A lot walks to and fro when one sits down to brain out all that our childhood stay put. In its warmth, in its soft breezy fragrant arms the memories of the houses we grow up in, the fingers we held firm while toddling around the larger world breathes fresh. Those talks of the “big people” always kept us curious. What did they talk all the time? Such and more childish questions prowled into our little minds. Any older kid trying to rough us into his/her arms and dishonoured we felt, saying and sometimes murmuring too, “I am big enough now.”
Today when we position big enough, all that we have walked past seem so pleasant. A walk into the houses we grew up in, we breathed our first, the people who wiped our drools and loved to hear us utter the incognizant babbles…Everything, I mean everything seems so dear.
Childhood holds the treasure no treasure box packed with the riches of the world locks. It holds our baby pink times. Times of pure,unquestioned, undefined belongingness.
“till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside”
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside”
To be loved. To be loved unconditionally is what we grow up wanting from life. And lets believe we already have it around us…It is there sitting pretty tight letting us accept, want, glorify our failures our successes, our good and not so good times. And thus we are… taking a walk around the planet earth, overwhelmed, questioning, bookmarking...tagging all that comes and does not with us.
And suddenly the world opens wide...
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