My diary

Just realised that its over a year since I started this blog.Why did I?.Well at that point I was bored out of my skull and couldn't stick to anything for too long.This was yet another experiment but its become part of me.Its a great feeling to write,just about anything.It clears my mind and it brings back things long forgotten and a lot of my friends and family read but like me they are far too lazy to leave comments so I guess I should be happy just being me.
I started my first diary when I was six.My elder sister gave me a readers digest pocket diary(she thought a six year old wont have much to write home about)and I was so trilled that it went on till I was around twelve.I reread my six year old writing when I was around thirteen and was shocked at how my life revolved around the number of times I had had to go to the loo,or the number of times I ate with a faithful detail of the menu.Looks like I had this great weakness for Amul butter and hot rice.
My uncle in Kerala chanced on the diary once and was suitably impressed with my detailed account of my trips to the loo.You see a lot of it was written while on holiday in Kerala(my wise sister thought that was the best way to keep me out of her hair).The loo was always a good mile walk from the main house.It required climbing down many a mud step to reach the place which smelt of fresh earth,mulberries and centipedes.My sisters would have to fetch water from the well and bring it along.I wasn't allowed to draw water as the weight of the bucket and I were around the same and by some convoluted Kerala physics,that meant that there was every chance of my falling into the well so best avoided.Because the loo was so far away and I had this huge fear that I wouldn't be able to control myself,I would run very often(more than necessary)just to be safe.My biggest fears were the nights.My sisters refused to leave the house at night and poor me was forced to use the vegetable patch.That was traumatic as I was convinced that all the goblins were out to get me(my sister read tons of fairy tales to me everyday and it fuelled an already active imagination)Besides which there was a pig at home who for some strange reason has a fascination for a bare bottom(especially if it belonged to a child).I think I had plenty to write home about even if it was only about my loo trips.Till date most of what I remember of that house is its loo.