A friend was telling me about his first psychology session in his first month of MBA, over coffee. He mentioned that the teacher kindled the class by asking them to shut their eyes and recount their earliest memory from childhood. I was thinking hard while my friend continued to tell me that she said it had to be a painful one. The psychology professor stated that the first feeling of pain is the stickiest memory that you would later recount with a pinch. I strained to think of my earliest memory. Flashes raced through my head. Vick and I playing pitch-a-tent with blankets and cloth clips; Mom and dad going for walks in the evenings leaving us home alone; Vick forcing me to taste the leg of a cockroach; Pinky defecating in the playground and S (?) and I running back home alone throwing up all the way; Singing “M-O-T-H-E-R Mother, F-A-T-H-E-R Father” for annual KG Day; Vick lifting me up by the stomach with his legs lying down in a sketchy attempt at imitating superman; Slipping and hurting my head during one of the most memorable parties in Bombay; poking mom awake from her afternoon siesta to make me sandwiches so that the ‘didis’ would let me play ‘picnic’ with them in the front door playground…
None of this really hurts. All are fond memories. I have been a pampered child- yes. But I have had my share of bad bashings. The fact that my mind does not recollect them makes me realize that I’m quite a sunshine-even-at-night person. Good for me.
