Wonder Years

(This post is a part of Kissan 100% Real Blogger Contest)

Most of us hanker for our lost childhood. However, given a chance I would love to relive my ‘wonder years’- ages between thirteen and fifteen. The age when one emerges out of dolls and enters into makeup! Honestly, I have never been as displaced as I was at age thirteen. As I reminisce, being nuts was so much fun. In fact, it was a blessing. Today in the midst of pervasive cynicism, the innocence and the naivety involved in being loony sounds even more appealing. What bliss it was to live in a make believe world. The world looked pretty with the ‘All is wonderful with the world’ glasses.

We lived in small town but the government bungalow had a huge landscaped garden with a boulevard of trees. The sprawling bungalow with mango and guava trees was nestling in the very lap of nature. Nevertheless, my own secret place- my comfort zone was atop the guava tree in the backyard. Interestingly, brother had made it comfortable by fixing a wooden plank between two strong bifurcating branches. Leisurely afternoons were spent on the tree, tasting the un-plucked guavas (Yes, never washed them). Apart from me, a flock of wild parrots were the only other visitors filling the dewy mornings with trills and dulcet cries. Even though the parrots looked exquisite pecking guavas and shuffling iridescent wings, I hated them. They pecked at all the ripe guavas much before I could!

‘Wonder years’ were also about hopeless infatuations and heartbreaks. Needless to say the infatuations appeared in the garb of ever-lasting love. When you are fourteen and besotted, you can waltz on imaginary clouds for hours with any moron. It’s almost magical. On bad days, every banal comment about clothes, boys and weight seems to upset. I cried my heart out for stupidest of reasons and agonized for days on my tree abode. Reason? Well a lousy hair cut prior to a party. Now that I rewind the reel, my tree abode epitomized a glorious kinship between nature and my wonder years.

There were moments when I would lose track of time staring at the sky as myriad ideas popped up. It was an age when confusion reigned supreme. Mood swings came with the territory. There were days when I would climb up my comfort zone only to brood, or melt into books.

Ah books!

Classics, Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews were done with. It was time to move on to my first Mills and Boon. The only hindrance was that the romantic novel was forbidden. “Not yet,” mom said. I imagined mom was specifically setting up rules to trouble me. Most girls in my class had already read the book. Why couldn't I? One lazy afternoon, after the limpid showers had stopped dancing in the garden, after the symphony between light and sound was long over, I sneaked out of the house with my forbidden novel. The ground beneath looked satiated, emanating a rare joie de vivre. The droplets accumulated on the renewed foliage disturbed my reading intermittently, but what the heck! Reading the forbidden book was fun.

I am sure, as children we all have interesting stories of bunking school, the first crush, the first date.
Even though teen years are an experience any mother would hate to re-live, the sheer innocence of times remains magical. Unfettered by the onslaught of television and computers, life had its own sweet charm. I am far too worldly-wise today. Aren’t all of us? We conjure witty one-liners. We have opinions. We are far more cynical. Which is a pity, because, the age of innocence is lost forever!