Childhood is the most beautiful part of our life, it’s inspiring and enchanting. It’s also the only part of us that lives forever, sometimes buried deep within, but alive. With the onset of my college life in a new city, away from my family, I remember those times more than ever.
For a matter of fact Bangalore is blessed with a surreal weather, it is literally always raining here. So if you hate rains, you should think it over. Each day as it rains I have these memories of the past, nostalgia is truly an everlasting feeling.
Back when I used to live in a small town in my ancestral house, our garden and the pavement outside our house used to be flooded with water, in the rainy season. There would be water everywhere, and we typically sat on this foot stand we had right outside one of the many doors we had. It was a beautiful feeling, we could hear the sound of the rain and feel it more often than ever as our nose would catch the fragrance, that the rain would bring with it.
It would rain and rain and I and my sister and sometimes even my cousins would tear out pages from newspapers and blank sheets of papers from our notebooks to make the best of the best paper boats and witness them sail away. We usually didn’t waste paper, it was my mother who ensured that we never used unused sheets. As our small personalised boats would sail onto their journey, we used to patiently watch them, as rainwater slowly poured into the open side, as rain water in seconds would dissolve the paper and start cutting holes through it, until it would finally sink. But at times the rain would be too wild for the boat to start and at other times we were too blind to see their journey. As a kid I never knew how to make paper planes, only boats, but nevertheless I was happy. Sometimes envious, but happy. As years passed by and new things fascinated me more, my toys replaced the boats, be it beyblades or anything else. Perhaps the boats sank long ago.
Soon after, we left the town, and the house we had lived in for the last 11 years with the memories deep buried within. Everything had changed, the city attracted me, it gave me another meaning , but the rains didn’t matter anymore.
After all these years I don’t see paper boats anymore, until unless I talk about the new company that came up. Damn, I am growing fast. I sit back and pick a piece of paper, trying to fold the sides the right way, for a boat to be born again. But, alas I remember the art no more.
“All of us grow up and realise our dreams, we understand ourselves and find that people whom we have known forever weren’t always the same, we face conflicts and somewhere between all of this we grow some more.”