Childhood|बचपन|Tafoliyat Every definition I have ever read of childhood painstakingly fails to capture my yearning. To me, it’s a foregone age, when I was so full of love, for no one but myself. If I could run across the ocean into my own arms back then, I would. For me, childhood will always be about waiting for the cotton candy man every Sunday morning by the porch of my house or being coerced into narrating a poem in front of a bunch of relatives, or having my shoelaces tied every morning by my mom while I get ready for school. Being chased down by the neighborhood dogs, kitchen sets and doll houses, bruises and mud all over my face but never on my heart, kites on independence day and crackers on Diwali, chocolates and change only enough to buy two mango bites and a smile that could easily run across my ears. I was not the opinion of others, but a child who brushed off mean words like playground grass. Jealousy, world politics, gender roles, career, climate change, morals, finances? I guess ignorance really was bliss, an ignorance my two rupees can’t buy anymore. So agonizingly startling it is to notice my self-image slowly being translated into a language of other’s hearts, I will forever fail to fathom. Now, I just sit in my room as a bundle of past recollections, other’s opinions of myself painted on me. I try to rub them off, but there’s nothing a candy can do anymore. The cotton candy man is dead. I don’t paint the river red, or colour the trees blue on my canvas anymore. I don’t wake up at 7 and watch “Thomas and Friends” while getting ready for school. I instead stay up till 7 watching the ceiling fan with no thoughts, like a blood-sniffing shark. The child is gone, the volatility of whose innocence seems like a fever dream. Yearning of a lifetime, yearning of an administered lifetime.

Mamma? When would I play again? Sahitya's mother remembered how she burst into tears upon hearing these words from her only child. It's been almost a month since he recovered from an intestinal infection. Since then, he had been bedridden, and there were very scarce signs of recovery. She used to caress his head giving a warm confirmation that he was going to be fine soon. She missed his contagious smile as if he had not smiled in years. Sahitya laid flat on the hospital bed looking at the continuously moving ceiling fan having dusty blades. His pale face and sunken eyes were loud enough to scream out the pain he went through. But the days of misery didn't last long. His body began to recover and those positive signs were enough to rebuild the broken soul of the mother and refill a new life in the child who is yet to discover the world. For the first time in a few months, Sahitya went out to play and relive those old days again with his friends. His mother accompanied him to share his joy and witness his smile, which was lost long ago. It was a warm and humid day. Patches of gray clouds blended so well with the orange bright sunlight that it looked like heaven was raining down to become a part of her happiness. The enthusiasm and excitement in his shining eyes made it look like he was running and throwing the ball for the first time. The trauma and the pain didn't stand a chance against the willpower of a nine-year-old!