Pause: Of time, and its turns

Roundabout every Christmas, I begin to reminisce childhood Christmas parties (fetes with Santa Claus, and yellow Moonwalkers jumping up into the sky), teenage party eves (fancy dresses and secret Santa gifts wrapped ever-so-delicately) and more recently Christmas from two years ago. It was my favourite Christmas time. And, I reckon it will always be. I will perhaps, hold onto it like a slice of time, always beautiful.

Time, of course reminds me of my teenage years. Like any other girl, I had the usual tussle with Dad over the telephone. The instrument seemed so precious then, sneaked into bedrooms for endless conversations. And, when it was invented, we had conference calls too. Cackle, cackle, and cackle like only young girls could. We would sometimes solve our homework on the phone. And, when we tired, play our own little version of Truth or Dare. This was when my parents were out to dinner, and I had the telephone all to myself. Without worry!

Until, it was the end of the month- the horrid little bill time of the month- when I always looked for a good place to hide. Daddy, seldom yelled, but always looked at me. And then on began another month of telephone chasing, and hiding, and trying ever so hard not to make that call.

Especially, not off our cheap, pre-paid telephones- like shoestring budgets for a time of life suited only to telephonic frivolity. Three hundred and forty-nine rupees, to talk and text, each month… with a little extra forty-five-rupee recharge scrounged from the week’s leftovers some months.

And, then came the time of internships, and when I started to work. And, I generously supported my monthly recharge with a little bit more, but the darned telephone deal was always a squeeze. Until at last, I received that second raise- and like a perfect, long-awaited gift, I treated myself to a billing cell phone account. Whatever the bill, I could take you on! IT was exhilarating.

I’m savouring that feeling as my father walks into the room last Sunday. “What are you doing,” he asks. “Writing a cheque,” I say. He looks over, enquiring, “How much is your cell phone bill?” I quote an approximate amount. His face scrunches up in disapproval. But, in my head, I smile.

2009, I think. The year, I could finally let go. And, afford my own telephone bill. One of the little things that makes growing up enjoyable. Even if sometimes, you’d much rather sneak the chord, than write the cheque…

[Pause is an ongoing series of reflections by writers (enlisted alongside) come together to capture people, places and moments from the year 2009. Pause ends on 31st December, 2009]