The Kid In Me

What does it mean to be a kid at heart?

The first thing that I remember as a kid was to while my time sky gazing. The sun shine dancing on the leaves of a Neem tree, the branch of which almost touched the window. Somehow I had this notion that if I could climb the topmost branch I would be able to cuddle the clouds. I still can while away hours staring at the cottony clouds sailing past. As I have written in one of the posts on how to spend time post retirement, one of the daily agendas will be lying on the folding cot in the balcony and sky watching especially in the soft sun shine of freezing winter.

As I started getting sucked into the world of books my imagination became wilder. Summer nights we would be sleeping on the terrace. In the evening gallons of water was poured to cool down the terrace floor. Coolers were a luxury which few families possessed. Air conditioners were unaffordable. The least we could enjoy was a table fan. But the nights were cooler. So natural air was soothing enough to handhold us to fairyland.

Those were the days of clear sky, pollution free environment and breeze awash with fragrances of flowers and greenery around. As the night deepened the stars twinkled brighter against the backdrop of an inky blue sky. The moon glided up with a smile. It was my firm belief that aliens looked down upon us from above and one day they would positively descend to say hullo. Courtesy Satyajit Ray’s bizarre short stories which kindled my hopes of befriending the extra terrestrials. Much later the movie ET reconfirmed my figments of riotous imagination. It was in my early thirties that my sister deemed it appropriate to compel me to draw a line between facts and fictions. But given my nature that thin line gets thinner and blurred even now at times.

I was never a sports person but playing in the evenings was a must. Computers, Video Games and PlayStations were not invented till then. We were closer to Nature. Boys and girls together, we made a ruckus in the gully, fell down, got hurt and up again in no time. Sometimes I wish I had played more. That’s one thing, alas, I can’t do anymore.

I still love to read children’s books. Even the books for young adults were different and much guarded. I collect them now to fan my fancies a little farther. There used to be a series of Bengali pulp fictions which was kind of banned for us. They were thin crime thrillers with colourful covers. My father seemed to be disgusted if he found us (me and my sister) reading them. Not only in our household, in every Bengali family it was the same. One day we caught father carrying one for a train journey. Of course we had lots to say about that which was only met with a sheepish grin. Recently I got the whole series of ninety eight books from the Publisher. When I told him I was preserving childhood memories he made an extra effort to post me the entire collection from Kolkata.

I guess next would be Enid Blyton. I repent not having read them enough along with Nancy Drew’s, Hardy Boys , Phantom, Tintin et all. I can read them all over again. I was never into Mills & Boons and Barbara Cartlands in my teens. But I enjoyed Georgette Heyer and Victoria Holt. But that was much later.

I was not good at drawing but used to love colouring. Am gradually proceeding towards doodling. My doodles are still very child like.

In the long summer afternoons we played indoor games – cards, Ludo, Chinese Checker. I guess my penchant for all the word building games online is a substitutive pleasure of those noon funs.

As we grow older we recreate the past more. I am more comfortable the way my home used to be as a kid. Needless to say I am far away from modern decor. The cozy comfort is more me.

I love to re-read the books or authors I was fond of as a kid. I watch movies which has a touch of yester year.

I cook food the way mother used to. Though the dishes do not turn out as they should. Mother was an excellent cook. I don’t come even half way closer to her. Yet I try. It’s more an exercise to churn up memories.

In office we talk of how we used to play hard, play pranks on each other and be into Nature. The street foods we loved. The dresses we wore. It’s good to see those old fashion coming back again. Recently I bought a long frock.

Life has a tendency to come full circle. A three sixty degree turn. The fetal pose. Going back to where we came from. Aging to be a child again. This is what growing is. Starting all over again. Learning all over again. Being curious all over again. And not failing to get surprised and happy to experience a de ja vue kind of feel at every bend. That’s what being a kid again is I suppose.

I often thought had I not grown up….life would have been different. Today I feel, writing this post, I have seriously not grown up. I am still in my nursery.

How wonderful !! 😊😊😊

Pic from Pexel