It opened a window back in time! And with the clothes that tumbled out were the days that filled the mind of times that were boundless and virgin!
The blue , pleated skirt was there! The one which read an almost epic like school days of twelve years! Those years of chalk and blackboard, of the wooden ruler, of a marvellous transition from lead pencils to pens! And there she came running, gasping for breath, her pigtails trying very hard to free themselves from the black ribbons! My best buddy! I tried to figure out what she was whispering! But as impatient as she was, she almost disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust on the playground and a bonny lad chasing with all his might! I no more had the power to be a part of that which gave me two slashed knees and a few troubled "Parent-teacher" meets!
What did I see lying next to the skirt? That lovely little petite white and green frock worn on my seventh birthday!
The same dress, which had a replica in the safe and zealous custody of my sister. Though the idea of possessing the same piece was not too encouraging, yet all this was drowned in the incredible high decible noise with my friends pouring in to celebrate the most coveted day of my life each year, my "Happy Birthday", as it was popularly described during those days! Well, a birthday was always meant to be "happy" and there was no other emotion that I could attach with it!! The most awaited moment arrives and there on the glass table lay the cake! Mom's spent a good deal of the day readying it for the evening. The cake is a bunny this year. Makes me ponder with a sense of juvenile pride, "My Mom's very smart!" Its too pretty and I can earn a lot of "wows" from my buddies. With imaptient hands I run the knife midway through the bunny! Oh! Only if I could preserve it!! But there were more significant things yet to be performed, including the ritual of smearing some cake on each other! Even on the 25th one, I couldnt help but repeat the act!! Some habits never die!
Hours of games and laughter just go by and tiny yawns descend on our eyes. It time to say "Good Night" to my friends and address the most important task. Unwrap the gift packs! Sleep cannot divest the giggles and tiny yells of joy that accompany this fanciful job!! I am a year older and I wish it happens quicker the next time!!
Something tugs at my heart. It is one of the multi-colored pair of gloves. The winter descends. I hear mom insisting that both, sister and me should wear our caps and be well-covered in layers of sweater! How I hate the burden. Feel like poor Atlas, who shoulders the Earth! The misty mornings, the daily inner tussle to-go-or-not-to go to school ofcourse! The hands that led me on to the gates of the school! The tales to keep me awake during the arduous tred! The candies I managed to bag feigning disgust for school! When all the while I could not wait to join my friends in the classroom and on the play field. She saw me off everyday! The eyes which kept their promise, the eyes I searched long after they closed for one last time. My granparents taught the art to smile through turmoils. I am yet to master the art! The gloves still smell of their touch, their warmth, their strength.
My legs took me to the corner where lay an old pair of canvas shoe. The blue and white, now popularly marketed as "Converse" and lapped up by younsters and not so youngs! Then they were the shoes which took me to most of the places, the dance classes, the afternoon rendezvous with buddies, the market and for those walks with my pet Dachshund. The pair was not the seemingly feminine one, which I dreamt of acquiring one day! The ones which all the older girls in school wore during fests. But those were apparently not great for girls of my age at seven. The dirt and slush still remain on the pair...
A little more of hunt unravels that the most coveted piece of attire I have treasured. The first proper pair of denims. There I was, wearing it, flaunting it but as subtly as was possible. It was the call of freedom, of the emancipation the teenage soul seeks. The thrill, the exhilaration is stupendous. The feeling that I have arrived! The world seems conquerable! The jeans irons in the realisation of the self, the desire to feel beautiful, the need to be appreciated, the starry dreams which crowded the head. There she was still wrapped those days of confusion and arguments, of furtive glances and impish giggles, the zillion card and notes received proclaiming undying love. The jeans which trekked with me through the new meadows of emotions and the renovated world, which shielded me from the first atrocities the world throws. I better call it the Today Tomorrow pair. The one that kindled the thought to see beyond....
As I fold them back into their napthalene protected shelves of the almirah, the images swirl around me. They dance in gay abandon. They donot have to struggle through another day. They are forever young. 7 to 17 they will remain. They are the schizophrenic illusions which transfer me into the world of carelessness, of dirt and grime, of severe caning and tear stained cheeks, of heart breaks and gregarious flirting, of hemlines rising, of candyfloss still attracting longing eyes.
