Growing up

When you’re a kid, life is simple. Even when you land in trouble, there’s always someone to rescue you; your parents! Sure enough, Mom and Dad can solve all the problems in the world; at least as far as your world is concerned.

The world’s horizons expand with growing up. The world from which your parents protected you opens up. Insecurity, responsibilities creep into your lives along with the freedom. Everyone learns to survive and fight back, so do you. Your parents are still around to help wherever they can; financially, physically or mentally whenever you approach them.

You start a family of your own, have kids, build a life. And one day suddenly you realize that the tables have turned. Your support pillars are now looking at you for the support. You no longer burden them with your problems. You know that they cannot solve it and you want to protect them by keeping them in the dark.

At this point you understand that now onwards you’re on your own. Believe me, it’s scarier than most scary stories.




The things I love or the childhood book

One of my favorite books in the childhood was about a little boy’s world through his eyes. When the book starts, the protagonist, Dennis tells us about the things he loves and hates.

I always wondered how can that be an interesting starting of a book? I don’t know the boy and I don’t care what he loves or hates. Yes, once I read his story, I was definitely his friend; but at the start I barely knew him to give a damn.

It’s interesting how we make new friends. Do we tell them in the first few meetings, the things we like or the traits we don’t like? I suppose, we learn these details along the way. And one day we realise that the mundane conversations have now turned to sharing thoughts which actually matter.

But I guess Dennis has his own way of making friends and it sure worked in my case. I liked the boy even though I couldn’t relate with his love or hate.

So much so that after so many years when I was thinking about the things I love, his little voice reminded me of the things he loves and the stories he told me through that book.

It’s worth to mention that I was lucky to read the book in my mother tongue; thanks to Soviet Union Raduga publishers. The English translation of the book has no charm and has lost the essence of the boy’s tales completely.