already met Asha's older son who was a 5 year old intelligent boy named Rohan. The younger child Rahul was a two-year old toddler. Ragini soon found herself very busy getting to know the family and their home and found that the initial days just flew by. After about four days, she finally remembered that she had told her internet pals that she would reach out to them. Since she was in Asha's house, she missed her own computer. She remembered that she had their telephone numbers and asked her cousin if she could make some local phone calls using the landline.

Asha was so cool. She didn't pry into Ragini's business and was usually very busy anyway. She had a home to manage and her two little kids and her husband to look after. Ragini first called Rama. It was funny to hear this girl's voice on the line. She had a heavy South Indian accent and seemed quite friendly. She asked Ragini to meet at the beach that evening. They planned a meeting spot and an exact time and also discussed how they would recognize each other. After all, they hadn't seen each other before.

Ragini asked her cousin Asha if she would like to join her at the beach in the evening. Asha declined but gave Ragini general instructions on how to get there. Now very excited, Ragini  wished the afternoon away. After reassuring Asha that she had the home telephone number and would call her if any problem arose, Ragini left the residence at 4.30pm. Rama preferred to meet up before it turned dark and the sun would set around 6.30pm that evening. Ragini knew that the beach was only 20 minutes away from Asha's house. She consulted the hand-drawn map that Asha had given her that indicated the turns she would need to take to reach the beach.

She noticed how different the roads in Chennai were than in Mumbai. She kept a look out for stray dogs and potholes and generally was wary till she reached the beach. The meeting was at this ice cream joint called 'Joy's'. Ragini saw Rama at the door. She recognized the girl with the single braid of long thick hair wearing a red maxi. They smiled at each other. As she reached Rama, she saw that Rama looked towards the road and waved at someone on a bike. It turned out that Rama's brother was not very confident that she was going to meet a girl. He waved a bye and rode away.

Rama and Ragini spent the next hour discussing their chats, the thrills of the internet and what they had discovered till now about it and the other people they were chatting with. Rama was also chatting with girls and boys. But, it was a first for Rama too to actually meet someone she had chatted with. Ragini asked Rama if she would join her if she planned some meetup with Kishore. Rama said she was unsure her brother would allow that but suggested that Ragini come and meet with her family the next time they met. Maybe then they would be okay with that sort of thing, she said. They ordered sandwich ice cream and a slice of pineapple cake and enjoyed being in the cooler air-conditioned environment of the ice cream parlour. 

Ragini had a good feeling about Rama because she felt very comfortable around her. They said their goodbyes as the sun started setting and each headed back home. As she entered the apartment gate, Ragini noticed Rohan watching her from the 1st floor window. When she entered the house he ran towards her. She had been missed.

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 4- Getting 3rd Rank

Lisbon, Portugal 

In the 4th standard in school, I was a very good student. I found most subjects interesting. Science, Maths, English, Community Living were among my favourite. During one of the four main exams held that year, I was pleasantly surprised to be ranked 3rd in a class of 65 students. I had not particularly studied harder than usual. I guess my regular interest in all the subjects had made for a 'ready' state when I wrote my papers, which had probably resulted in the good scores.

 

 I was super happy walking home after getting my report card. I was imagining sharing the news with my parents and my siblings. I was imagining their reactions, it was my first experience of bringing home such a good report. 

 

When I came home on that Friday after school, I told everyone at home what had happened. I waited till my father came home and proudly showed him the card. He seemed very pleased to see the 3rd Rank written next to the total score on it. He happily signed the card and gave it to me. Before I could say anything, he asked me to follow him downstairs and took me across the street to the grocery store. He immediately asked me to choose any packet of biscuits I wanted on the rack. 

