The taste of Sugar

The taste of Sugar

June 14, 2018

 

 

WEDDINGS. I love the wedding atmosphere. The energetic vibes of good fortunes and memoirs to remember.

Often I feel myself swaying in the childhood memories.

I find myself laying down on the Verandah on an April Summer day. It had just rained and the sun was shining up my head. I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I just slipped down the stairs and broke my nail. I was 4.

My grandmother picked me up while I was sobbing, terrified and shocked looking at my finger, the sight of blood.  A sudden surge of pain and fear made me weak.

That's the first memory I recollect of blood.

Mum came home from work. We were supposed to attend a wedding reception. Tiny droplets of red dripped down on my lemon colored dress indulging Red into the fabric, distorting the perfection of lime. An impatient tear rolled down my cheek. I was waiting for her on the terrace when I lost control and stumbled. I couldn't go to the marriage. It was a sad day

 

I was a healthy kid. I rarely fell sick and was always game.

I wanted to conquer the world.

 

My uncle used to ride a bicycle. In the winter evenings, he used to come back from work when me and my sister ran towards the gate in our sweaters. We'd sit on his bicycle for him to take us on joyrides. He used to bring us candies everyday, Those orange candies posed to me all the miracles.

I used to climb the trees. We had a lot of them around the house back then. I used to smack my sister's head and climb up the tree when she chased me. She didn't know how to. I felt instant relief and immense joy in pitying her, laughing at her when she used to stand by the tree, waiting for me to get down.

I rode the tractor when my uncle used to till the fields, turning over the soil.

We had no televisions back then.

Life was simple. The kitchen play set was my gateway to the world.  Clay Toys used to be my best friends and sugarcane the thrills. Life was fun.

My grandmother used to churn butter, yogurt and buttermilk on those lazy evenings when we used to sit around her and fascinate through our textbooks. I grew up in a joint family, always pampered and cared for.

My grandfather was a veteran and a loving man,

He used to take me on evening walks along the fields, talking endlessly. We used to spend a lot of time together, riding our car along the old dusty roads to get to a place where they tapped jaggery out of sugarcane. I still remember the sweet fragrance of freshly prepared jaggery, served on a fig leaf.

My grandfather used to spoil me with pancakes topped with a chunk of butter and sugar. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, I fell in love with it instantly. I forced him to make me those everyday. The obsession for pancakes grew so much that I convinced myself for eating that same course for breakfast, lunch and dinner, for the rest of my life.

I had picked my poison.

It feels good now, thinking about those times when I never used to fuss about my sugar levels or the amount of food I could eat, lest carbohydrates or any other complications.

The damage I could do, by eating just a little extra.

My life has changed in a lot of manners, ever since my diagnosis, I was 7 back then.. 

Jaggery doesn't tastes the same now.

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