When it was all a child’s play

Someone once told me, and aptly so, never let the child in you die. At that time I did not pay much heed to it, but for reasons unknown, the thought lingered in some corner my memory. The little joys of life that peppered my childhood have translated into beautiful memories that I so fondly treasure.

The flights of fantasy at that age knew no bounds. Everything was so intriguing, so fascinating -- the colours of butterflies, the trail of ants, the call of cuckoos -- I had friends in them all.  We didn’t need words to communicate. In our own space and at our own pace we enjoyed each other’s company.  

Tiptoeing to catch dragonflies was a favourite pastime during the summers. There were always one too many, sprinting from one twig to another, disappearing and reappearing in a blink, even before my nimble fingers could nab them. And every time that I managed to get hold of one, I would offer it a blade of grass and watch the fun -- the fragile thing trying to grasp it, nibble on it, all at the same time. Soon I would let it free and set my eyes on another one.

In the sultry, boring summer afternoons, after the drudgery of loaded lessons in school, nothing got me going like the jugalbandi with a cuckoo which I never saw -- despite umpteen attempts to spot her in the dark and deep foliage that surrounded my house. The bird’s two-note call was so piercing and incessant  in the stillness of the noon that I invariably took it upon myself to give her company, matching every note,  making mine sound as real as hers. This would go on till the little birdy would give up on me, at least for the day.

With ants, I had a different equation. I would while away hours watching them carry food, sometimes just a grain of sugar, sometimes a wing of a dead fly, sometimes some biscuit particles. Their team work, co-ordination and relentless effort to stock up food for the winters always amazed me. On my part, the digression would always be in the midst of a brain-racking math problem or a boring history lesson that I had to learn by heart. Thanks to these cute creatures who allowed me a space in their tiny world, my world would cheer up instantly.

There are stories aplenty, of such engaging trivialities that have marked my growing years. I know the child in me has not died. It’s only lying dormant till a chirpy little sparrow comes hopping on its windowpane.