Some people write poems, some live poetically. I am but a
string of simple pendulum constantly caught between the two extremes. Are you
too? Let's tread together then, holding each other's hands, over the mud paved
roads of childhood.
The weight of individualism was heavy since attaining
consciousness. I saw myself too different to the extent of believing that I
might be composed not of flesh and blood but some magic sand, clouds and
feathers. The first time I saw my X-Ray test report, there was a feeling of awe
at the knowledge of having backbone and ribs, just like everyone else. That moment
was necessary to bring forth the realization that we all are constituted of
same stuffs and humanity unites us.
When I would look at the starry night sky, I thought that
the most glorious milestone to be ever achieved is to succeed in counting all
the stars twinkling over the vast canvas. Summer nights under the sky and cool
breeze passing through one's soul felt heavenly, even though the idea of 'soul'
remained mysterious. As a child, I was awfully curious and most troublesome of
all my siblings. Brave mother of mine might have been really patient. I had a
keen interest in collecting toys and drowned deep into the unreal world of
thoughtfulness. The toys ranged from usual cooking accessories to empty
bottles, to sharpeners, erasers, discarded jewelry items, and so on. There used
to be a corner shop run by an old moon-like haired lady. The products ranged
from a wide variety of churans, sweets of incredible shapes and sizes
accompanied with minute plastic toys to tempt the kids even more. A tiny arrow
and bow was one such thing. On losing the arrow somewhere, the quest for an
alternative began. A new cherry colored table clock was found. At one secluded
corner of the house, a few days later the clock was discovered in a shattered
condition with a broken glass and needle missing. Near it stood the half broken
brick smiling with mischief.
Memories dwelled over the two hemispheres: outdoor and
indoor. The former was bound by time while the latter remained predominant.
Outdoor sports involved a number of neighbourhood kids. One person would knock
the doors of the houses of remaining friends as the afternoon sun dipped itself
in the cup of evening. 3pm itself would
add spring to our feet and our parents would be equally alert during that hour.
Those days, an elevated ground was the hub of a number of activities, occupied
by adults and kids alike. Some enchanting unreal sights showed two small ponds.
One, where fishes lived once and gradually water evaporated and mud settled
over it each year swallowing its depth. Another one was not a pond, but a well
where kids couldn't pass without peeping in to find something interesting. Life
was pretty equal and levelled up before the advent of adolescence. Annual fair
brought a deep aura of delightfulness, melody of basuri, sweetness of puffed up
khaaja, weird looking brown colored eatable of the shape of moon and stars,
noise of mamira neem ka thanda surma, announcing the existence of a fair, kids
running around in lanes with weird sounding gadgets freshly purchased from the
fair like a cap with two horns that unfolded with every blow. Monkey shows and saanp-sapera
shows happened at every comfortable corner. Luckily I could steal glances from
my window or through a narrow opening of the door in case going out was under
objection. Rooftop always provided that perfect view. Rumours of children
kidnapped were effective enough to stop us from leaving the house. Still, the
swing nearby often stole our hearts and the worth of 50 paisa was heavily
acknowledged. I befriended one jhula wala who visited the place every year
during the ten day fair. When he would rotate the round pumpkin like seats, we
would shout with the top of our voices 'aur tez lambu bhaiya'. Ah yes he was
tall, thus his name became lambu. Nobody knew his real name. One morning he
took me to the mela grounds, a bit distant. We walked and chatted. He was
careful to point out to me every object of awe around. On returning home and
telling my mom about the fun morning walk experience I was surprised to find
her shocked and aghast. She warned me against it. I was too young to know
anything but friendship and affection, with everyone alike. A bundle of joys were
those days, a round sweet candy that was slowly disappearing in my mouth and
transforming into a memory.
...To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment