Photographs are curious things. They can have the most unusual effect on you. I was rummaging through my old album when I chanced upon one that reminded me of a particularly endearing time. We were together even then, my cousin and I. Even though the photo was jaded I could still make out the place. It was my grandmother’s. It was over 30 years old and had an orchard that smelled like mangoes or jackfruits depending on the time of the year. We were barely two years old. I was perched on a tricycle of sorts. My cousin, Nannu as I call him was sheepishly trying to climb on it with me. We were both fairly plump and posed in the manner expected of two year olds- clumsy but cute nevertheless. I had a big head back then, large pronounced forehead and loose flowing hair, almost girl like. My big brown eyes stared in to the camera, perplexed, like a deer in front of headlights.I was wearing a blazing red tee and purple shorts. Nannu had softer features, a farcry from what he looks like now. He was wearing blue tees and green shorts. He had jet black hair combed to perfection, a funny shaped nose, sea green eyes and, in the picture, his face wore a calm and unassuming smile.The picture itself looked like it was taken around late evening when the sun’s much kinder and it gave our skins an orange hue. It must have been windy for my hair was awkwardly out of place. We looked so happy and content that it was almost ethereal. There was just so much of joy in that picture that it reminded me of a much simpler time, a time where innocence prevailed, a time when purple and green shorts were in vogue, a time that I realised, I’d do well to remember.
