TOPSY- TURVY

This happens to be the only Novella I ever wrote. Dates back to my graduation years...

Characters bear no resemblance to real life people, unless its just co-incidental ;-). Inspirations come form the likes of Mil Millington, E.B. White and Nicholas Sparks. Thank you! 

CHAPTER ONE

INITIATION

So this is it, I guess. This is how much my life will be worth. Few words and a few pages. It took me twenty-four years, seven months and six days to finally decide that this is what I wanted to do with my life. Write. I have been contemplating over what I would jot down when I finally poured down my thoughts, but I haven’t come up with anything concrete yet. I will just let the crescendo of emotions flood the following pages.

It is weird how thoughts refuse to materialize the moment you want them voiced. Even more stranger than that, is that just two minutes before I sat down with the pen, I had the perfect plot to go about my life, in so and so exact words. But now that I am attempting to write it is only with great strain that I can define anything at all, for that matter. I am staring at the blank walls, kicking the footstool next to my leg and balls of crushed paper arch all the way to the bin behind my door. What was I thinking? I can’t write for nuts. Not even if it was the end of the world and I was Earth’s only saving grace!

I see an ant crawling up from my windowsill. Its been climbing up that wall dexterously again and again for quite some time now. For a second there I almost felt I could hear its panting through its short-lived breaths. I meditated on it for so long, I think I almost helped push the poor creature over the top of my windowsill and into my room. Huh! I heaved a relieved sigh. It did make it to its destination. And now I think I can make it to mine as well. I have been finally hit by a brilliant stroke of ingenuity. I now know what I want to write about. I rest the pen between my thumb and fingers and bray to a discordant tune while the pen lies there, as snug as a gun, firing sparks of what I wisely call an episode of misfortunes in my life.

CHAPTER TWO

LIFE IS A FARCE-I’ll Tell You That For Nothing

I’ll tell you that for nothing. To choose my words wisely, my life has not been the rip-roaring spectacle I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common person-with common thoughts and I’ve lead a common life. However, there are things in this universe, which cannot be explained, and one of them is that even common lives have some inexplicable phenomenon to relate. That surprises me though. I never had anything interesting at all yet I am writing accounts of the same. Sometimes I almost believe that in fact it’s the very banality of my life that urges me to concoct a fictional adventure in the ordinariness of it all.

He said, “Yeah you see the plain far below is for lower mortals like you. But for people like us, we live in the far above plain of the transcendentalised…” he added with a smug smile and a twinkle in his eyes that made me suffer from a transitory hysterical blindness. What? I muttered to myself quizzically. I was thinking aloud to myself whether he just rambled a whole line from the thesaurus, when all of a sudden the soul sitting next to me shrieked into my eardrums and almost made me jump. “God, Herbert, you are just too smart”, she said coquettishly. Wait! A momentary blankness. Blink. Blink. I admit my memory span is that of an ant but did she just bat her eyelashes at him? Quick replay-my best friend Sarah is actually flirting with my boyfriend. But then that’s how things always were.

All these years of deceitful belief that I could hog a guy all to myself only to be dumped by each and every one of them, came flooding back. I had been jilted in love not once, not twice but four times, on each occasion he reason being my super gorgeous, hot and blonde best friend Sarah. It happened once in 7th grade, then in 10th grade, all the way up to high school. Even my playmate, James, in nursery couldn’t get his eyes off her. Yeah, I had a crush on him but sad enough it was one way. I may have been too young but that still counts as love. But now, that I was in college, and I met Herbert who professed his deep love for me on more than occasion, I thought things would be different.

