Its Saturday and I am lazing around in the house. As it is also the month of Ramzan, I can’t watch television or listen to music. So I just lie down quietly, occasionally looking at my phone to browse internet or just check some applications. But hardly does anything seem to be of interest at the moment. I think of reports that I make everyday, then about a Yara Valley picture I saw on Facebook yesterday, then about a picture simply titled ‘Stargate’ (subject: The Milky Way photographed through the Earth’s largest natural arch). I look at the ceiling of my room and wonder why do I like the combination of Maroon and Off-white so much – Is it due to how I look at things? Or is it just how everyone likes these colors? Or is this how I was programmed from the start?
As I jump from one thought to another, my eyes notice the trees swaying in the wind just outside my window. It is drizzling consistently in the afternoon, the sun’s intensity lowered due to thick dark monsoon clouds. The movement of the trees lower the intensity even more, at times. The light is just perfect for photography. I have began to think like a photographer now, trying to find a still or a scene in every situation. For a moment I look at the borrowed DSLR and contemplate clicking something. But to remain true to my word about lazing, I remain on my bed, happy to do nothing. Then, I imagine the clouds suddenly disappearing and sun shining brightly on my face. Moment of joy, somewhat. The same joy I would experience on every recess-bell, each single day of my childhood.
Oh! How I miss those times! That running around in the corridors of Bharda New High School, playing with classmates. I wouldn’t be worried about anything more than running back to my class by the end of the recess. I remember once acting that I was not well because I hadn’t completed my Marathi notebook. Of course, I was caught and made to suffer the wrath of my teacher. This was the extreme end of my worries. Nothing more. I sometimes despised my teachers because I felt all they wanted was us to do was complete our homework, or raise our hands each time a question was asked. The time while leaving the school building at the end of our academic day was the happiest part. Discussing with classmates, the happenings of the day and how it went, while sitting in the front row on the upper deck of Bus no. 69 was always special. We would often fight for this front seat because the breeze was just too awesome.
This is perhaps the same breeze that sways the tree outside my window. The sun and this breeze remind me of what I can call the most memorable part of my life. I miss the same teachers I once despised for giving me the homework that I never completed. I miss the homework, itself. At that time, it was the only thing I could call ‘Responsibility.’ Now, the word has a very different meaning. I work everyday, I earn for my family and myself. Perhaps, the lack of responsibility is the reason I miss my childhood the most. Or it is the recess bells. Or the Breeze in Bus no. 69. I don’t know for sure, but each moment was there to be lived and cherished. I sometimes pray that God lets me live a day of my childhood… Or just lets me revisit it as a third person (may be in a time machine) so I can just see how happy the times were and shed a tear of joy.
Times still are happy, but now I feel a lot of other emotions compared to those times. I am an adult now, and my life will wither one day. But these little memories will live till then.