Monday, December 13, 2010

Nature and nurture

I was with my father on the beach in kanyakumari. My mother, wearing a saree was sitting on the sand, a few meters away. My father, wearing his underpants, held a squealing me as wave after wave beat down upon us.

I have two very early memories of going to the beach. This was one, and the other one involved watching the sun turn from yellow to red and disappear behind the horizon in kanyakumari with Kumar chittappa.

There are certain very beautiful memories that we donot forget, even when we grow up. Why do we not forget them? Is it because they are pleasant?  Adventurous? Because they stick out in some way? Or a combination of all three?

Why do I remember hot dosas dipped in sambhar and chutney served in separate cups, burying a snake in the vittalur backyard? adding water to my dad's saffron box and getting scolded for it?

We took the girls camping in Changi beach over the weekend. This time, it was husband and I who were holding squealing girls in the sea as waves came to them.

Husband dug holes and the girls poured water in them. All of us got completely wet and completely sandy as we collected and packed seashells for a future craft. We took the bikes, pointed at aeroplanes flying overhead.

At night, we cuddled up inside our tents and tried to convince two totally tired but totally hyperactive children that they needed to stop trying to touch the tent roof and to go to sleep.

In the morning, we took the bum boats up to Pulau ubin, walked the new sensory trail, drank coconut water, took the girls again in bicycles, stuck our bicycles in the mud, washed my muddy shoes in lake water, and then went to subway for a cookie while husband packed up the tent. 

We grow up, but the cycle of life remains.

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