DO YOU REMEMBER...?

When we were children, a long time ago, (read ten years ago,when I was seven or thereabouts, for all you math geniuses) there were lots of kids in the colony I live in, all approximately the same age, give or take four years.

To say we had fun is an understatement. It should be recorded as the understatement of the century. Yes, I know I've already written about my childhood, but this, this is different.

This is about the ingenuity of a ten year old girl. My sister, Sheila. The one who, in later years, listened to a lot of Backstreet Boys. (refer previous posts)

Sheila was the oldest 'child' in the colony. Other older children were 15,17, 21 etc and were considered by us, with all the arrogance of youth, to be exceedingly old. Hence, my statementhat Sheila was the oldest 'child'.

When the exams were done, and time lay heavy on us, the long boring hours stretching endlessly before us, the thought of summer classes never crossing our collective mind, we turned to Sheila for entertainment.

And the idea for the 'Programme' was born.

Granted, its not a particularly brilliant title, but hey, we were kids.

Alone, unaided by parents, directed by Sheila and Shannu (a.k.a Sharanya, the other oldest child), we made a programme. The success of the first programme, led to us hosting at least one every summer for the whole colony. Every family used to attend, and the neighbouring terraces and balconies would be full of interested and benevolent parents.

One particular programme was particularly memorable. Sheila had decided that the play we were going to perform was to be 'Cinderella'. I, of course, was prince Charming. And my other sister, Sangeetha, was the esteemed idiotic Cinderella. (come to think of it, Cinderella must be the most beautiful,spineless,moronic heroine that Hans Christian Andersen could think of) There were also sundry interestingly coreographed dances by the dancers (the girls) themselves. But seriously, I can't think of any other set of average 10 year olds writing a whole script, dialogues, narration et al. The practice sessions were always held at my house, almost always disasterous, with all other parents kicking their children out of their houses so that they could get some rest, while my saintly mother welcomed us all in, and let us make hay (and havoc) in the house.

So we practiced the play. It went well. Brilliantly. The penultimate scene included one Allen to be the flunky and give an announcement. This, the poor fellow forgot. In front of all those people, he stood tongue-tied and happy. We hastily pulled him off-stage and the last scene began. In this, I come into Cinderella's house, make her sisters try on the glass slipper, then see that it fits on Cinderella and carry her out dramatically. Everything went fine until I picked up Sangeetha. The idiot must have eaten a nice hearty tea, and then followed it up with a couple of heavy stones. Damn, was she heavy. I almost dropped her.

And then I dropped her.

She landed with a crash.

Everyone was laughing, applauding and hooting in general.

But Sangeetha? She got right up off the floor, picked ME up in her arms, smiled wickedly, threw me to the floor with elan, bowed gracefully to the delirious audience., and floated off-stage in her angel-costume.

It still hurts, you know. Ugh.