I still wear denim...just the shades have been altered....
The blue , pleated skirt was there! The one which read an almost epic like school days of twelve years! Those years of chalk and blackboard, of the wooden ruler, of a marvellous transition from lead pencils to pens! And there she came running, gasping for breath, her pigtails trying very hard to free themselves from the black ribbons! My best buddy! I tried to figure out what she was whispering! But as impatient as she was, she almost disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust on the playground and a bonny lad chasing with all his might! I no more had the power to be a part of that which gave me two slashed knees and a few troubled "Parent-teacher" meets!
What did I see lying next to the skirt? That lovely little petite white and green frock worn on my seventh birthday!
The same dress, which had a replica in the safe and zealous custody of my sister. Though the idea of possessing the same piece was not too encouraging, yet all this was drowned in the incredible high decible noise with my friends pouring in to celebrate the most coveted day of my life each year, my "Happy Birthday", as it was popularly described during those days! Well, a birthday was always meant to be "happy" and there was no other emotion that I could attach with it!! The most awaited moment arrives and there on the glass table lay the cake! Mom's spent a good deal of the day readying it for the evening. The cake is a bunny this year. Makes me ponder with a sense of juvenile pride, "My Mom's very smart!" Its too pretty and I can earn a lot of "wows" from my buddies. With imaptient hands I run the knife midway through the bunny! Oh! Only if I could preserve it!! But there were more significant things yet to be performed, including the ritual of smearing some cake on each other! Even on the 25th one, I couldnt help but repeat the act!! Some habits never die!
Hours of games and laughter just go by and tiny yawns descend on our eyes. It time to say "Good Night" to my friends and address the most important task. Unwrap the gift packs! Sleep cannot divest the giggles and tiny yells of joy that accompany this fanciful job!! I am a year older and I wish it happens quicker the next time!!
Something tugs at my heart. It is one of the multi-colored pair of gloves. The winter descends. I hear mom insisting that both, sister and me should wear our caps and be well-covered in layers of sweater! How I hate the burden. Feel like poor Atlas, who shoulders the Earth! The misty mornings, the daily inner tussle to-go-or-not-to go to school ofcourse! The hands that led me on to the gates of the school! The tales to keep me awake during the arduous tred! The candies I managed to bag feigning disgust for school! When all the while I could not wait to join my friends in the classroom and on the play field. She saw me off everyday! The eyes which kept their promise, the eyes I searched long after they closed for one last time. My granparents taught the art to smile through turmoils. I am yet to master the art! The gloves still smell of their touch, their warmth, their strength.
My legs took me to the corner where lay an old pair of canvas shoe. The blue and white, now popularly marketed as "Converse" and lapped up by younsters and not so youngs! Then they were the shoes which took me to most of the places, the dance classes, the afternoon rendezvous with buddies, the market and for those walks with my pet Dachshund. The pair was not the seemingly feminine one, which I dreamt of acquiring one day! The ones which all the older girls in school wore during fests. But those were apparently not great for girls of my age at seven. The dirt and slush still remain on the pair...
A little more of hunt unravels that the most coveted piece of attire I have treasured. The first proper pair of denims. There I was, wearing it, flaunting it but as subtly as was possible. It was the call of freedom, of the emancipation the teenage soul seeks. The thrill, the exhilaration is stupendous. The feeling that I have arrived! The world seems conquerable! The jeans irons in the realisation of the self, the desire to feel beautiful, the need to be appreciated, the starry dreams which crowded the head. There she was still wrapped those days of confusion and arguments, of furtive glances and impish giggles, the zillion card and notes received proclaiming undying love. The jeans which trekked with me through the new meadows of emotions and the renovated world, which shielded me from the first atrocities the world throws. I better call it the Today Tomorrow pair. The one that kindled the thought to see beyond....
As I fold them back into their napthalene protected shelves of the almirah, the images swirl around me. They dance in gay abandon. They donot have to struggle through another day. They are forever young. 7 to 17 they will remain. They are the schizophrenic illusions which transfer me into the world of carelessness, of dirt and grime, of severe caning and tear stained cheeks, of heart breaks and gregarious flirting, of hemlines rising, of candyfloss still attracting longing eyes.
I still wear denim...just the shades have been altered....