 

I was stunned. Nothing in the world had prepared me for such an immediate and generous gesture from my father. We never lacked anything at home, but luxuries were never a part of our daily life. Mouth wide open, in shock and in greed, I looked at all the choices in front of me. There were the usual biscuits that most people dunked in their tea regularly like Parle G and Marie. But I was not going to choose that. There was also a packet of Bourbon biscuits, which were like a sandwich sugar-coated biscuit with a layer of chocolate in the middle. That one tempted me a lot. The one I chose however was a Jim-Jam biscuit packet. It was also a sugar-coated sandwich biscuit but with some strawberry cream over a small layer of strawberry jam in it. It was something that I had rarely had the chance to eat. Usually when I visited other people's homes with my parents. I could remember having eaten two of those at a go on one of those occasions, but getting a whole packet of them for me? For me?

I still couldn't believe that my Daddy was actually going to buy me the packet.

He gave it to me and said that the packet was mine and I didn't need to share it with anyone. 

I went back home and my older brother kept staring at the packet. He surely had more money vs me who never had any, but he obviously was not happy when I opened the packet and ate one biscuit. He observed me while I took my time eyeing the layers in front of me, nibbled a bit off the edge and separated the two pieces to look at the strawberry cream. I scraped off the cream with my teeth and he made some sound. I was hardly going to share the biscuit with him! 

I thanked my father and sat there thinking of a plan to save the packet from him, my other siblings and also the ants that always came out when sweet things were left out in the open. The whole weekend passed with my ‘to and fros’ to its hiding place and moments of enjoying the biscuits one by one. I was so excited to tell my classmates about the fantastic surprise I had experienced this weekend. I put the folded packet of the last two or three biscuits in my school bag for Monday morning.

 

When I reached school, before the assembly bell rang, I passed the first ranker. She was beaming. She ran towards me and told me," My Papa bought me a new bicycle this weekend!". 

I was taken aback by the magnitude of her prize. I didn't mention the biscuits to her. I smiled in reaction and followed her to the assembly lines that were being formed on the school ground.

In my heart I was still so, so happy about my prize and my mouth still tasted its sweetness.

 

Related Posts

The Chronicles of the youngest Child Part 1 

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html

The Chronicles of the youngest Child Part 2

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-2.html

The Chronicles of the youngest Child Part 3

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-3.html

Ragini travelled by train to Chennai - Part 2

Beautiful wall art, Halle, Belgium

 Ragini had managed to reach Dadar Central Railway station early. Her train for Chennai was to leave at 4:30 in the afternoon. It would be a relatively fast journey as 24 hours was super-fast for the 1328kms that the train had to cover.

She entered the train and made her way to the second-class sleeper compartment where she had a reserved seat. She was seated next to a family with a couple and a small child. They asked her if it was okay for her to sleep on the top-most berth. She didn't have any problem with that. That way she figured that she could sleep longer in the morning as the middle and lower berths were arranged pretty quickly to accommodate for the seated passengers once they woke up. Being a teenager meant she liked to sleep long hours. Also, having just finished her exams she looked forward to some extra rest.

The evening earlier she had told two of her internet friends that she would be arriving in Chennai in a couple of days. There was one guy called Kishore and one girl called Rama. Kishore and Rama didn't know each other. Ragini had become friends over the months with each of them separately. Rama had asked Ragini if she could call her from her cousin Asha's house on the coming Friday. Then they could try and meet up over the weekend. The plan was to meet maybe at the beach that was supposedly not far from Asha's home. Kishore had also given Ragini his home telephone number and he hoped to be able to meet Ragini as soon as she reached. "That would be awkward", Ragini thought while she was watching the train leave the railway platform on time at Dadar station.

Everyone was settled in. Ragini read the novel she had brought along with her until the train reached the first big station. Soon, the sun had set and reading inside the train was difficult.

