On the terrace.

At 233 Khetwadi Main Road, we lived in a huge terrace flat. http://tinyurl.com/3wcmt2. The terrace in front was our cricket ground. http://tinyurl.com/4ot9wz. It was also where we anchored the poles of our Bush radio aerial. http://tinyurl.com/4ndw75. The tiny strip of a terrace on top of the flat was used mainly for flying fighter kites. http://tinyurl.com/52znpb. There were many more uses to which the terrace abutting the flat was put. Like drying stuff: home-made papad, just roasted seasamum seed before making the til ladoos, drying red chilli before grinding it on the hand-powered grinding stone http://tinyurl.com/3etyu7, making sun-dried pickles, you name it. As for me, I used to sail paper boats in the rain water streams that flowed all over it. I also used to park and drive my pedal powered cars and scooters there the year round. I don't remember ever riding a tricycle up there, though. I did have a rather natty light blue topless car with a dark blue trim all around it. After having weathered two or three monsoons, it acquired several rust spots all over it. Though I cannot swear on it, I have a feeling that the first car was replaced by a red roofless one. I remember being pushed around in my car as well as furiously pedalling it in all around the terrace, eyes screwed up in concentration. After the pedal cars, I also owned a couple of scooters. The scooter was a rectangular platform with a wheel at each end and a handle attached to the turnable front wheel. You planted your left foot on the platform, gripped the handle with both hands and propelled yourself around with your right foot. I used to play-act a script with some sort of a super-powered, caped character in it. The scooter played the supporting role of my super-fast vehicle. When I was 12, a Middle Eastern friend of my father's, Mr Kazrani I think his name was, gifted me with a sleek green Clyde semi-racer bicycle complete with wire breaks and a dynamo-powered head lamp. I learned to ride it on our terrace. Later on, after adding gears to it, I used to ride it on the Marine Drive and even take it up to the Hanging Gardens in the summer holidays. I learned to drive after age 18 on the second family car: a red Renault 4CV. http://tinyurl.com/4m58jq.

Go fly a kite, bum.

Some people are born bums. This story is about one such character from my childhood. He was an ace kite flyer and I was absolutely fascinated by his skill at snaring other kites, cutting off their string and setting them adrift. He used to do it with such ease in the crowded kite flying day sky (Makarsankranti or Pongal). He was notorious for his pranks and was banished to a boarding school in Bordi, a coastal village near Mumbai, after his father's death and his mother's realisation that he was an incorrigible and irrepressible bum. His brother, though mild and controllable, was banished too (like Laxman with Rama). The prankster never turned a new leaf after he returned from the vanavasa. And, never held down a job. He used to drop in on and off at our house in Khetwadi and invariably on Makarsankranti. Always joking, always ready to fly a kite. Then, one fine day, he simply disappeared from my life. After a while, everybody stopped talking about him and I forgot him too. Till this morning, when I suddently looked up and saw a lonely kite flying up there.