To the best of my memories and the anecdotes told to me by my parents about my childhood all I can gather is that when I was a kid, I always wanted to grow up as early as possible. I wanted to grow up, so that I can be myself. I can make my own choices. I can go independently where ever I wish to. In my view the biggest difference between children and grown up young is the fact that children do not give themselves options and get stuck on their demands like said in a famous Gazal “ दिल भी एक ज़िद पे अड़ा है किसी बच्चे की तरह, या तो इसे तू ही चाहिए या कुछ भी नहीं ”. Whereas, as we grow old we start to give ourselves more choices and alternatives.
Now when I see kids, I want to revisit my childhood. Suddenly I do not want myself to give too many choices and alternatives. I do not want to plan too much about what to do and what not to do. I want to paint on the walls without caring about the beating to be followed up after it. I want to start giving more importance to myself rather than my clothes and appearance. I could remember those dry knees of mine with striking bold marks of dirt and lime powder of walls on it earned by getting the knees rubbed against the walls while playing one game or another. I never ever thought of cleaning them. For me the best appearance of mine was my happiness reflecting through a chuckle in my cheek. I could remember falling in a big nullah once near my home while trying to just take a walk on the wall of nullah. There was no end objective or goal attached to that walk around that nullah, but still it was done. I want that in-objectivity back.
I could remember that being in lap of Ma, Papa could take away all my fears and anxieties. Lap of my parents was home to all the assurances and place filled with so much comfort in it that no luxury hotel in this world could even think of giving it competition.
I wish could go back to my childhood where the only punishment to my deeds (mis-deeds) was a simple touch of my ears to by my hands and that’s it all that’s it, the incident was over.
I wish I could turn back the time to a kid once more. When for anything or work was only a master stroke when I was made a part of it to do it. Even a wild stroke of Nail paint going haywire to the finger would appear to be a perfect stroke….
I miss my childhood….
“Koi lauta de mere beete hue din”