It's a rainy evening and the hammering of the raindrops against my window pane make me nostalgic. The rains always do that to me, bringing back memories of my innocent childhood. Closing my eyes, I go back in time to those days when the biggest sin you could commit was not bringing your own pencil to school. Those days were many and yet, few. Friend,s at that point of time, were people you enjoyed life with, running around loose in each others' houses and lawns with not a care in the world. Those evenings of swinging upside down on the jungle gym, playing football in the cricket field close by, skating in the rink in the park and the like, seem to haunt me with a tinge of sorrow, whispering of how those days will never come back...
I remember my summer mornings as clearly as peering through crystal. Picnics on the golf course munching on chocos and sandwiches, running barefoot on the grass seem like bliss. Sunscreen was unheard of, of course at that age. I remember making daisy chains, painting tiny acorns with metallic paint and jumping into the deep end of the pool in the sweltering afternoons. I remember watching my mother daintily applying her lipstick, draping her saree for the Coffee Evenings, neatly styling her hair. I remember those evenings when my father would be searching frantically for his cummerbund for those cocktail parties. And still, I remember the wistfulness I felt as a child, wishing for those days when I would one day dress up and be a grown up to go to those "fancy" parties...
But what I remember and miss most of all from among my treasure trove of memories, are those people who came, stayed, and left during my formative years. They taught me much. They made me - ME. From my very first day at Primary School in class I B in June to my last day in Junior High School in class VII A in the month of March , my memories stay fond and close to my heart. And so the hammering dulls to a soft drumming and as I close my treasure chest, I mind not to lock it shut too tight. After all, there will come many evenings when the hammering will begin again...
I remember my summer mornings as clearly as peering through crystal. Picnics on the golf course munching on chocos and sandwiches, running barefoot on the grass seem like bliss. Sunscreen was unheard of, of course at that age. I remember making daisy chains, painting tiny acorns with metallic paint and jumping into the deep end of the pool in the sweltering afternoons. I remember watching my mother daintily applying her lipstick, draping her saree for the Coffee Evenings, neatly styling her hair. I remember those evenings when my father would be searching frantically for his cummerbund for those cocktail parties. And still, I remember the wistfulness I felt as a child, wishing for those days when I would one day dress up and be a grown up to go to those "fancy" parties...
But what I remember and miss most of all from among my treasure trove of memories, are those people who came, stayed, and left during my formative years. They taught me much. They made me - ME. From my very first day at Primary School in class I B in June to my last day in Junior High School in class VII A in the month of March , my memories stay fond and close to my heart. And so the hammering dulls to a soft drumming and as I close my treasure chest, I mind not to lock it shut too tight. After all, there will come many evenings when the hammering will begin again...
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