And what about Herbert? He was smart, intelligent, loving and…. also happened to reciprocate Sarah’s unsaid intentions. Uggh! What made me think that would work out? I could see a whole life-time play itself before me with them snogging, snuggling together, loving kids…As much as it disgusted me, I couldn’t refrain from cackling at the thought. Life is a tale told by a fool. While I was deeply occupied with my introspection, I heard Herbert say-“So you think I am a jerk eh? Debbie? Using big words to charm my way through beautiful ladies?” he winked at Sarah. A half-hearted reply came out of my mouth and I found that voice unfamiliar; it felt as though the words weren’t even mine. “I am not the one who uses words like desideratum and diaphanous, and what not? I was just being modest!” I said. And then before I knew it Sarah butts in and says retorting- “Awww! C’mon Debbie! Give the guy a break!” she smiled at him and I saw a spark light between them. I knew what was to come next. But just for the record, even after all these years, ironically. Sarah is still going to be my best friend. Yeah! I know. Dumb. But I happen to have an eternal signboard stuck over my head, which reads –“Torture me! After all I am dumb!”

CHAPTER THREE

POST BREAK-UP BLUES

The anticipated ‘break-up’ must have delivered a thundering shock to me, deadening my recollection because now I have the dimmest memory of what happened next. I faintly remember, embarrassing myself before an audience which constituted a bartender, two couples from my college, a flamboyant waitress in skin-tight clothes, and a shocked nerd in the corner. I must have hurled abuses for an hour, or at least I’d like to think so, at the two of them. Somewhere, I also fancy reducing a WWF wrestle between Sarah and me to something more decent, and puke-inducingly more pansy.

I must have wallowed in self-pity for over a year. I took this as a serious sign of remaining a spinster for all my life. My social life came to a halt and started rotting as stagnated water. Gee…I must have really liked that guy Herbert. Sarah and I resumed normalcy after she discovered that Herbert and her were to stay for an overnight hitch.

Yeah, he came back groping me and begging me to take him back. But I was hurt and how could I re-date an ex who slept with my best friend and decides to come back to me the next morning, because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Kids borne through him might be serious rapists for all I know. So that was the end of the story with him. And honestly, I don’t think I will ever regret my decision. His capacity to fabricate an electric selection of half-truths and deep pockets full of quick fire mendacity rightly earned him the title of an “insensitive, pig-headed, self-proclaiming, quintessential jerk”!

CHAPTER FOUR

OLD FLAMES NEVER DIE

Life moved on, and the eternal fact finally sunk in- that life isn’t a fairy tale. I grew tired of the campus,and my misery, for some odd reason, kept multiplying. Every corridor I turned into lead me into this gloom of longing and I felt alienated; ostracized by my own figments of imagination. I wanted to belong somewhere, someplace, home. I got a call from Dad who kept giving me hints that something big was going to change his life forever but every time he would lead me to the disclosure and abruptly leave me clueless and hanging there with curiosity. I decided that I desperately wanted a break. So I went back home.

New Orleans had been my home ever since Mom had passed away. Its gothic buildings, misty air and surreptitious weather made it all the more intriguing. Unaware of the blow that was to come next, I leapt to hug my dad the moment I saw him in the New Orleans airport. During the car journey home, he decides to drop the bomb on me. “Honey! I think you have grown up beautifully even without your mother. Your mum would have been so proud of you, if she were alive today,” he smiled at me incandescently. “Still, I think that a young girl always needs a mother”, he paused and then continued “Now I know nothing can take the place of your mother but I think you have grown up enough to understand that at my age you need someone to walk with.” He finished with a solemn face and waited for me to say something. I grew impatient and casually remarked, “Where is all this heading to Dad?” He replied sheepishly, “I am getting married darling!” Wow! My chubby, bald, short, cute little Dad with another woman-and at the brink of his middle adulthood? Silence loomed in the car. Finally, breaking the silence, Dad asked, “So what do you think darling?”

“Gee, Papa. What can I say,” fighting for words in my head, “I am happy for you!” I added sycophantically. We chatted cheerfully along the rest of the journey and finally when we were approaching the driveway of our home, I commented teasingly “So how come Dad, you have abandoned the enigmatic you, the one that chicks loved?” I winced at the word chicks. Daddy replied, turning off the engine, “Ahhh, I don’t need to invest in such cheap ornamentations anymore. I’m out of the market. There’s just Ursula and me growing old together.”

