So, we're all technologically almost-there people, right? How close has it really brought us all? Or has it actually taken us further away from each other?

Let me cite a case in point. I came back home from work today to find the fragrance - yes, i say fragrance - of saag wafting in my whole house, not just in the kitchen. And I was instantly back to one day in my childhood, when I came back from the colony's sole square of grass, which we happily called a park. I got back home just in time to see my mother holding a cooker with both her hands, as strongly as she could - no one can call my mother fragile, so it was quite some strength - while my father had a strange looking wooden ladle kind of thing in his hand and he was churning away at something rather suspiciously green.

Curious child that I am, I stood on a tip-toe and looked over my father's shoulder and into the gooey green stuff, i'm sure imagining some clawed monsters jumping out of it. My parents were clearly sharing a joke, they were laughing, but that was all background noise to the terrible fight that the green monsters and my favorite pet dragon were having over me. And I'm digressing.

The point being that there they were churning away at the saag, hoping it would become a smooth, non-lumpy pasty kind of consistency. Cut to circa 2006. Today. I immediately called out to my father, surprised that he would be back home so early on a Tuesday evening. Turns out he was still at work. So I asked my mother if my pa had gone late to work after helping her with the saag.

She pertly tossed her hair - THAT'S where my niece gets it from! - and said "food processor ka kamaal hai!" Not that we didn't have mixer-grinders back then. We had this cute thing (I now remember it as cute. When I was younger, I was terribly miffed by the sound) from Moulinex or Moulimex something. But somehow, today, when I realised that mum had done this all alone, I felt sad.

Advanced technology has robbed my parents of a free chance to share a good laugh over churning some good-old wholesome saag.

Starting a new blog to share...so, what better than to first write about the first few people I knew when I became aware that there was a world around me, made of people who felt something or the other for me.Let's start with the very obvious: my parents: What are my first few memories of them? Mum in the kitchen, making breakfast, pa all ready in his black lawyer's coat, white shirt and pinstrip black trousers, smelling fresh and nice - of Ponds talcum...those days it wasn't such a feminine smell...we were still in the male-dominant age - ma packing his lunch for him in an aluminium two-tiered lunch box, dad hugging her from behind, giving her a peck on her cheek just before leaving for the day. Where was I? Sprawled out on the bed with a feeder bottle in my mouth, looking at them and smiling. Didn't kmow why at the time...just smiling.

My bro: Lovely eyes, a head-ful of very curly hair, smooth skin, shy smile. Someone to hang out with and go cycling with. Where did we lose that? :(

Daddyji: my grandfather: the soft man in the white kurta pajama with snow white hair, who would sit on the chair, soaking in the sun, newspaper in hand, cigarette dangling from pursed lips. He called me "Kato" coz I was such a sharp child. Where did I lose that rasor edge over the years? i've mellowed down. Comes with nearly turning 30, I guess! :P

Biji: my formidable grandmother. With flaming orange and white hair, neatly tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck, and waves on her forehead, a la Marylin Monroe.

Bauji: my soft, gentle nanaji. I still remember my tiny fingers in that big, soft paw of his. Folding skin, perched glasses, always in a suit or a kurta pajama.... guddo rajkumari he used to call me. W'ed go together to his "hospital". Him, with his strides and me hopping and skipping...like a skittish lamb. And on the way he'd buy me sweets. And at the end of the day, give me all the change in his pocket. And at the end of the vacation, a purseful each of a LOT of shiny coins in different shapes...round, square and hexagonal. And of course the atta buscuits. Oh my darling. I was terribly upset when I lost him. I used to feel this engulfing sadness when I would go back to the house. We never went there too often after, anyway. Never knew my nani too much. So...

Bhuji: My father's sister. This is what I started out with calling her. My best friend after my parents. Our relationship has gone through a lot of changes...From being an aunt, to being a friend, to being a confidante, to being someone I can talk to about anything- even her own children. She's now my "atya" - maratha for bua.

Amma: tall, proud maid...the woman who brought me up with my mother. Such a handful was I. I needed two women to bring me up.

These are the people who shaped me. Before my school could. That of course, is an entry for another day.