याद आ रही है

There are plenty of events that I clearly remember.  

There are a few others that people say happened, but of which I have no memory.  

Like when a cousin told me about visiting with them in 1989--my first trip to India after coming to the US for graduate school.  She said that a big group of us went to a movie, which I don't remember. 

What fascinated her was my behavior at the cinema in Ranipet, which is where they lived then.  Apparently a big bag of roasted peanuts--not shelled--was bought for this outing.  While the rest were tossing away the shells as they were eating, which was (is?) the standard practice, I was carefully pocketing the shells that I later tossed into a trash can.

She says that was proof that I had changed.  I had become an American in a mere two years!

I don't remember anything that she describes.

And then there are events that I know happened, of which my memory is hazy.  Very hazy.

Like how for a long time I have been trying to figure out where and when I watched a Hindi movie Love Story.  I was an angst-ridden teenager when I watched it.  Was it in Bangalore when a bunch of us from school went to that city?  Why did we go to Bangalore from Neyveli?  Was it some kind of a school leaving hurrah?  Where did we stay in that city?  What did we do?

My cousin or siblings who can fill in the blanks for me on the family side of my life will not be of help with a whole part of my life that did not include them.

Of course, the friends that I went with can certainly help me.  But, there's only one who I clearly remember as being in the group.  Manibaba was a happy-go-lucky guy, full of energy.  He was not academically inclined nor talented, but he knew how to get around in the world--a skill that I lack even today.  Once his father asked me to coach him for an exam, and I did.  Boy was Manibaba thankful!

But, Manibaba died years ago, after a sudden and serious cardiac event.  A shock when I came to know about it.

In the memory fog, I am see that Srikumar was in the group that went to Bangalore.  But, over the years, we have gradually lost contact for me to find out more about the Bangalore trip and Love Story.  

Srikumar's global wandering and his life in the Czech Republic brings another set of vague memories, including the trip to Pondicherry.

I recall going with him and Kannan.  I can picture us having a soup at Auroville; Srikumar talking in Russian with some whitey; Kannan having an upset stomach that compelled us to return to Neyveli earlier than scheduled. 

At Srikumar's home, at lunch time, his mother suggested that I eat there.  She added that her cooking would taste different from my mother's.  It did.  Of course I could tell the difference, particularly after having been a taste-tester for my mother from since I can remember.  The rasam was different with the garlic and without the paruppu.   Even the plain rice tasted different. The thuvaran was the only one that was almost like my mother's preparation.

Where did I stay in Neyveli?  By then we had all moved to Chennai and there was no place of my own in Neyveli.  Those were the days before email and cellphones, with very few homes equipped even with landlines as we now refer to them.  How did Srikumar, Kannan, and I coordinate our plans?  Too bad that Kannan too is incommunicado.

I suppose that this is typical of what happens in life.  We are left with stories.  Some with rich details.  And with a few stories, we could use a little help from our friends.  But, often those friends are no longer friends, or not around anymore.

But, memories we will always have.