We have so many memories of childhood that never quite comes to the front until someone mentions something, some catch word or phrase you haven’t heard for years, or some clip from a film or real time event that takes you down those alleys of absolute delights in the smallest of things. Here I am, back today, on a rainy, stunningly grey Saturday (which I totally fall for), sipping on…nay not a coffee this time but a fresh summer fruits smoothie and thinking back summers, many summers, where life was simpler, joys were reliant of little things, reputation and awe depended on lesser complicated things than our current life-size egos.
NDTV was broadcasting Nita Ambani in a classroom, distributing white feathers to small kids. That is where the trigger of feathers came by…all of a sudden, her (highly) annoying tone, probably appropriate to a children’s cartoon mom character, not that I am here to criticize her voice especially when mine sounds just as if not more awful most times (uh)…her voice (let me be kinder), not quite one I enjoyed, obliterated into the background as the spirit within me took me to the time I was in school, perhaps in fifth or sixth grade, maybe seventh. But, the exact grade isn’t as important. Not as important as it used to be to collect feathers.
We were feather collectors in school. A beautiful baby blue competed with shocking pink, purple, white, the grey ones being the least valuable of all. I recall it used to find its rest in one’s personal journal, snuggled between pages of unwritten pages and pages on which ink had wept stories and life as it was. At that particular point, we never quite figured out how, but it always was a belief that if we kept the feathers between pages, some feathers gave birth to baby feathers. Tiny, soft, conjoined to the mother feather. It was a prized possession. If you had too many of one colour, a barter system existed to exchange it with colours you did not have.
As children, we really are at our simplest happiest best. Feathers! That’s a cause for delight! Now, sometimes the best of something fails to delight. What is that attributed to? Do we degenerate our innocence to become prejudiced, selfish, to our own basic simplistic needs? Why does it become such a crime to be kind? To smile? To not be jealous? To say ‘Thank you’, ‘Please’, ‘Sorry’, ‘Excuse me’?
I know I got off topic…but then, this is a ramble of thoughts any ways and I am happy enough to go wherever it takes me. It really was a realization today of how much of stuff goes unappreciated and how much we all long for appreciation, of little things and how only where the impact is of monetary value or individual partiality it exists. Sigh…that is another topic altogether and I am not inclined to talk about it by way of blogging…perhaps a live one to one conversation with a friend will bear more insight to why things happen the way it does.
This morning, when the rain had abated enough for me to sit in my car, through the glass, I saw a tiny insect. This is a special species, holding countless memories of times when I was small, unafraid and pretty much game for anything. These days, I contemplate. So, this particular species seems to be some cousin of the dragon fly I think. The Asia dragonfly, or rather damsel-fly…yes, such a name exists. I did a Google search a while ago to discover which of those I had seen this morning…
The point, getting back to the one I saw, reminded me of a time when I collected them, in an upturned glass, delighting in its vibrant colours. Of course, to my horror, I realized I wasn’t exactly being nice to them…especially when one in captivity died of suffocation. My collection and delight came to a realization that not everything that tends to delight you means comfort for the subject of your delight. Lesson learned. Yes, and forgotten, time and again. Go figure.
Seeing the vivid vibrant green, took me to a simpler time…a floral frock, hair in two plaits, shoulder length, in untidy tousled plaints…how does one manage that in plaits? Never quite figured that out yet.
Well, gotta rush…posting this…there wasn’t a point in all of this except a rainy September afternoon, sipping flavours of summer fruits that temporarily substituted the countless coffee mugs I had in training this morning.
So, where do the fire-flies fit in? I am a fire-fly. I smile as I write this and those who know my childhood from way back, before I was taller than two feet half would know where this comes from…or perhaps not. Fire-flies…they will come...in a later post. (wink)