Childhood : His, Hers and Mine

Childhood is not when we are in the early stage of growing up but when we are through it and start  thinking about it. It then, becomes a phase, nostalgia kicks in. The greatness of that phase lies in how often we think about it which is long lost. Everything has a first time and childhood is when we taste the beginning of many of our firsts. What I remember among my many firsts is the bicycle ride, my school bag and the chocolate I tasted. The colours you see remain with you for a lifetime. I still dwell upon  'Alice in Wonderland' read to me by my father and the story which he churned out of a rhyme. 

The rhyme went like this,    '' Little Miss Muffet,sat on a tuft, 

                                                 eating her curd and whey.

                                                 There came a big spider, that sat beside her,

                                              which frightened which Miss Muffet away.''

Every Monday would see a newly bandaged me. Even if the wounds were tiny my knee would have the image of a serious injury. The extravagant dressing of the bruises were done by my father. We made a great league. I have had episodes of skin allergies and it's treatment was fun. The thin nozzle of 'Neosporin' would push out the alphabets I said on my toe and knee ( these were the two areas prone to accidents and infection!).

Then came a day when I wanted to eat a chocolate bar like how they do in advertisements. My grandmother was completely against us eating chocolates, she would point out the health hazards like it would damage the teeth and stomach as well. So we decided to have our chocolate bar in total secrecy.I still remember the green and gold coloured 'Amul' milk chocolate bar  we had under the table.

Cut to twenty years back and there was no chocolate bars available as such. Not that it was not being sold but those were least accessible as money made a great deal then. The needs and necessities were to be graded and spent accordingly. So there was no question of neither pocket money nor chocolates. But as kids they (my aunt and my father) had a creative alternative. They named it 'nim-nim', like how the ice-creamwala's bell would sound. It was made using a steel spoon, spoonful of sugar and candle light. These three can easily reveal the trade secret behind their homemade self innovated sweet. The caramelized lollipop would satisfy their cravings.

My mother's was different, their house always being compared to one like the garden of Eden, they would satisfy their hunger pangs with whatever grew there. May it be mangoes or jamming or jack fruit, they had more of these specially during their summer holidays. She always mentions her cousins and friends occupying a space near the mango trees and running helter-skelter as soon as the wind would knock a few down.
  

            "I lived in the garden of Eden",

           The twinkled eyes said stories of her childhood;

           The lost phase of her life had weaved in the best of memories.

            With  the low lying branches of jamun, serving as a prototype,

 for a bus while they played.

           Bizarre they were, when it came to the games they played,

           those created for them by themselves, unlike now.

            With a slight breeze in the noon, they'd 

             spread the mat there she said.

             Waiting for it to knock the mangoes down;

               a game in itself;

             All senses alert, they ran for the fresh catch,

             memories staying afresh.

            Strings attached, brotherhood grew, deep rooted;

         like the trees there.

           It bore fruits of humanity, to be passed on,

            pristine like those drops on that pine.

            Frozen are those memories, gone are those days.

           She could still live in her memories;

          me yearning for the same, leaving the rest to my imagination."