“Is that better?”

“Yes, its more efficient. With Ursula you get to grow old much quicker,” he replied in his usual mock-sultry manner.

Ursula, so that was the name of my father’s new found love. I met her, a pleasant, jovial, funny woman she was, and I took an immediate liking to her. But no, that was too soon for a happy ending, Fate! The culprit. Takes you by your hand, fondles with you and drops you like a hot tamale.

On the eve of the wedding rehearsal, a friendly face walks in to the living room. James, my playmate from nursery on whom I had a silly crush. From being a freckled, lanky boy with big spectacles he had transformed into a tall, dark hunk. I kept gaping at him, not being able to believe what my eyes were seeing. He looked at me and waved and smiled. Then in an embracing gesture added, “You look beautiful, old girl! Evolved I see. Do you even remember me?” Our eyes clicked. The inside of me was yelling! Was I falling for him again? “Of course I do! How can I forget?” I replied flirtingly. Stars were dazzling in my eyes. Could love find its place in my life again? I was sure this was it.

CHAPTER 5

BACK TO REALITY

I wouldn’t say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind. The rest of the blissful days I spent with James, I had almost begun to fancy having kids together, a house by the stream, a pet dog named Spanky, and a lifetime together. Every time I saw him, I felt butterflies in my stomach, my knees would go weak, and I fumbled with my words. When I think about it now, I feel embarrassed and an urge to kick myself for going that far…

The fateful day of the wedding arrived. I was rummaging through my dressing table for the past half hour, avoiding rupturing my stomach muscles. Daddy had crept into my room and was staring quietly from behind. I almost jumped at seeing his reflection in the mirror. He was weeping. I was touched by this sudden outburst of emotion on my dad’s behalf and the best thing I could think of was hugging him. As I withdrew from him, I was sniffling into some tissues I had in my hand, looking away from my Daddy when I heard him call out, “Son! Come in here!”

From the corner of my eye I could see James walking in. My head went dizzy upon seeing the sight. James hugged my Daddy and said, “I feel glad that Mum and you have finally decided to get married. At first, I didn’t know how to take the news, so I didn’t talk much with you or anybody, for that matter, about it.” He then added nudging, “So, are you nervous, soon to be Dad?” They both chuckled. I must have looked like death warmed over, seeing this reunion. I could hear my voice frail away like the Holy Ghost of Holocaust. “What?! You are Ursula’s son?” The next statement changed my life forever. James took me by his arms and said, “Yes, little sister. Aren’t you excited about the whole thing?”

I didn’t know what to say. I fell into my “Zen’d” state. The fact is I find thinking about nothing enormously easy. It is not something I’ve had to work on either. Achieving a “Zen” state for me is practically effortless. So, as my synapses slowed down, everything around me blurred. 

The marriage must have gone well, even in my ‘switch-off’ state, as I haven’t heard anyone complain about it. Or it could just be that they are being nice.

However, we are a happy family now. We meet every once in a while. Every Christmas, when I meet James, he bugs me about the episode. Things have moved from being awkward to a common family joke that we share. And now, as an aspiring writer, I have officially finished my first piece. I think I am going to call it “Topsy-turvy”!

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #1

Dear Bubba,

I am honestly quite over mending and fixing things. They are broken. It hurts when you say it out loud. But the fact remains- it is. 

You spend days and days trying to think of ways to save it, to repair it. All of your waking hours, you calculate, you devise ways to make enough, save enough , so that you can get it fixed. It becomes an obsession. And then, very soon, this very obsession takes over in the form of depression. You chide yourself, you blame everything and everyone: you are reminded of all of your failures. All the things you couldn't have, you gave up on, you lost. It's a vicious cycle, this one. It is! 