She then generally found herself getting hungry and looked at what she had got along in her big hand bag. Since her mother was now generally always tired and sickly, Ragini didn't carry any home-made food. She found a packet of cream biscuits and drank what remained of her water. She ordered the railway canteen meal for later in the night when the person from a passing canteen staff member. Having settled in well, all the passengers in the compartment seemed to want to start up conversations.  The family travelling with her asked her a lot of questions about why she was travelling alone, etc. Ragini didn't mind. She loved telling stories about the people in her life. She was also very curious, so she listened intently to some anecdotes of their life they shared. Someone started singing a popular Hindi-movie song and they all found themselves immersed in the melody. Before she knew it, Ragini had eaten dinner, climbed up into her berth and fell asleep super quick.

The next thing she knew, she woke up sweating. It was already quite late the next morning.The family with whom she was travelling asked her to join them for breakfast at the next station. Apparently, it was famous for very good vadas and idlis. Ragini was excited about eating a hot breakfast and returned to her seat, waiting impatiently. While she was waiting, she looked across and saw the young girl who had sung the song the night before. She realised that the girl was probably her own age. She started a conversation with the girl, whose name was Radhika. Ragini was wondering why she had not noticed or chatted with Radhika the night before. She seemed friendly and they both were soon talking about movies, singing, fashion and their favorite shopping spots in Mumbai. At breakfast and the lunch that followed, Ragini learnt a lot about Radhika. Apparently, Radhika would probably be getting married to a boy in Chennai the next month. Radhika’s parents, whom she was travelling with, were convinced that it was a good match. Their horoscopes matched, the families knew each other from years and even though Radhika didn't remember it herself, she had even played with Kumaran as a child.

Ragini was quite concerned whether Radhika would like the prospective groom enough to get married so quickly. She realised that she had had such a different upbringing and so much freedom. She thought of her old parents with a feeling of gratitude. Even though she was an only child, she was not raised by over-bearing parents. Her father was a free-spirited thinker and her mother was busy in her own world most of the time. They of course loved Ragini a lot and made a lot of sacrifices for her daily, but Ragini was not their sole focus. The day passed by in chats, exchanges of email addresses and a lot more singing.

Chennai station would soon be arriving and all the passengers, Ragini included, started getting their stuff ready. The green landscapes whirling by outside the window were soon starting to have a more urban look and feel.

Ragini missed her home and her family already but pushed those thoughts aside.

 Read the part 1 of Ragini to Chennai here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/ragini-travelling-to-chennai-part-1.html 

Read older stories on Ragini here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/safe-under-her-wings.html  

and here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-depth-of-innocence.html

Ragini travelling to Chennai - Part 1

 

 

 Ragini is now 19. She has just finished her final exams at university and is looking forward to her summer vacations. It's the hot summer of 1997 and she has been really lucky in general, the whole year. India is finally entering a modern era. Her house has a ‘MTNL' telephone landline since about 4 years. The internet is now available to most middle-class families. Her family actually has a second hand 486 computer that is now connected to the internet. There are new shops opening up around her home called Cybercafes. These places have several computers that one can rent for an hour to surf the internet. The rates are reasonable, so even younger Indians can access them easily. 

 During the months before her final exams, Ragini had made some pen pals from the more modern and technology savvy cities of the south of India. Some from Bengaluru and some from Chennai. During those times, it was common to write to people from different states and countries and this phenomenon was called ‘making a pen pal’. When Ragini had been 16 this was common to do by reading magazines in which there were pen pal sections. You could find someone giving out their postal address in this section!  The person's profile just comprised of age and gender. Ragini had already made a couple of pen pals using that method. One never met the friend in question. There were postcards and letters one sent and that came through the actual postal delivery service. Most people who want to make a ‘pen pal' are generally curious people. They are keen to discover life that happens elsewhere and generally check that most people all around the world are the same. 

