We were real kiddish when young.
I mean, aren't we supposed to be that then?
We played jolly-jolly in class..a blue dot made on the corner of our palm with ink. I still don't know why we did that.
'Wishing' for something with a stray, dislodged hair from the eyelash..eyes closed, while it was perched precariously onto the back of our palm, then blowing it off..we believed those wishes came true. Some of those wishes were inane...for instance wishing for some barfi!
If two myenas sat together outside, on our classroom window ledge, it would bring joy. A single one meant great sorrow. Our day was then ruined.
We scrambled after the 'Mhatara'...meaning an old man in Marathi. A hairy, white pollen that kept rising up to the ceiling, the more we tried to catch hold of it. It floated beyond our reach. If finally we did manage to capture it, it would be a prized possession. The feeling could then be likened to what the police have on catching a much wanted criminal!
If we happened to see a leper roaming on the road by chance, we had to fold our palm tight into a fist, with tall finger jutting out of the closed fist..then we wouldn't catch his disease. We really believed that!
Phantom and mandrake comics were the rage then. Chandamama regaled us with those ancient stories. Tintin, Beano, Beezer were much loved too.
There were no silly video games to lock us in. T.V was maha boring.
The only mobiles we ever knew of were our tiny feet.
So we wallowed in 'wallu'...(sand), searching for tiny shells...chased butterflies, played chor police, dabda aispais, ligorcha, langdi, which gave us good tangdi (limbs), vitti dandu, marbles, and kho kho.
Wonderful games. Simple, wholesome fun.
Now we have little ones confined to their rooms on PCs. All day.
They act so mature even before they are.
Wish we could get back to those golden days.
Somehow.