And many a times on account of all the things that are broken or lost, you forget to notice the things that are around you, Here. 

I have therefore, learnt to let go. It's a self-taught discipline. Nobody tells you how hard it is. You will just have to find it out for yourself. 

I suggest you do the same, Bubba. If your favourite vase is chipping, endure till it wears out. It has run its course. And until it does, buy some of 'em really pretty flowers and fill it. Don't place it as a master-piece no more, but don't abandon it either. The flowers will help you remember just how pretty it was even when it was breaking... 

Don't hurt. Just, let it go. 

Yours truly,

A! 

UNCLE KRACKER

" ...You´re better then the best
I´m lucky just to linger in your light
You make me smile like the sun
Oh, you make me smile
Oh, you make me smile
Oh, you make me smile...  "


HE smiles that UNCLE KRACKER smile....

A year. That's my comma-phase from writing. Clearing that attic of all biases was necessary. 


Some moments I can visualize Sam Uncle, as though we were in the same room, smiling his mega-watt smile and teasing "Aish..". A person's so real one day, and a distant memory the second day. 

We lost him. Yes. And that's the depth of it. 

Loss comes with so many realizations. It took me a while to grasp, but  I am finally piecing them together. I don't want to get too maudlin. I couldn't. Because, that smile inspires so many brilliant sun-rays, it's tough not to smile back.

He loved life and all in it with a passion:  he loved his sweet-heart feverishly, his family with reverence, his friends loyally, his colleagues un-grudgingly. And he has imprinted that part of him in that silent determination, that is, his loving daughter, my dearest friend and sister- Manita. 

I couldn't come close to feeling the pain and loss she went though. I can't pick out all the thoughts, all my reflections that I have had over the year, a muddled yarn. But, I have had my moments, where I have found clarity, an understanding which has eased me, calmed me of smaller storms within. I had so many questions, but with his final fight he taught me the most important lesson of all- One life, and fight to Live it. Jut fight, dammit! It's your duty to live it well.   

It's not easy, agreed. And the Truth we all try to hide behind is, our  one constant and inevitable LONELINESS.  It really is a fact. We all are, beneath it all, truly utterly alone; when we live, when we die. So what makes us? Our memories. We need to build and make memories. Don't love someone else, for them. Love them for yourself. It's a feeling that will comfort you, crack that grin on your face when you are on your death-bed. Travel. Make mistakes. Be foolish. Be stupid. Get hungry for more. Never settle. You will need all of that to hold on to, when you are making your move in  the end. How peacefully you die is how lovingly you remember life. 

I am a devout believer of never regretting something; because at some point it is exactly what you needed. I embrace pain easily as a part of what makes me stronger. That scar reminds me where I have been. Hell, I need some drama and tragedy- so much so that I create it sometimes. 

And if it  is so difficult to make your living worthwhile, then live it for the fear of death. It's not a finality, but a conclusion, a summary, and wouldn't you rather have a good one? 

This is what I have learnt. I  wake up  to the challenge of each day; restless to cram so many different things, eager to learn, observe life. I pray. 

And I am not saying I get it right all the time. I struggle but then I get my bearings about. It always feels  uncomfortable and strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone. Then I hope and feel a bit exhilarated too. 
HE reminds me. 

I  wanted to write him an ode but I think he is remembered well, when we mirror his attitude towards life. We'd rather remember him fondly, by seizing the day! 

He is scored in our hearts forever, but for a closer look, I turn to you Sonu...

There are people deprived of a life of fearlessness; but you have lived boldly every day.  Introduce yourself everyday to who you are, as Uncle is loved and cherished, for it, and you are a piece of him. 

SAM UNCLE

WORKING at 0,0.

Have you worked on a graph? Remember the co-ordinates indicating the vertical and horizontal integers? That dot is such a convenient and forgettable point, thing, form. 

