Ok, today i want to revert to my rotten eggs theme. As i mentioned earlier years and years and years ago in Bangalore my parents decided to visit Ooty. My brother and I refused to go along. My brother just hates doing anything. At13 I was trying to take my own decision.
The next day I woke up and tried to fix a breakfast of eggs and bread. 4 out of the six eggs that i cracked were rotten ! Now if you have never smelt rotten eggs let me tell you about it. Eggs are living organisms, when living organisms rot the stench is something else. This unfortunate event acted as a catalyst and made me take a decision that turned into one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.
It happened this way. Soon after the rottenegg cracking fiasco, a friend of my family rang the doorbell. Jill was on her way to visit my parents in Ooty and she wanted to know if I or my brother wanted to go along. I said yes.
We boarded ramshakle buses (karnata state transport??) and drove through some breathtaking landscape. Had I been savvy enough I would have kept a notebook and had some real data to share with you. But all I have is snatches of images that have lasted with me for the next 33 years. Beautiful mountains. A group of chinese students backpacking, and me looking at the gorgeous chinese boys with longing and lying to Jill - I think chinese girls look beautiful. She laughed and cottoned on immeditaly - Chinese boys are handsome too she said slyly.
I dont know how long we travelled, but i do remember we changed buses and arrived finally in Ooty. It was cool and green. My parents were living in a cottage belonging to a friend of the family and it was in the hills. We did nothing but walk around in the hills, lounge around in the cottage. We saw the botanical gardens there, and walked through the market.
They say Ooty is no longer the idyllic summer getaway, being overrun with hotels and tourists. How do you remember your first crush? Mine was a cute boy with a lovely smile, a slim frame and a shock of soft hair. He walked tall and made sheeps eyes at me. Thats the way I like to remember him. Not as a middleaged, bald fasttalker. Thus I will remember Ooty as the lush green expanse of beauty, not as a pockmarked, much frequented hill station.
The next day I woke up and tried to fix a breakfast of eggs and bread. 4 out of the six eggs that i cracked were rotten ! Now if you have never smelt rotten eggs let me tell you about it. Eggs are living organisms, when living organisms rot the stench is something else. This unfortunate event acted as a catalyst and made me take a decision that turned into one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.
It happened this way. Soon after the rottenegg cracking fiasco, a friend of my family rang the doorbell. Jill was on her way to visit my parents in Ooty and she wanted to know if I or my brother wanted to go along. I said yes.
We boarded ramshakle buses (karnata state transport??) and drove through some breathtaking landscape. Had I been savvy enough I would have kept a notebook and had some real data to share with you. But all I have is snatches of images that have lasted with me for the next 33 years. Beautiful mountains. A group of chinese students backpacking, and me looking at the gorgeous chinese boys with longing and lying to Jill - I think chinese girls look beautiful. She laughed and cottoned on immeditaly - Chinese boys are handsome too she said slyly.
I dont know how long we travelled, but i do remember we changed buses and arrived finally in Ooty. It was cool and green. My parents were living in a cottage belonging to a friend of the family and it was in the hills. We did nothing but walk around in the hills, lounge around in the cottage. We saw the botanical gardens there, and walked through the market.
They say Ooty is no longer the idyllic summer getaway, being overrun with hotels and tourists. How do you remember your first crush? Mine was a cute boy with a lovely smile, a slim frame and a shock of soft hair. He walked tall and made sheeps eyes at me. Thats the way I like to remember him. Not as a middleaged, bald fasttalker. Thus I will remember Ooty as the lush green expanse of beauty, not as a pockmarked, much frequented hill station.
