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Goodnight Bobo Bear

I was walking Mia the other night. As she sniffed and shuffled around, I caught a whiff of cologne - a clean familiar tang. Walking by was a middle aged man, trousered and shirted, coming back from an evening out somewhere. His top button was undone and he looked so familiar. Till I realised he wasn't anyone I knew, but he reminded me of someone I knew.
For years, watching my parents get ready to go out for a party is something indelibly etched in my mind. We were usually in our nightclothes watching TV, sometimes being babysat by our help, and sometimes just on our own. My mom coiffing her hair a layer at a time; glossing her red lipstick; putting on her gold watch and always at the end bending her knees and carefully stepping on the back of her sari to ensure it fell neatly. My dad in the meantime would have cuffed and collared and aftershaved and polished and spritzed himself generously with cologne and then at the end he'd remove this ridiculous purple beanie he'd wear …

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