But when placed against the digits of value it implicates so much more; countries' populations, regressing economies, world hunger, poverty, a person's aptitude, his/ her heartbeat.

And what is the significance of the dot at 0,0 (X,y) co-ordinates, you would ask? 

Nothing. 

Or maybe something, depending on how the next values choose to take it forward. 

0,0 is the most vulnerable state of existence. There is this insufferable anticipation on how the graph proceeds forward. In a company, you are the dot. The graph is your career. And the company, your management, your leader, I believe has the power of writing you down against the values. 

I am often greeted by people who claim that the 'power of change is within you'. Some say that 'you can create that growth for yourself'. I am not saying anything to them. I am not debating them. All I am saying is try explaining that to the DOT. 

Funny thing our world is; it calls itself Liberal. Well, almost all of the world. Then, there is the capitalist sense of liberal. A democratic sense of liberal. And those who are confused about both types, there is the communist sense of liberal. An intelligent man/ woman, centuries ago, coined a term- oxymoron. What a visionary I must say. I would like to congratulate him / her on foreseeing our current state of affairs from so far ago. And here we have our government of the greatest nation of them all , with its bevvy of uber qualified bureaucrats and economists, analysts are yet to figure out the status of our GDP over the next few months. 

Frankly, I border on 'WTF' sense of Liberal. 

So when people talk to me about empowerment, potential and growth, learning and time; I look into my neighbor's graph to compare notes.  So here's me, the DOT, waiting at 0,0 wondering where I am going to move on the graph. And that other graph has had 7 imprints of the DOT. I wonder. 

Should I break into a song of delight and kiss the hand, expressing my gratitude for giving me this prolonged opportunity of so called learning? Or should I pray upon the heavenly fathers for strength, endurance and patience to take me through this stormy phase?

Experts will come with their P.O.V. and that's that. 

Here's my version of the story. The pause is unnerving. It's also frustrating. Most importantly, it's probably because your brains are not wired to take decisions therefore delay in the motor movement. 

Whether it's towards the quadrant on the right, left, below or above; the dot is meant to move. If it isn't the graph is stagnant, the DOT is rendered incompetent and hand is dysfunctional. This spells 'GET H.E.L.P!' 

Look it up- A dummy's guide to read signs. 

Time lost is life lost. I believe so. 

Now I have lost exactly thirty-seven minutes writing this really silly comparative, when I could be, let's see, drafting this really comprehensive excel sheet charting out my job status for the week. How fulfilling *yawns*

Oh, and there walks in 'the hand'. oxy-MORON-ed it again! :-P

DOT and I, we have a therapy session soon. 

For the love of KeTTles & POPsicles!! :-*

Twin and I- we share a common love for Food, Travel, Soaps, Art & Fashion! (we also watch and like the same movies, ogle at the same hot man, listen to each other's playlists on repeat and exchange the same remarks about people and events!). and how can I forget read the same pulp fiction- we HOARD on books on Vampires and fiction (chick-flicks included)  and are pretty sure we could auction off a library at teh rate that we are going! So when, we had to exchange our notes on the W.I.P (short for work in progress) report of our lives we had one common exclamation point- CHANGE! 

We were bored of working our ****s off to glory Kingdom come and frustrated because we got paid peanuts for it. Our peers were sprinting through the marathon and we were sitting glum, beside the side fence, watching the Earth spin by.  

Now, we have both known each other to doodle through our college classes, pretty-up our accessories' collections; and beam at the joy of getting to shop! I would be conceited in saying this, but let's be honest; we have a pretty solid foundation for sense of styling - clothes, make-up, hair, accessories; you name it! 

Double chocolate coat that- we love colours and spend hours of our weekends, re-modifying things at home, re-decorating what is lying around and fancying knick-knacks out of the craft lying around. As much as we love Forever New (our favorite fairy-land clothing store); we go bonkers at hobby ideas! 