 

Ragini was one of those kind of people. India had changed so much in three or four years. Being young meant, that she had access to the internet and making a friend somewhere across the country happened quicker than before. There were chat rooms where people made friends. There was a crazy buzz to switching on the computer, waiting for all the screens to reach the start point and then ringing in for the internet connection to take place. The tune of the connection was unique and unlike any sound young India knew till then. Msn and Yahoo were huge back then. On one of these websites, Ragini made friends with some young Indians. So her pen pals when she was 19 were actually 'internet pals'. Some of them were guys and some were girls. They connected once a day and had a lot to talk about. They spoke about their hobbies. They explained how it was to travel within their cities. They talked about everything that was unique to their youth. Ragini found that some were regular and sometimes there were weeks that went by for her to continue these connections. 

When it was the month before her final exams, Ragini connected to a cousin who also resided in the city of Chennai. She had occasionally seen her cousin, Asha, over the years. Once at Asha's wedding, another time at a common relative's wedding and also back when Asha visited Ragini's home when Asha was a younger woman. Ragini asked Asha in her letter if it would be ok if she could come stay at Asha's home. This was okay for Ragini's parents as this was sort of a normal thing during those times. Luckily, Ragini received news from her cousin that she was welcome to stay as long as she wished. 

 Ragini was keen to be able to travel on her own out of her city by train and discover Chennai. Just the 24hour train journey in a sleeper train alone was a very exciting. She was a bit scared about the prospect of anything untoward happening, but there was also this pull inside her that said that it would be fun and full of discovery. She was very lucky that her parents allowed her to do so. It had not been super difficult to convince them. She had not seen her cousin Asha since a couple of years. She was keen to discover her cousin's life in her own city. So, she bought herself a return ticket from Mumbai to Chennai. Ragini had planned a month of time away from home. 

She was not planning to tell her pals on the internet about her trip. But, of course, the upcoming vacations did become a topic for everyone and she ended up talking about her booked ticket.

Read part 2 of this story here

https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/ragini-travelled-by-train-to-chennai.html

Read older stories about Ragini here

A Mixed bag of thoughts: Safe, under her wings

Read older stories about Ragini here

A Mixed bag of thoughts: The depth of innocence

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 3

Pic courtesy S. Libert 

When I was about five years old, I had gone with my parents to our native village. This was a month or so of very hot summer vacations. I was the youngest of four children and was born very late to my parents. Even though I always felt I didn't have any luxuries growing up, I know I was very lucky compared to my older siblings.

During our vacations we stayed at the homes of our relatives who lived all over the state of Kerala. I remember being asked to walk with my parents in the hot sun. For some reason, I was very cranky. Probably thirst, hunger, the heat and the travelling had gotten to me. I was walking alongside my father and my mother was a few meters behind us. All of us were sweating a lot. The heat was omnipresent and there seemed to be no cool, shaded area on our path. 

Suddenly, I started feeling really upset and asked my father how far we needed to go. He was someone who was very calm and he smiled and said, "not far". I continued walking for what seemed to me like an eternity. I caught up with my father and asked, "can we talk a bus?". He replied, "We are nearly there". We walked on. I turned to look at my mother, who was very slow and probably felt as hot as me. I thought of walking back to her and trying to get her to find a faster solution. Even though I was very young, I knew that my father would decide what we were to do at that moment. I repeated pleading, " Can we take an auto-rickshaw?". I was only five years old, but I knew my parents never took any public transport that cost a lot of money. I don't remember getting into auto-rickshaws as much as getting into trains and buses. 

As expected my father said "No". There it came, the No. I knew that once my father said No, he rarely ever gave in. I knew that I had lost my chance of getting what I wanted. On top of that the heat was now unbearable. In normal circumstances, I would have just not asked him anything anymore. But I found myself in this fit of rage, hunger, tiredness and overall uncontrollable helplessness. I started throwing a tantrum. I jumped up and down on the side of the road. I screamed on top of my lungs. I went on for long enough for my mother to reach my father and me. My father had not stopped walking, he just had slowed down, turned around, looked at me once and not said or done anything. 

