Read this lovely piece.. a few days back, reminded me of those school PT periods spent playing saankli and other games that I haven't played since :( Thought should share it with all of you..........
IF you know what I'm talking about when I use the word 'Saankli' then you're probably as old as I am. At least that's what I thought.
Until one day, about a week back, when my seven-year-old daughter took me to the dentist. She was babbling away in the backseat as is her genetic right. I wasn't paying too much attention because my daughter is not my wife and I am therefore under no constitutional obligation to hear (and remember) her every word.
Besides, I was going to the dentist. So my mind was on other trivial things. Like pain. Anyways somewhere mid-babble I picked up a once familiar, long forgotten word. Saankli.
Even through the waves of prospective pain the images came rushing back. Saankli. Also known as Chain Cook.
For the benefit of the unfamiliar and the terminally young allow me to explain: Once upon a time there was no TV. And children had to play games to entertain themselves. One such game was Saankli. The game started with one person being den. The den would try to catch the others. Every time the den caught someone that person would have to hold the den's hand and try and catch the next person who would then get added to the "chain" or "saankli". Get it?
Now admittedly this doesn't exactly sound like much competition to the XBox. But believe me it was fun. So much fun that we played it right up to the time we were teenagers. Though by then Saankli had a hidden agenda. Now the idea was you had to be den. Then you had to make absolutely sure that you first caught the cute girl who occupied your every waking (and sleeping) thought. So that you could hold her hand. Just that. Hold her hand.
How it made your heart ache (little boys are so silly, really) as you plotted and prayed that your plan would work. So Saankli, you can imagine, had a very special place in my time. Until of course we grew up and graduated to Dark Room (but that's another story and might not get told without an A certificate).
And so, as my daughter babbled on, my mind drifted into that happily anesthetic state of remembering. But too much remembering can be detrimental to mental well-being.Saankli… running around on warm sunny afternoons… nice… holding hands… so nice… pretty little girls in pretty little dresses… so, so nice… naughty little boys… suddenly I jerked to consciousness.
"Er… darling… who do you play Saankli with?" ("And have you ever heard of a game called Dark Room?" I almost blurted). "My friends, who else? Hanh, so as I was saying, if you get me a puppy dog…"
"Er, darling, I hate to interrupt you but what I meant is who, exactly who?"
There comes a certain time in life when fathers ask the Who question. And when they do that they mean name, address, telephone number, family morals, history of mental ill-health if any, drug usage if any (God forbid), number and nature of body piercings (Oh please, please God forbid) and other sundry critical details.
After all a father's worst nightmare is that his daughter will find a man. (And that man will be exactly like him).
"All my friends, daddy. Now listen, nah". I stopped the car. "Darling, this is important. Who, I mean, were there any…? Did you, like… were there any… Girls?"Daddys can be devious.
"Of course, daddy. Of course there were girls. Don't you know? We only play with girls. Boys are so so yuck! You know there's this boy in my class who digs his nose. And then he comes running after us to shake our hands. Yuck!"
Phew! I could relax. For a few more years at least. And dream about my dentist.
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Source : Salima (as a Forward)
URL : http://in.news.yahoo.com/070427/48/6f3hw.html
