Sreesha Divakaran's Blog, page 17

Indimeet Experience: #WordUp 2015 Bangalore!

I learn something new at every blogger meet. "Something" could be hugely important, or it could be as simple as which dish to try if you go to a particular restaurant! Then there are some blogger meets where all I do is learn – all the while having loads of fun!
Word Up Bangalore belongs to the latter category. Organized by BigRock in association with Domain.Me, it was an all-day session of learning, rapping, laughing, and eating heavenly food (not to badmouth another meet, but the one right before this (*cough* Dabur *cough*) was the exact opposite). When the meet was first announced, honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. Mainly cos all I could think of was – 9 am on a Sunday!? But wake up I did, reached Big Pitcher and got my name entered into the fishbowl called “First 50 Lucky Draw” (which I didn’t win; it’s (cos I won’t look graceful stating otherwise) alright).

My Name Tag
I kept searching for some familiar faces, and eventually took a seat in a dark corner. As it was a dark corner, I hoped no one would see my while I admired my own name and my blog’s URL on the name tags they gave us (along with, did I mention - a backpack, a mini speaker, and - waitforit - a domain hosting coupon for the blog!) While I was at it, I took some selfies with the name tag as well! (I shared those for the selfie contest – I didn’t win that either).

Breakfast!
Around 10-ish a lot of bloggers had come in, settled down and finished their breakfast; then the event started – Sruthijith was the keynote speaker. After that, Dheeraj Sharma spoke about the content strategy for blogs. Then - Abhishek Dhusia came on stage – he is a rapper, and his performance was so amazing! I am very selective about the rap I listen to as some of you know, and I have often dissed on it as well (I subscribe to this idea, though I don’t know who originally said it: Rap is like scissors – it always loses to rock). But lemme tell you, Abhishek gets full marks! I am sure not a lot of us are early risers on Sunday, and if anyone was feeling drowsy – Abhishek took care of that! He was simply wow!
Sorry, my phone cam's zoom is a little sucky
Prasanna Revan spoke next about the appearance your blog – design, visual identity etc. He stressed on the importance of color palettes, and having a bit of white space on your blog. Well, I recently updated the look of my blog, from light grey on black to maroon on  what’s-my-background-color-called-?. Wish I had attended this session before that!
By the end of his session, most of our tummies were grumbling, especially because we could smell some of the amazing food! The food was so, so, so good that my mouth is watering just thinking about it!
Lunch! 
After lunch we had a session by Janhavi Acharekar which I particularly enjoyed, as she spoke about publishing, fiction, and all the things I’m interested in. She even spoke about microfiction and sixword stories – a genre I’ve been playing with and enjoying ever since I discovered Friday Phrases on Twitter (yeah, those creepy microfiction tales that you all hate so much on my blog – those!) She said nowadays anyone can be a writer and it isn’t as difficult as it used to be. Frankly, that makes me sad. If you’ve read Inferno, you know that it makes Dan Brown sad. And if I am not wrong, I sensed a hint of wistfulness in Janhavi’s tone as she said it (or maybe I was hoping to hear it). But I will rant some other day about the evils of self-publishing (okay, not “evils” because I am a (not so proud) self-published author too).

The stand-up comedy act after that by Kritarth Srinivasan had all of us throwing our heads back and roaring. In jocular tones (obviously) he spoke about his “identity crisis” on being brought up in different parts of the country and I could completely relate to that! Truth is just funny to some of us!
After that, Prasant Naidu and Arun Prabhudesai spoke about consumption behaviour and monetization respectively. Topics such as ADHD-stricken websites like Scoopwhoop and Buzzfeed were touched upon (I mean no disrespect to those with ADHD, but all disrespect to SW and BF). As for monetization, I once swore to myself I would never monetize my blog, but then as you can see, I now have an ad near my header! (Cos Joker said, "If you’re good at something, never do it for free." I really don’t want to, but no one is paying me yet #Sadface)
In addition to the great food, great music, and great informative sessions, what made this (and also other blogger meets) great is the company! I was so glad to see some familiar faces (Sabby, Indrani), and others whose blogs I enjoy but never had a chance to interact with face to face with before (Parul). There were some people I wanted to meet, but they couldn’t attend due to various reasons. I really hope that there’s another meet soon, and we all have as much fun as we had at this one!