So...it all began when one day we entered this kitsch store with home decor stuff; you know of these plenty of upcoming retails that we all love shopping from for the funkiest gifts. There was this one 'kettle' painted and hanging at the entrance of the door which just caught our attention. We go "hmmmm...wonder what's that for?" and the lady attending to us says " oh! its just something for your window garden ....to hang as a decor..". We approved. And of course the next progressive question was "how much?", and she returns a sweet smile quoting a '700' for it. We each heaved a sigh and looked around for things we wanted to pick up, and we did. A lot!  

There used to be this place on carter road that we both discovered through online newsletters and Time-Out magazine, when we most needed it; Aloha Paletas ( paletas in spanish for popsicles). We loved their strawberry cheesecake popsicles and the Fruitilicious popsicle. Bust sadly, it got shut and we din't even realize. We missed it dearly. 

While rummaging through work scenes, our dreams, Ian Sommerhalder and those peers of our who were sprinting  across the field ( and many more successful entrepreneurs whose works we see displayed and getting sold online and many stores) over her subway and my LSD cupcake- we go "why not?!". 

So that's when Beautiful Freaks started. For the love of Kettles and Popsicles and our project to make pretty things, we are taking our baby-steps! 

And as KING JULIAN would say: Surprise Freaks! Shke it! Shake it! 

O Kantabai, Oh Kantabai!

To be or not to be; that my friend is really NOT MY PROBLEM...! Just get me a MAID, will you?!!

In Mumbai, you know you are PRIVILEGED,  when you have:

Water. Money. AND. a BAI.

What is a Bai ? 

 A 'Bai' is this mystical thing of wonder ; because God loves us, God sent us a part of heaven and she was called- 'Bai!'

She cooks, she mops, she sweeps, she washes, she cleans and at many a times wakes you up, when you are over-sleeping; she is that thing that keeps you going; the weapon that empowers you with so much DEPENDABILITY; you worry less and less about the house so that you can without a sweat be that waste-paper basket for the rest of the world to spit on. Pardon my French but , when you are your boss' bitch at work, she is yours at home! 

So, when all said and done, she is the Savior, YOUR SAVIOR and you DO NOT mess with the 'Masai ah!'

You get one shot at redemption, and absolutely no shot with a 'Bai!'; good, bad, fat, ugly..whatever! 

 Imagine my torture, when my Bai quit! (No, I had nothing to do with that tragedy!)

That one week, without my Bai, blinded me, crippled me: I went into serious depression and often had nightmares about sitting on top of sink- full of Dirty dishes! 

It burned me to see the house untidy, and normally, I can't even spare of speck of dust; but now all I could dream of was rolling in layers of dust. And Laundry! Ah! The terror! 

I can deal with dusting and cleaning, cooking, washing the dishes ( all of which I love and enjoy), but sweeping and washing clothes.. *screws up face* give me a neighborhood to organise and clean and I will do it; but ask me wash a napkin and I will break into a fight for life! 

As does the poor state of West Bengal feel for Mamta Di's reign of power; frustrated yet amused at the pathetic excuse for a leader, I wasn't too far behind, with the loss of my precious 'miracle-worker'. 

But like they say, at the end of every cloud is a silver lining; she re-appeared- a New and improved- my magical technology  - the new 'Bai'. And she is fondly called 'Leela' ( hindi for 'miracle'). What a co-incidence *grins ear to ear*

I can finally breathe, sleep peacefully and re-take my stance with the key-board as I blog about this thing called 'Kantabai'! 

"Waah re prabhu! Teri Leela Apram-paar hain!" 

Those in favour; say "Bai!"

