Dear Diary,
If I were to house all the fabulousness and the enjoyment that could
possibly be housed in the most confined space available, the chosen ‘space’
would be a single word- TUESDAY, the 19th of April.
The day started with gusto, as I woke at ten minutes to seven in the
morning to see Mother all geared up for a game of cricket. We left the house at
twenty-five minutes past seven sharp, me all togged up and ready for the game-
with a ‘YUVI’ bat and a tennis ball. Mother, a competent bowler, so as to
familiarize me with the different ways and angles in which a ball can be
bowled, threw unplayable balls- some Yorkers. We played till eight I suppose,
with me possessing a hit-to-missed ratio of about one is to nine at the end of
the game. We decided to switch to badminton after that, and tried out the new
badminton net that we had bought, Mother and I playing
‘not-so-vigorous-but-challenging’ shots. This sporty element of the day brought
into it a feeling of energy, of focus, of movement, which endured me through
the whole day.
I retired to the confines of my bedroom at twenty-five minutes past
eight, and got down to the task of writing an essay for my ‘Wordsmiths’ Class, on
the topic- ‘When I’m seventy-five...’. This activity set me off onto a trail of
imagination- I imagined myself at a LAUGHTER CLUB, as a typical ‘Oldie’ with a
carefree attitude, as an environment-conscious, self-satisfied citizen- and
before I knew it, all that I’d thought of was on the tip of my pen. This
‘look-into-the-future’ section of the day added to it a minor portion of a
feeling of determination, the sight of a goal which I had to get to. This made
me concentrate throughout Tuesday.
At nine o’clock, I was shunted into my room as the painting of
Grandma’s room progressed, the fitting of new lights in my parents’ room took
place, and the polishing of some furniture in the front room was moved ahead
with. The house was to be refurbished- and I was excited at the prospect. As I
sat at the computer in my room, working on an entry for one of the projects of
our ‘Wordsmiths Workshop’, I acquired a little further knowledge on a subject.
I researched it, brought out information and pictures on it, aligned and
arranged it on a Word Document, and decorated it. This I did from ten-thirty to
one, between breakfast and lunch, with a couple of knick-knacks such as a
Kwality Walls Corneto and a packet of Lays Potato Chips as breaks. I continued
this assignment after lunch, till half past two; then I went over to my
grandma’s freshly painted room for examination. It was painted a bright
yellow-ochre on one wall, and on the other three was a shade of
yellowish-peach. I loved the room! Looking at it gave me a feeling of
freshness, of a new start.
At three-fifteen, Mother and I set off for my ‘Wordsmiths Class’,
which ran from four to six in the evenings. We had twenty minutes of free
discussion to four o’clock- all of us had arrived way ahead of time- and in
these short twenty minutes we discussed the Newspaper Assignment that I had
been working at in the morning, within our teams. At four, our class began.
Each of us was to speak on the topic that we’d been given (When I’m 75) the
previous day for a minute or so. My peers’ speeches aroused my interest thoroughly.
I began learning how differently people’s psychologies work. I spoke, I guess,
for over a minute, but I was satisfied with my speech. I hope I didn’t
‘beat-around-the-bush’, though.
This activity was over at five, when we were shown a couple of ads
to help us with our next assignment- the preparation of an advertisement. We
worked in three groups- with Chahel, Ishita and me in one. Our topic for the ad
was ‘A product for oldies’. We were to device a product, give it a unique name,
think of a slogan and a price for the product, and come up with a snazzy,
short, two-minute ad enacted by ourselves. Our product was a
‘earphone-cum-hearing aid’, designed to look like a ear, which we gave the name
‘Musical Ears’. We enacted a play that
seemed hilarious to us to advertise our product, but it didn’t appeal to the
audience. The other two teams had also been extremely creative and innovative.
I enjoyed their ads thoroughly.
The Wordsmiths Workshop was the crux of the day. I felt relaxed and
calm after the workshop.
We left for home at six o’clock. I grabbed a Frooti and loitered
around for an hour and a half, then reached the dinner table at
half-past-seven. I had dry pumpkin and rotis for dinner, played a game of
Cluedo with my Mum, read my Gerald Durrell for fifteen minutes, then crashed
into bed at ten o’clock.
What makes this day special? The fact that there’s nothing
extraordinary about it, but for the mixed bag that it proved it to be, with a
combination of excitement, energy, focus, learning, freshness, cooling-down in
one single day- Tuesday, the 19th of April.
Strange, isn’t it, Dear Diary?
Dear Diary,
I’m writing to you a gist of Saturday, the 16th of April,
which was packed with loads of fun.
I woke up at six in the morning. Mother and I walked from twenty
past six to seven, to and back from the Westend Multiplex in our neighbourhood.
It was an ordinary walk, complete with Saturday-morning sights and the routine
barking and straying of our neighbourhood’s dogs. This walk was followed by my
finishing reading a three eighty page long storybook’s last chapter for the
third time.