But then – #WordUp’s shoes seem pretty big to fill!
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

The Fence Around Agara Lake [#WednesdayFiction]

A silvery fog had settled over the lake and the formidable trees that surrounded it. In the depths of the darkness, Akshay knew about the fence beyond the trees. He tried to recollect why the fence knocked his subconscious like an error. The fence was wrong – the fence should not be there. But why?

As he stood there stupefied, trying to make sense of where he was and what he knew about the place, he felt a tap on his right shoulder. He turned around. He found himself face to face with –

“No!” he gasped, “It cannot be! You’re –“

“Dead?” she sneered, “I know.”

Akshay gaped at the apparition before him – the body of a skinny girl, jet black hair falling in waves till her waist, a blank face. There were outlines – markings – of where her eyes, the nose, the mouth had been. But none of it was on the face anymore, except for the hollow from which the voice came. The bare arms and legs were full of cuts from which slime oozed, and the tissue-like skin peeled and fell off in bits. But gradually, her features changed. The form that stood in front of him was no longer that of a girl. But –

His eyes widened in fear, and the night and the silence surrounding the lake were ripped apart by his agonizing screams.

When Akshay woke up, he was still screaming. His mouth was open, jaw strained, and throat taut, but no sound came out. Awareness of being away from the dark lake and its spectral being washed over him; he was back in his bedroom. His eyes flew open. The fan was rotating noisily. He blinked rapidly, trying to erase the bleak image. But he saw it in the corner of his room, jeering at him. He tried to get up; his body failed to respond. He was strapped to his bed by invisible chains, struggling to breathe as the diabolical creature stared.


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Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
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Hearts Are Not Broken... [#MondayMusings] [#MicroblogMondays]

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

The Silence Between Us

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Revelling In Weirdness and Some Foot Tapping Music!

Whenever I am out with a bunch of friends in a car, no one ever asks me for my phone to plug into the music system. Simple reason – more often than Pitbull telling you about the benefits of the vodka brands that sponsor his videos, you’re gonna find Amy Lee crooning, “Liiiiiiiiithiiiiiiiiiiiuuuuuuum, I wanna stay in love with my sorrow………” or Porcupine Tree informing you there’s just been a heart attack in a layby. And that simply does not make for good listening when you are, umm, not friggin’ in love with your sorrow! Also, in a car, talking about heart attacks in laybys, not a good idea!
It’s all good for me, not because I am in love with my sorrow, but deep, at times depressing, soulful rock just connects with me (… and she revelled in her weirdness). But there are days when I need some uplifting, or I am simply too happy to enjoy the depth and wisdom of rock. For those days, yes, I do keep some Mr. Worldwide handy, amongst others.
The first and foremost on this list in Bailando. Now, a lot of kids who grew up in 90s look at Enrique Iglesias like he’s “apna yaar.” Teenage boys wanted to be him and teenage girls just swooned over that mole he doesn’t have anymore (fangirls know what I’m talking about!) Enrique’s music isn’t what it used to be. Somewhere, like Lucky Ali back home, he began to sound like a sellout. Then came Bailando. It sounded almost classic Enrique. Swooning resumed, now over the moleless cheek and that oh-so-gorj voice with that wine-like quality (fangirls still know what I am talking about)
Bangaloreans, tell me that doesn't look like Bellandur flyover!!!
Second on the list is Timber. Yeah, yeah, innuendo, NSFW video yada yada yada. Bottom line is, it makes your feet go tapping and you know it!

3) My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark. Fall Out Boy is classified as a rock band. I personally do not see a lot of raw rockery in it, except for the anger that’s typical of some college rock bands. You probably won’t watch this video (your loss – it's a pretty kickass video), so lemme tell you, this is the best line in the whole song, “A constellation of tears on your lashes; burn everything you love and then burn the ashes.” The lyrics rock (couldn’t help myself with that pun)!




4) Moves Like Jagger. Maroon 5. Adam Levine. Enough said.

5) Blame. Calvin Harris, John Newman. I know Summer is probably a more uplifting Calvin Harris song. But blame it on the lyrics (sorry again) or my love for John Newman's voice, I like this one better.
*audio version*



6) Sorry Go Round, Poets Of The Fall – No playlist is complete without including at least one song by the man I consider God, Marko Saaresto!


7)  My Head Is A Jungle, Emma Louise, Wankelmut (MK Remix) Give it time. It grows on you, and does not get out of your head.