Pretty 'Little' Memory o_0

At times like this, I just sit down and stare at the world in front of me : Utter Chaos! While everything and everyone around me is going haywire and ballistic, I watch.  ( an expression popularly termed as 'Spaced-out')

In an attempt to grasp some twisted sense of the mayhem, my mind begins to tick. The telephone ringing, the fax machine beeping, the rhythmic click-click of the computer key-boards; everything fades away. A sudden urge to strangle workload emerges. Then for a minute or two, I feel numb, while a feeling of nostalgia sweeps over me. Around the corner of my mind a little girl comes running into my head. I clear a little space for that child as she keeps tugging me.

I finally give up and focus my attention on her; her tale begins and we take a little ride down the memory lane. The ironic thing about memories is that while they are yours to keep, but very seldom yours to control.  And while the occurrence of a memory is often instigated by a stimulus in the physical environment; this one, from my childhood,  is the dearest to my heart and the most vivid. I chose to remember it because it gives me silent solace-the day when I said "Thank-you Mo-m-my"! 

Now, was it a Friday or a Saturday? As, a child I have always liked Fridays, since it was the only day in a week to play an extra hour on the playground. Besides, Friday evening also meant no homework and two whole days for the weekend ( a luxury we no longer can afford). Yeah, so, coming back: I am most certain now that it was a Friday afternoon. 

The last bell for the day had gone off. There was a buzz of excitement echoing in the alleys. School was over for the week. It was time to run back home and into those comfortable PJs  with your favourite cartoon characters printed across, your munchy and deliciously flavored popcorn in the bowl, role playing your cartoon heroes as yo watch them battle the evil forces...

But Alas!  Conniving fate had malice planned for me. Just as I was about to board my school van, my urinary bladder gave away. I had to attend to nature’s call  or else it would be all “boo-hoo!” and “ shame shame!” for me.

I half jogged, half ran, and half skipped avoiding collisions on my path, all the way to the juniors’ restroom. I must have accidentally bumped into my second grade art & craft teacher only to hear her shriek, “AAARRRGGHH!” on my bewildered puny face. But, truth be told, I was enjoying her pain and grinning from within. She had always been horrible to me, calling my beautiful drawings as etchings of a potato. 

However, that is just a passing mention. The real story is what happened next.

Continuing with my misfortune of unaccounted for interruption of my Friday fun time by my sudden bout of nature’s emergency, I went to the restroom finally. HAH! Relief. It’s amazing how nature can curse you and then reward you for the same. Upon completing what I had to, I started frolicking my way back to the school ground, quite confident that my school-van would be waiting for me to make a re-appearance after I had scurried away surreptitiously.  Instead, what stood before me was a silent, empty ground; not a leaf was stirring  in the atmosphere; over the entire stretch of my tiny eyesight there was sand and only sand. I stood there, I think, for five minutes wondering whether this was one of those sequences in a horror movie where the evil lord tries to take over the world and contemplates on beginning with me. 

But as the story progresses, hero comes into action…..Cold winds brushed against the hem of my polka-dotted pink skirt. From across a mile, I heard the lazy creaking of the sea-saw and the swings dangling aimlessly in the air. It is innocence that makes you look for joys in the simplest of things. When I heard the sea-saw and swings clanging with their melodious sounds, I anticipated that the park was calling for me. I ran towards it like a king to his lost kingdom and got into my usual pre-occupied stance, thinking I was the sole ruler and the park was the world left for me to conquer.

I must have been engaged in my strategies for conquering the playground, figuring out the ingenious mechanical technicalities behind the magnificent movements of the various games for almost two hours. To a four year old, even a playground seems magnanimous and imagination can spice up the fun. And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere I felt like running to my room and wrapping myself up in a cozy blanket and a spongy bed. It was then I felt the need of being home, being with my parents, safe and sound. It was then I knew I felt scared.

I could swear I might have cried to wake up the dead people, yards away! That's when I heard the familiar voice of my Mother call out my name from behind. I turned around to see a panic-stricken face that was now beginning to calm down at the sight of her daughter. I almost sprang on my mom, hugging her tightly, feeling her body’s warmth against mine and said, “Thank you, mummy!”