tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7286821619549757823.post1461862471586769933..comments2023-06-21T13:33:18.520+05:30Comments on kriticulture: GachcooRajesh Sharmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11144914400704668707noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7286821619549757823.post-84631496483961377942012-05-09T07:32:58.617+05:302012-05-09T07:32:58.617+05:30A tender story that sensitively recreates the magi...A tender story that sensitively recreates the magic of childhood and points to the inevitable loss of the rainbow in the inexorable march of life.Subhash Chandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7286821619549757823.post-14502554022114807802012-05-03T19:59:53.678+05:302012-05-03T19:59:53.678+05:30immortal lines that connect our mortalities...immortal lines that connect our mortalities...Rajesh Sharmahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11144914400704668707noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7286821619549757823.post-55138697113522621222012-05-03T19:49:58.219+05:302012-05-03T19:49:58.219+05:30How one thing leads to another
We too had a Pathan...How one thing leads to another<br />We too had a Pathan chooranwala selling a tangy product at recess time.He sang an accompaniment to the metronome-like movement of his arms- one of which mixed the ingredients and the other ladled them into an improvised paper cone.The song went tot gulabiyan wadi jatein- an argot of pushto and panjabi.we bought the stuff because we were rivetted by his nasal rendering. Thirty years later in 1978 he was still outside the school , now crumpled and rheumy- eyed,quietly pouring his chooran into the paper cone.. He had forgotten his song.<br />when I reminded him of our days at school all he said-now in heavily accented Kashmiri was kya doh ais those were the days!M.L. Rainanoreply@blogger.com