8) Talking Body, Tove Lo *lyric video*

9) Mission Impossible Theme, The Piano Guys and Lindsey Stirling. If you like the original Limp Bizkit version, you will like this more. I guarantee you that.

10) And finally......



“I am blogging for #MaxFreshMove activity at BlogAdda in association with Colgate MaxFresh“
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

The Madurai Love Affair

I was born into a family of nomads.
No, that’s an exaggeration, because I only wish we were nomads. But my parents loved travelling back in the day (they still do, but their health doesn’t let them share selfies on instagram anymore) and as a result, I happened to visit quite a few touristy places in India when I was growing up. They travelled to a lot of places before I was born, and for that I will crib to them eternally, especially because my brother got the chances I didn't. But that’s not to say I haven’t had my share of travel. Let me narrate the story of one of those journeys.
In 1999, we covered a lot of places in Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Since I am from Kerala, you could say I had seen a bit of it during summer vacations, but on this particular trip we visited the unspellable, unpronounceable capital. But it was Tamil Nadu we focused mainly on. Our first stop was, though unplanned, Madurai. We were actually on our way to Kanyakumari, when on an impulse, we decided to stop at Madurai and visit the Meenakshi temple. At least, that’s how I remember it, because why else would you be in a town at 3.30 in the morning with a few bags and no plan! (my parents, ladies and gentlemen!)
I was a kid back then, and as cowardly as I still am. Seeing a crowded, noisy railway station with people shouting scared the shit out of me. We stepped out onto the streets, at that hour – darkest before the dawn, if you will – and they weren’t exactly what you would call empty – they were bustling with more activity than you would expect at that hour. The road was dirty – squished vegetables, wet mud and things-you-don't-wanna-know everywhere. There were cycle rickshaws lined outside, and after a desperate attempt at conveying to the driver of one of them where we wanted to go, we got in. When you don’t understand what another person is saying, your voice suddenly goes several notches higher, as if volume could bring about translation. I don’t know the basis for this illogical conclusion, but everybody does it, and so did our rickshawwala. I was intimidated by it all – I spook easy! 
While we were in the auto, dogs chased after us. I remember, I nearly cried – the noise, the dirt, the lack of sleep, the dogs (I had only recently read The Hound of Baskervilles then), the angry rickshawwala – it was all too much for my twelve year old brain to handle. It was my brother’s birthday. I remember asking him, “Isn’t this your worst birthday ever?”
I swore to myself I would never return to Madurai as long as I lived.
Let's fast forward to ten years later. In the year 2009, I met this terribly shy boy. He was so shy that he refused to look me in the eye whenever I asked him a question. But for some reason, I continued my attempts at conversation. Eventually I succeeded in getting monosyllabic responses.
A year and a half later, we were married.
He still gives me monosyllabic responses. I still refer to him as the “boy” of the house, because the other little boy in the house acts like he’s our boss. But the whole irony exploding part of this story is – shy boy happens to be from Madurai!
The Madurai I visited after I got married was not the terrifying darkness I remembered from childhood. Maybe I was seriously sleep-deprived that night, who knows! But the roads were not just clean, they were paved! Did you know there’s an area in Madurai, where they have only paved roads? For a second, I thought I was in a music video (any happy situation, my brain puts me in a music video)
But what impressed me more was this – there are more women drivers on the roads than men. This was even before that recent survey that finally laid that age old argument to rest about who’s better on the roads. Why did this impress me? Because wherever else I have lived, anywhere you see a woman driving on the road or riding a two-wheeler, there are always three or more men pointing fingers and laughing about how she shouldn’t be there at all. Something like that simply does not happen in Madurai. Also, I’ve never witnessed any incidents of road rage, nor did I ever see a driver question another about knowing the first one's father.
Another thing is, the people. They are just so nice, it’s unbelievable. They respect you irrespective of who you are. Call it the curse of being socially awkward, but whichever town or state I go to, they pick me out as a misfit in less than 3 seconds – I “belong” to no place on the earth! But the people of Madurai don’t laugh at you for being an outsider – they sometimes go out of their way to help you, whether you speak the language or not. Speaking to the locals there humbles you, and teaches you gratitude like nothing else can. They’re polite, they’re well-mannered to a fault (what a phrase!), they are nice simply because they can be, simply because they are capable of it. That’s something I haven’t really seen in a lot of people. I am not stereotyping (even positive stereotyping is stereotyping) but this is what I’ve observed.
Somewhere in NCR, they recently launched “pink autos” exclusively for women, driven by women. Madurai had these autos even before, driven by women, but not exclusively “for women”. Because these women drive their autos even at 10 pm, and they are not afraid. They know the men respect them enough to not harm them, and they are not afraid to do their job at any hour of the day or night. Yes, it’s just another respectable job, and no one is telling them, they can’t do it because it’s unsafe, and that male passengers might harass them. Neither are the women saying, "I drive cos #mahchoice." They don't feel the need to enforce something like that - it's an accepted norm.
I am proud that I married a boy (still a boy :P) from a land that respects women so much, and a land that is so safe for women. It’s not a big city – it’s a really small town. The people are still loud, but they’re not impolite - their language is just a bit different from what some of us are probably used to. They have a strange sense of devotion towards Rajnikant that borders on madness. Their food could use a bit less cumin, and their restaurants could serve a little less mutton. But despite all these little things, the people of Madurai are one of the nicest I’ve met. I wish some of our metros could learn a thing or two from this town.
Gotta love irony sometimes, right?