I was now in a fatigued state of having given out the final drops of energy that were left in me. I asked my father, sobbing, "Can you at least carry me?". He didn't say anything. He continued walking. I dragged myself behind him. The world was so unjust, my daddy is ignoring me. I now felt that the top of my dress was wet with a mix of sweat and my tears. I had stopped wailing, I was just sobbing, there were sad sniffles in between each breath. I asked him to hold my hand. He didn't. I started wailing again.

We were now on the street near my uncle's home. My uncle's family lived in an independent house which had a porch which led to a front door. But on the side, there was a stairway that led up to the terrace of the home. When we reach the gate, here, my dad held my hand and firmly led me upwards towards the terrace. My aunt had noticed us enter. She saw my face all shrivelled and my father's silent and stern look. She sort of understood something was amiss and started following us upwards. I looked back towards her and beyond. I saw my mother enter the gate of the property. She looked at me. I didn't think she would follow us up as she was already exhausted. 

I was now crying with a sort of fear and foreboding. I wanted to run free into my aunt's arms. But when we went upstairs I knew I was alone in this. No one would be able to help me. My father had been the father figure for everyone in our family. He had brought up even my uncle. I saw my father switch on a tap at the side of the terrace. He looked at me and I looked at him, howling. He filled the bucket and switched off the tap. 

I was unprepared for what was going to happen next. My father lifted the bucket of water and poured its contents all over me. I stopped crying. I felt cool and nice. I was stunned. My father walked away into the house and I felt my aunt’s arms around me. All was calm again.

Note :- I would like to add that I never felt that any of the punishments my parents ever gave me were traumatic. Their intention was very clear and my naughtiness was constantly at heads with their idea of proper behaviour. I share these stories with a lot of love for my parents.  

Liked this story

Read Part 5 here The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 5 - Enacting our real life personas

Read Part 4 here The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 4- Getting 3rd Rank

Read Part 2 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-2.html

Read Part 1 of this series here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html

How I trained to run and complete my first 20kms Half Marathon as a person who didn't run regularly.

Pic courtesy:- a proud me

 

In the beginning of 2003, I was not the fittest version of myself. But, yes, I had the luxury of being a young woman. The young woman I was, discovered that in Brussels there were several chances for ordinary people to participate in different sporting events. Amongst these were runs of 5kms, 10kms, half or even full marathons. I took this as a chance to be able to tick off at least one of the dreams I always had had on my bucket list. So, as soon as I could I started training for it. I had an indoor elliptical trainer that I used daily and on any sunny day, I was outdoors trying my best to see what I was capable of.t-variant-positio 

Sports had always been important to me during my teens, mainly because I was always on the chubbier side. But I never had had any actual training in sports and even when I did participate in school, I was not good. Luckily, I never let that deter any personal plans I had at self-improvement. I was good at getting others to work as a team with me and often did all kinds of exercise at home either with some friends or even alone to improve my flexibility. 

I remember some crazy challenges I had made up for myself. During one of the phases when I was busy learning what exercises existed for someone to do at home, I discovered that I was pretty good with a skipping rope (jump rope). So, I took up the challenge to do at least 1200 skips every single day for at least a month. I didn’t have any teacher; it was just me telling me what to do.

So, fast forward to 2003, I took up a challenge to run a distance of 20kms. I was already dreaming of holding a medal at the end of that distance. It would be my first ever medal for anything related to sports. This time there was no way any of the past lazy, procrastinating or bad-at-follow up versions of my younger self would be allowed to come into the picture. I somehow felt that it was a turning point for me and also a welcome gift that I would give myself for having survived my first European winter. 

So, after celebrating the exciting moment when I actually secured a place in the race, I started running regularly. However, I had no idea what sort of training to do. The internet was not a big part of people’s lives those days. Or at least not of mine. My goal was to just finish the race. The training generally meant I would plan a time to leave the house and a duration to keep running on the go and stick to it. I would train at home on the elliptic trainer or be outside putting one foot in front of the other. I did that for several weeks, I fail to remember how many in fact. 

