hopscotch

Just read the news that Doordarshan will soon be airing the second part of Ek Tha Rusty – dramatised stories based on Ruskin Bond's life. I had a good time in the 90s watching the series with my mother. I continue to be a big fan of Ruskin Bond and his work. The old world charm, quirky aunts, and loving grandparents, plus a house and large garden full of animals, and yes, not to forget the possibility of ghosts lurking in some corner of Rusty's house ensured that I was glued to DD Metro every Saturday evening between 5.30-6.30 pm. This time, of course, the news says that they will be capturing Rusty when he's 33 and has garnered reputation as a writer. And, his stories full of romance, thriller, adventure will be adapted for the small screen. Well, Rusty has grown up! So have I! It will be fun to meet Rusty in his 30s!

And I would like to sleep in it! ---- I was yawning, or trying to cover my wide open mouth with the back of my palm, when I read this premise of Makarand Deshpande's new play. I yawned some more (this time without covering my mouth) and thought, “interesting”. The protagonists are two masseurs who sleep for others, their clients. The girls have their own reasons for sleeping for others. One hopes to learn this skill so that she can sleep for her insomniac father, while the other girl hopes that her bed-ridden sister can sleep uninterrupted for few hours. The only catch is that the masseurs who learn about their client's dreams, will keep them a secret. I hope to catch this play whenever it's staged in Pune because I love sleeping and dreaming. I have some very vivid dreams and I am able to recollect them when I get up in the mornings. I can also sleep at the drop of the hat. In fact there was a time when I was in school and college when I used to study by lying

Sitting on the lawns adjoining my hostel, a tall and stout woman, with her sari hitched half way up her legs, holding on to the hosepipe as if her life depended on it, suddenly appeared from nowhere. I blinked and she was gone. --- The cool winds and the lush green lawns did nothing to soothe my cranky nerves. Having passed with average marks in my SSC boards, I was pushing myself to score above average in my HSC boards. To save myself from the odious comparisons of studious and more bright roomies, I had taken to studying in the lawns adjoining my hostel. I pored over my books, frowned, scowled, walked up and down remembering, recalling and then going blank. My rather feeble and reluctant smiles were reserved only for the surly, gruff head gardener or Kaka as I called him. He was the one who called the shots in the lawns, shooing away students at will. Seeing that I posed no hindrance when he watered the lawns lavishly, trimmed the hedges, or cleaned the marble statue of o