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Is It Serendipity - Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

---Six years later---

“Really? ‘I think I’ve seen you before’? That’s the line you’re gonna use? Are you out of 90s’ Bollywood?” Nisha rolled her eyes at the man who had approached her a few minutes ago at the public library
“It’s not a line! I am sure I have seen you before!” the man protested.
“Don’t care. Not interested,” Nisha scowled and began to walk away, clutching a few books.
“I wasn’t asking if you’re interested!” the man exclaimed, too loud for the silent library. He got more than a few glares and several “Shh”s.

Nisha had moved to Chennai recently. She had no friends yet, except for her roommate, an old classmate from her hometown.
“I’m gonna have some friends over this weekend,” her roommate said one day, “It’ll be good for you. Meet some people, have some fun.”
Nisha was not really interested, but she did not have any other plans, nor did she know any places she could visit in the city. The evening of the party arrived, and while Nisha sat in a corner, smiling politely at her roommate’s guests, who should arrive but the flirt from the library!
Oh God! What’s he doing here? she thought.
Their eyes met, and the man smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. He looked older than all the other guests. Nisha wondered about her roommate’s acquaintance with this man.
Presently, her roommate greeted him and dragged him towards Nisha for a round of introductions.“And Nisha, this is Dr. Abhishek. He’s from our hometown. He did his specialization from the medical college there.”
Oh no! That’s where she had gotten her polyps removed, six years ago. Her nightmare came rushing back, and she wanted to run from the place. She must have looked pale, because the doctor asked, “Are you okay?”
Nisha nodded weakly. The doctor smiled at her, the mockery now gone from his eyes. “I – I am sorry, I was rude to you the other day,” Nisha said after her breathing returned to normal.
“It’s alright. For the record, I wasn’t hitting on you. I remember now where I’ve seen you before.”
“Where?” she asked, her eyes widening a little at this bit of revelation.
“It was many years ago, when I was doing my specialization. I was Dr. Prashant’s assistant.”
Sometimes statements are delivered innocuously, but they land as blows on the recipient’s brain. Nisha’s temper flared without a warning when she heard the doctor's statement, recalling her nightmares, and her sleepless nights.
“That was you! You’re the reason I get nightmares!” Nisha’s nostrils were flaring with anger. Abhishek looked puzzled, “What?” He obviously did not know had caused Nisha’s sudden outburst.
“You! Spoke about a hollow, round blade! To this day, I get nightmares of you stabbing me with it!”
“Wow, you dream about me?” Abhishek chuckled at his own joke. This made her angrier; he threw his hands up in surrender, “Ok! Sorry! I don’t remember what I said, but I can assure you, there’s no such blade.”
Nisha felt foolish shouting at a total stranger – at a party filled with her roommate’s friends no less! She still glared at Abhishek, but her embarrassment was apparent in her eyes. Abhishek smiled kindly – a reassuring doctor’s smile. No, it wasn’t a doctor’s smile, it was something else.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t remember what I said all those years ago. But it wasn’t a blade. I might have been talking about a hollow, round toilet paper roll, I don’t know! Really! I was wondering though, would you give me the chance to erase all those nightmares?” he raised an eyebrow.
Nisha couldn’t believe his gall! “You arehitting on me!”
“I am not,” Abhishek shrugged boyishly, “I am not ‘hitting on you.’ I am asking you if you would be interested in going out for a dinner with me. Then we’ll see what we can do about those nightmares.”


Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Little Big Man With His Little Big Presents

If history has taught us anything, it is that every generation has firmly believed that the generation before it is silly and ignorant, and the one that follows it is too cunning and smart for its own good! I often heard the phrase “When I was your age bla bla bla” while growing up, and I heard it every now and then in between as an adolescent (about those who were younger), and now as a parent, I often find myself thinking it (I've never said it out loud) as my son surprises me every day in ways only he knows how. One of those being - he’s decidedly more sarcastic than I – the immature child in me is shocked, having been nicknamed “the queen of sarcasm” once upon a time, but the mother in me is secretly proud of his witty responses, and the easy charm with which he pulls himself out of sticky situations. I’ve even described in my earlier post, Going From Technologically Superior To A Parent how, like every child is superior to his or her parent when it comes to learning new technology, my son too has made an early start in his own way.

But my three year son isn’t only about sarcasm and charm. Nor is he only about beating me at games. What surprises me the most is the little ways in which he shows me he cares. He intuitively knows if I need to be cheered up, and proceeds to do just that.

He usually spends his vacations with his grandparents. He returned home after his previous summer vacation a little over a month ago. He coming home was enough to cheer me up – I was in between jobs, and sitting at home all day had begun to take its toll on me. A few days after he returned, I had been particularly worried and gloomy one afternoon. He asked me what was bothering me. I maintain a grown up policy of honesty with my son – I hate dumbing things down for him, and I hate lying to him. I don’t know if I am wrong to answer his questions as truthfully as I can mindful of his age; motherhood doesn’t come with a how-to manual, there’s no one right way and you learn something every day. I told him I was upset as I didn’t go to office like I used to. He listened to me with an expression I can only call totally grown up, totally patient, and then said, “Wait.”

He rushed to my mother’s room, came back after a moment and said, “I got you something from Ammamma’s house.” Ammamma is what he calls my mother.

A lot of children, adolescents and even adults maintain collections – of stamps, coins, or whatever catches their fancy. As a teenager, I had a collection of paperweights. I had quite a few, a traditional spherical one, and some other shapes, sizes and weights. Some were gifted to me, some I found here and there, and some I bought. I kept them safe in the drawers of my study table, and they survived our frequent transfers, given that I guarded them so religiously, like they were dragon eggs!

We let go of these little tokens, these reminders of who we used to be as we grow older. And in the midst of all that, when your little one brings you back a bit of your childhood when you’re sad, you can’t help but be stunned! He placed one of my paperweights in my palm and told me how he’d found it in my old drawer and asked my mother if he could bring it for me. It was such a sweet gesture that you wouldn’t believe how moved I was.

I stared at the paperweight for a long time. I had forgotten about it, but seeing it again reminded me of how I had first come by it – on a rainy day, in the middle of the street. We are taught not to pick things up from the street for our own safety, but this was a rule I often found hard to adhere to. The paperweight was simply too pretty to be ignored, it had many crystals inside (impressionable teens reading this – do NOT pick things up from the street; I was a stupid person, who was just lucky to never have come across a shiny bomb - do not be me!)

As instantly as I was transported to that day, I returned to the present moment. I was as cheerful as I could possibly be – not for the paperweight so much, but seeing that my son felt it was important to bring his mother back something from her childhood. I don’t know what intuition taught him that.
For all his mischief, his subway surfing, and his sarcastic responses, he’s my little big man.


This blogger contest is supported by Kid Social Shell, a unique digital parenting platform with 11 gaming-learning apps. Use it play 3D nursery rhymes, counting number games, shapes games, fun math worksheets, coloring games and more!
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Loving You Into Reality - Part 1

