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Most of my best memories are of Madras. But, hey, grab your tea and ribbon pakoda, get comfortable, and prepare to enter my la vie en rose.
My oldest memory is from age 1 or so. Freshly mottai, just like a group of Tirupati-bound folks a couple of doors down the street who just assumed that I was part of their goshti. A JIT intervention by the maid was required to save me from an alternate life.
An abiding memory is my grandparents' house in Nungambakkam, with its mango, guava and hibiscus trees. I once cut my foot badly while chasing a cat up the mango tree, and didn't know until I saw bloody footprints on the mosaic floor.
