I am narrating this as I remember, in whatever order or disorder the thoughts come to me. So, please don't expect any hint of humor or satire.

As we moved to Vinay Nagar, thankfully with running taps and proper latrines, it felt like heaven. It was a typical government-owned housing complex, with rows of flats on both sides, a lawn, and a public tap in between. That lawn was always a hub of activity: women sitting together, knitting sweaters (I still wonder how many sweaters they must have knitted and how many of those were actually used by their own families), and kids playing—boys and girls always separately. Even talking to a girl was considered so inappropriate. The funny part was that our school was co-ed, but even there, boys and girls rarely mingled. Some men would walk around in the mornings with neem sticks in their mouths, brushing their teeth. This was considered the best way to clean teeth.

I made many friends there. Our most innovative game was pretending to drive an imaginary car, holding our hands like a steering wheel and making engine noises. Such creativity, yet it was so satisfying. Of course, there was hide and seek, a universal game played for centuries and likely to be played for centuries to come. A boy could never avoid playing cricket, the Englishman's game. I was one of the shortest boys, yet I had a reputation for being a good bowler. The stumps, ball, and bat belonged to me, so I enjoyed certain privileges. If I was out, it would be ignored. I could bowl any number of overs and bat whenever I wanted. Unashamedly, I enjoyed these privileges.

My dad got us a tiny glider and a so-called helicopter, both made of balsa wood, I think. We launched the plane from the terrace, and it narrowly missed a bus before crashing. That was the beginning and the end of it. The "helicopter," which didn't resemble a helicopter at all, had a stick with rotating wings on both ends connected by a rubber band. You would wind it up and launch it. We did, again from the terrace, and it flew so high and so far that it was lost! That was the end of that story, and we never got another one.

A tale of found and lost.

There used to be another interesting story. There was a Tamilian family in the corner flat on the opposite side. In a Delhi government quarters, who else are you likely to find? One night, the gentleman from that house was sleeping on a charpoy in the verandah, with part of his leg and foot stretching out. A small-time thief, trying to run away, dashed against the gentleman's feet, slipped, fell, and was caught! What luck. That "mama" became a local hero.

In the future, if more such memories come to mind, I will write about them. For now...

After giving my sons, wife, niece, and nephew a wonderful tour of the most important places of historical relevance to me—which consisted of three houses and one school, all in a "phat phati"—I imagine my sons and wife wondered, "Why is Dad so mad?" while my niece and nephew probably thought, "Why is Mama making such a drama?"

To be continued... 11. Bookishly Speaking - Part 1