Anita sat at the edge of the couch, tucked her legs beneath her and briefly set down the mug of steaming hot coffee on the armrest, knowing it will leave a ring, but not caring. There was a little bakery across the street and smell of freshly baked cookies wafted in through the open window along with the early morning summer breeze. Specs of dust danced in the soft 7 am sunshine, as she glanced at the newspaper, and picked up the coffee mug with the other hand. Her father was still asleep in the next room. Her son had opened an eye when her alarm rang, and mumbled about it being too early. She soothed him, and told him to go back to sleep. The four year old was asleep again the next instant.
The main headline on the front page talked about India winning the cricket world cup. India. It seemed like such a long time ago, and yet, like yesterday. Anita had left India when her son was barely eight months old, along with her father. Her mother passed away two years before that, and she did not want to leave her father alone to take care of himself. Besides, going to a completely alien country without anyone to help out with a little child would have been difficult. It had been a difficult move for Anita. She had to leave everything behind – her job, her house, and most importantly – No, she didn’t want to think about it, about him. She had left India mainly because of him, for him. To save him from herself. It had been a cowardly move. A selfish and a selfless move at the same time. It was not entirely rational, but they had no future together. She felt silly though; everything reminded her of him – a song, a breeze, a stranger’s smile, steam from the coffee mug… a headline in a newspaper, for God’s sakes! She was not even sure if he liked cricket. See, she reminded herself, that’s how little you knew him.
She was broken out of her reverie when the milkman rang the doorbell. She went about her morning chores, got Nikhil ready for school, and while getting ready for work herself, her mobile phone rang. It was an unknown number, and when she answered, a cheerful male voice responded with a “Hey!”
It couldn’t be. Her mind was caught in that moment where incomprehension met a certain shock, like a dream that had been relived so many times that it manifests itself into reality. It was definitely his voice. But the number began with +60, the international dialing code for Kuala Lumpur. Anita swallowed a lump of uncertainty that had suddenly clogged her throat, and asked, “Saurav? Is that you?”
“Who else, Anita! Who else!” his voice was too upbeat. It brought a smile to Anita’s face instantly. “Look, I am in Kuala Lumpur. You have to show me around! Be my guide for the day.”
There was an endless train of question in Anita’s mind, a hundred excuses she could make. How did he know she was in KL? How did he get her number? Why should she go out with him when she had left her country to get away from him? This was a bad idea for both of them, and she had explained it to him, then why…?
And then another question surfaced – what was she going to tell her boss about skipping work today? At that instant she knew, she was going to say yes to being “his guide for the day” Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Going From Technologically Superior To... A Parent!

The truth is, whoever you are, you have at least once felt the smugness that comes with teaching your parent how a particular bit of technology works. As for me, I remember the high-handedness with which I taught my father how to send smses, all the while teasing him for his telegrammic style of writing. His text messages were often too to-the-point and employed the kind of language that “i ws jst nt usd 2 at da tym”. 
I realized I was growing older (and wiser) when the sms lingo began to look ridiculous and annoying. And my father’s knowledge of mobile phones and internet was suddenly at par with mine. Until one day, he asked me what WhatsApp was and from where he could get it. A little bit of smugness returned, but it was really short-lived because by the time my father asked me this question, I had a son determined to prove I was an ancient ignoramus. 
Case in point: my nieces taught my three year old how to play Subway Surfers (is that what it’s called?) on their tab. My son asked me, almost accusingly, why I, or his dad, hadn’t bothered to install the game on our phones. Now, my excuse is that there’s something wrong with my app store, and even otherwise I rarely install games on my phone. That is not to say I am immune to their addictive charms. That’s part of the reason I don’t install them – prevention is better than Candy Crush Rehab. So, I slyly took the Mr.’s phone (he already has a lot of games on his phone, I am sure he wouldn't mind!), went to the appstore, typed in “Subway”, and my very excited boy pointed to the first search result and told me that’s what he was talking about. 
I had often seen some of my colleagues play it at work (yes, dear managers, sometimes people play games at office) but had always kept my eyes averted like a celibate priest staying away from, well, you know! Installing a game is a temptation that, like I said, I avoid as far as possible. But once installed, who was to stop me!  
I made a deal with my son. I would let him play as soon as I was done with one game. Of course, I thought one game would last for a satisfactory amount of time, and I expected to hit a super high score by then. Little did I know, I was no longer the expert I thought I still was!
My son saw me hit a 2D train 3 seconds into the game, did the most perfect facepalm ever, and shouted, “That’s not how you play!” He snatched the phone from my hand, and then proceeded to show me exactly how it’s done. And he went on to play way longer than what I call a satisfactory amount of gaming time. Sure, I felt happy he was having fun, but for myself, I made a #SadPuppyFace.
I am not even 30 yet, but suddenly, I had turned into my dad.
When was the last time your little one gave you an ass-whooping to remember? Did he/she beat you at chess? Don't be shy now, talk about it! Or talk about any of the million happy moments you've shared with your little buddy, at Kellogg's Chocos ke saath Khuljaye Bachpan! Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.