Finally, the week of the race arrived. I received a notification to go and pick up my race number. I still remember thinking ‘oh wow look at this. My number is 30000 something. That means there will be at least 30000+ people running with me.’ The number humbled me. I felt part of a huge community who probably all had a similar goal and at that moment it didn’t matter that this would be my first time. I was now even more excited to participate and see the people and all that encompassed the event. Waiting for the D-day became difficult. 

Of course, time goes by in a wink and I found myself standing at the starting line. We were divided into four or five groups of people. Each group contained people who had a similar estimated finish time. I had no idea about my speed and so I had put down 4 hours. Which was what I thought I could do in the worst case if I walked. Let’s not dwell on the fact that back then I hated walking. I preferred running.

Our group waited in the cold, chilly weather while we heard the gun go off for each of the groups that preceded us. Then I heard our gunshot and that’s when the reality struck me. Here I was, really, really trying to do what I had prepared myself for. While it was difficult to think of anything at that moment because of the number of people I was running with, I soon found my head flooded with doubts and fears. I had decided to keep a strict ‘no exit’ policy. Ok, the thought was here and was telling me that I would probably be in pain or that I would never be able do it. But the voice in my head and heart said ‘there is only one finish line’. There was no way I was going to give up without putting up a huge fight. There was no way the older version of me, who as a child didn’t have what it took to be a sportsperson, was going to get her way again. 

All I remember today is that the first 10kms were pretty easy, I actually hadn’t felt any pain yet. Since I had had only a few weeks of intense training and no real method to follow, around the 13km mark I started really feeling the effort I was putting my body through. Running with so many other people in the beginning of the race also pushes one to go faster than training speed, but, since it was my first race I didn’t know that. I was starting to feel the strain of those initial kilometers. 

What one must understand is that the last 4 kms of this  Brussels race is totally uphill. Since it’s really a hard part of the race for everyone, most of the families and friends who come to cheer are found in this area. There are stalls to take a small break of water or grab some fruit at this point. One can find ‘help stations’ with Red Cross staff for people who have any issue to be looked at. There are several musicians who line the street and cheer the mass of runners with upbeat music and dance. Their energy helps immensely.

 I had promised myself that whatever happened throughout the race, I wouldn’t completely stop running. So, there I was at 16kms, having not stopped for a minute in those ‘God knows how many’ hours, still moving. Shuffling upwards, I really thought, ‘ok, now is when I’m going to pass out. Now I will start having a problem’. I countered this thought coming back to the fact that since  I had endured all this time, I just couldn’t give up at these last few kilometers. I needed something to give me a boost. But I didn’t have anything on me at that moment. I had already passed all the stalls and had decided to avoid going next to them. I had avoided any sort of excuse that could crop up in my mind which would put an end to my dream. 

Like a beacon of hope, I saw a lady cheering me on, on the left side of the road and she had something in her hand. It was a paper box full of sugar cubes. She placed a couple into my extended hand as I passed her. When I put one in my mouth, I felt a buzz of energy. This helped me hold on for about a kilometer. At around the 18km mark, I saw runners who had medals around their necks who were running towards us. These people had finished their ordeal and were running backwards to cheer on  people like me. ‘These people are heroes’, I said. 

That’s when I saw the Arc of the Cinquantenaire Park in the distance and knew I was close. That’s also when I felt this huge cramp envelop my right leg. I tried to move forward but found that I couldn’t run anymore. I was 600 meters away from the finish and I decided to walk. If one could call that walking. Limping and struggling with all my might, I moved ahead. People around me were falling like flies. There were so many fallen over, giving up. There were spectators trying to get those people to stand up. I said, ‘ok, it’s not just me who is finding it super hard right now.’ But no way was I going to crumble so close to the medal holding image of me, that I saw in my mind. I just kept ignoring the cramps which were now all over both legs. Kept ignoring people looking at me and kept ignoring the tears and the pain that I felt all over. I dragged myself to the finish line and I made it. I hobbled to where the medals were being placed on the finishers. Now, I had mine. And my medal met the new me.