The morning was drab. I did maths after breakfast, not knowing what
else there was to do. I was pleased at receiving a call from my friend,
Jahnavi, who invited me home to play. (I was rather fed up with the sums.) I
accepted her invitation and went over with a game of cards that she loved. NOW
HERE COMES THE REASON FOR MY CONSIDERING THIS DAY WORTHY OF WRITING TO YOU
ABOUT.
We played from half past eleven to two. These hours were wonderful
ones. We had custard mixed with chocolate ice cream, Jahnavi’s mother’s new
creation, and we played with a deck of seventy-six cards a game of HAPPY FAMILIES.
This game was rather brain racking. Jahnavi, her sister Vaishnavi and I played.
At first it was to be mere guessing to see if you could find cards in your
opponents’ possession that you could acquire to complete a family of sea or
jungle animals. Then as ‘who-had-what’ began to be revealed, we had the need to
be extra cautious and alert. The game resulted in a tie between Jahnavi and me.
It had vexed me thoroughly. Never had we had so much fun before. The tie was
broken with another game between the two of us and Jahnavi emerged as the
winner.
We proceeded to play a game that was the sum of five games- Cluedo,
Guess Who, Connect 4, and two others. We had devised our own rules for each of
these games. The general rule for our mega-game was that players passed onto
the next game board when the rules of the previous game had been satisfied by
them. We twisted the games like flexible rubber bands. We suited them to our
needs by excluding brain-vexing quotients from them. We played for an hour.
For the remaining half-hour we played a short game of Cluedo with
Vaishnavi. Here comes my repenting moment. To think that I divulged the
Murderer, the Weapon and the Room (which I had acquired after hard deduction) all
in one go to Jahnavi, making her win the game! Ridiculous of me to have done
that!
I
reached home at two, after which the day proceeded normally.
Do you know why I consider this day worth writing to you about? The
reason is that it is an example purely of the enjoyment, the mirth, the
happy-go-luckiness that friends give you. It is an example of friendship,
friendship that will be in your memory forever.
Amazing, isn’t it, Dear Diary?
Dear Diary,
Here is a short account of the fiasco that took place on the 18th
of November 2015, when my parents and I were in Hong Kong.
It was the third day of our trip to Hong Kong- a Wednesday. We were
to go to Ocean Park and spend the day there, amidst octopuses, whales, arctic
foxes, pandas, vividly-coloured birds, dolphins and a variety of other fauna.
We were looking forward to this trip. We wrapped up a ‘not-so-sumptuous’
breakfast of cereals, fruits, bread, and juice at the Panda Hotel on Kowloon
Island and geared up for the trip.
We had been given instructions the previous day that we had to be
waiting for the van that was to take us to Ocean Park at nine in the morning.
It was twenty to nine when my mother and I reached the main entrance of the hotel.
My father was sorting out a crisis with the malfunctioning of the bathroom
flush. Mum and I stood by the front door of the hotel, waiting for the vehicle
patiently for twenty-five minutes. When neither the van nor my father appeared
at the entrance at nine five, we rushed to the desk of the manager of the mall
section of the mall-cum-hotel that Hotel Panda was. He told us that the stop
for all vans and buses was the rear of the building, and handed us a map,
pointing to a sign on it which indicated the bus-stop.
We rushed like maniacs across the rear street and then the street
perpendicular to it, looking for the bus-stop that the manager had indicated.
Nothing. No sign of the van from the Continental Service. After five minutes of
running helter-skelter, we decided to board two floors of escalators to the
hotel lobby. Here, we complained about the poor hotel facilities (the damaged
flush) to the attendants of the lobby, who apologized to us for the same. Then
we asked of the whereabouts of Father. They said that he had just come down to
the lobby, expecting us to be there, five minutes ago. He had rushed in fury
down the escalators, they added.
As we moved towards the escalator, we encountered the furious,
flaming face of my father. He had just come up, and on his face was expressed
clearly the demand for a reason for this confusion. In the few minutes that had
lapsed when we were at the rear of the Hotel, the van had arrived at the front
side! Father had waited at the lobby, and a message that the in-charge of the
van from the Continental Service had arrived had reached him there. It was to
be a known rendezvous for both the parties. Father had subsequently rushed to
the Ground Floor in a rage, wondering where we might have been. Here, the
in-charge of the Continental Service had told him to get on board his vehicle.
Father had requested him to wait for us for five minutes, which he did, but
when we did not arrive after the patient wait, the in-charge had given up and
had told Father that since this delay could upset the schedule of his other
passengers, he had to make a move. This was followed by Father’s coming up to
the lobby in a rage, and then our encounter.
We had to pay 200 Hong Kong Dollars to get a taxi to drive us to
Ocean Park (this is routine in India, but in top-ranked-in-public-transport
city Hong Kong, it is quite the contrary). Father wore a grudge on his face at
the money and time wasted. Mother was anxious and upset (that we would reach in
time to join the rest of our crew). But I was enjoying every bit of it.
The rest of the day was what you would find on the Ocean Park Hong
Kong Website. I thoroughly enjoyed even the latter part of the day, but not as
much as the former part. The pandemonium and confusion of the fiasco had amused
me tremendously.
I treasure this day for being home to a crazy incident that I
wouldn’t ever forget in my life.
Amusing, isn’t it, Dear Diary?
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