20 years ago....

The year was 1998 and havoc was about to unravel itself.

The quiet early morning streets of porur was about to witness a spectacle. It was not unusual for this neighborhood to experience this, but everytime it happened ,they wanted to know what had caused the uproar

The kids were peeping out of the windows to try and get a glimpse of anything that was gossip worthy.
The older people were laughing narrating stories of their younger days.

I was three years old and it had just hit me that I was going to a place called school today. I did not know what it was , but it wasnt home  and that was license to cry.

Like every 3 year old I loved attention.
And on this day my grandma( referred to as 'paatima' henceforth) was faced with an uphill task of calming me down.
And she was good at it.
She was the best at it

So while my parents got ready for the day, my pattima told me my favorite stories and took my mind off things.
She says that I briefly stopped crying and then once again resumed.
It began as small well spaced sulks, then a shrill cry which soon turned to a howl.
And then the tears followed, elegant and drop by drop.

Mom rushed to pick me up and as I was being hoisted above her head I saw her happy face and I paused to take a deep breath. She wore a bright orange saree. It was beautiful.

Appa was ready. And he took me from my mom and carried me on his shoulders as we left home.

The school was somewhere close by so they decided to walk, I guess. The roads were busy now. Shutters were being pulled up and the street vendors were setting up their articles for sale.

A nearby temple Bell resounded. It echoed partially with my cry.

I had the best view though. I could see over the bald heads and the even above small vehicles. I remember looking at skies and being scared that it was all water which would one day pour over us.

It was 1998 and Chennai was breezy in the morning.

1998.

When global warming was only mentioned in Sidney Sheldon's books and was mostly a myth.

The weather and the view definitely calmed me.

A few minutes later we reached our destination. An old house which housed a playschool on the first floor.
We ascended past the steep stairway and I was ushered in by my teacher.
There were a lot of smiles exchanged while I tried to fathom how terrible it was.
New kids. A new place and no pattima.
That sucked at multiple levels.

I was made to sit with a few kids: some were crying and the rest were as confused as me.

To my left my mom sat, filling up a few forms. She would occasionally look up and smile at me. I knew it wasn't a long time before I went home so I decided to endure the storm.

I glanced around the room
Beautifully decorated walls.
Crying kids.
A painted desk with small building blocks.
There was a black board with shapes drawn on it.

I turned to smile at my mom and she wasn't there.
Panic.
The howl began as I got up in fear.
I Swifty got up and raced to the stairs.
I started climbing down one at a time.
I looked up as I was nearing the last one and saw the familiar orange saree.
Without thought, I just tugged on to it and hugged it.
My mom must have felt the pull and looked back to see me crying.
She picked me up and spent 15 minutes trying to make me understand.
My dad watched the scene unfold and asked me what I really wanted
"Pattima" was the reply.

Within minutes, the paperwork was nullified and I was hoisted over my dad's head as we walked back home.

It's been 20 years and I still want my Pattima with me.
Some things just never change.