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 2 - Amma goes missing

Somewhere in France
Pic courtesy B. Libert

 In my childhood most of the ladies of the house didn’t work. It was no different in my home in Mumbai. My Mummy stayed at home and my Daddy went to office. I had learnt about their youth as I started asking questions to them about where they came from. I had a mental image about my father being very able, social and the one who handled the outside world well. At the same time, my mother who was the whole day at home, was an amazing homemaker. I knew that as every meal was made with love, every part of our home was clean and her presence gave us a sense of security. For many things, I thought of them both as equal. But, the reality was, I didn’t have many examples of their roles being reversed. I had never seen mother travel alone or go and handle any bank or school work. I had not seen my Daddy cook or clean the house. Their roles were well defined and consequently, we as spectators had certain ideas in our heads.

One day, I was travelling back from a party with my parents. It was around 10pm and we were heading back home by the local train. Usually, women and children travel back by the ladies compartments that are present in two parts of each train. One is situated in the middle of the train and one at the end. However, those days, at 10pm, the compartment in the middle of the train became a general compartment to allow for men too. 

We reached the platform and found ourselves standing at the opposite end to the ladies. Frankly speaking, the general compartment was not very crowded, but getting into the train was difficult. Too many people were blocking the area at the entry, I noticed , while boarding the train just after my father. Soon enough, the train started and I turned behind to look for my mother. There were several people there, but no Mummy. I felt this deep fear while I kept looking for her. “Mummy’s not here Daddy!”, I said loudly. My father was very calm. He always treated every situation without any quick reactions. He told me to be calm and that we would find my mother together. We got off at the next stop, while our final destination was actually five stops away. 

I was slightly upset that he didn’t even look worried. When we got off at the next station, we went to the Station Master’s office. We got the person on duty to make an announcement that stated my mother’s name and asked her to come join her family at the station where the announcement was being done. 

While waiting there for those difficult and long 20 minutes, I was very scared. I kept looking at the door hoping to see her come in. However, after the half hour was up, my father asked me to follow him and we took one of the next trains back home. I spent all the time back home aboard  that train,  worried and with a knot building up in my tummy.  

When we got off at our station, we had still to take a bus to reach our home. At that moment, I remembered that my mother never carried a handbag. I didn’t know if she had some cash or small change stuffed in her clothing. Some women carry their change and cash in small purses that they smartly hide either in their blouses or the material of their saris.

This increased my worry and on the route back home, I kept looking out of the window searching for her on the streets. However, this was of no use as I couldn’t really see everything in the darkness.

The moment we reached our building, I ran up the stairs, entered my house and saw my brothers and sister there and searched for my mother. She wasn’t home and I started crying and tearily told them what had happened. My brothers immediately left the apartment together taking the motorbike we owned to go search for our mother.

Sometime passed and while I was being consoled by my sister and father, one of my brothers reached home. My mother had apparently entered the first train that my father and I had gotten into. The only thing that happened was, since the door was too crowded, she climbed into the compartment using the next door which had more space for her to enter. She reached our destination stop easily and quickly. But since she didn’t have any cash and those were the days that transactions happened only with cash, she couldn’t take the bus. 

They found my mother walking home slowly, wondering all this time how we had got lost.

Like what you read? you can listen to me read out this story on Spotify or apple in 'Lekha writes, then reads'. or here https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/lwbrussels/episodes/The-Chronicles-of-the-youngest-Child---Amma-goes-missing-e37tkv4

Did you like this read? 

Find the Part 1 here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-1.html

Find the Part 3 here https://lekhawrites.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-chronicles-of-youngest-child-part-3.html

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