Though the fact remains that we have no time machine, yet the travel to the past still exists. Sitting in a veranda, watching my 3 year old nephew shouting at the top of his voice throws me back to my childhood.
Time flies fast. But I am still not a very profound believer of "what's gone is gone". I believe, things remain; they revisit and we tend to relive all that we left way behind. The poems, the fairy tales, they hold my hand and take me back to the time most carefree.
So, while my nephew finishes his alphabetical session and looks for a loop to play around, my mother catches hold of him. Fairy tales start. My mother is in an attempt to make that notorious chap sleep while the little boy wants the other way round. However, the session gets interesting for me. The tales of childhood start flowing, and I smoothly step through the door of time.
First was the story of Cinderella. Very common. Yet, it seemed all new to me. Time is such. My imagination and reasoning interrupts now. My demands have increased, I want to know how the prince looked. What happened to the dwarfs after she went off? Questions all over, and I smile to the fact, "We were born intelligent, but education ruined us."
While I lingered in the Cinderella story, the naughty one grew impatient and wanted a shuffle. Another story. I wondered if I, in my childhood was such a patience demanding kid. Well my mother smiled and said "OK". I realized then, she is a mother. She began the story of Sita's swayamwar. It seemed someone exposed me of my fantasies. I had so much dreamt in my childhood to choose a prince charming for myself that way. I even imagined which boy of my kindergarten I shall choose. Silly I was.
Time passed. My mother held the heaviest patience I ever saw in my life and kept changing stories. With her stories, I traveled one by one to my little days. The tales have no logic, no reality but they pose a positivity in our brains. May be, they are made to make us learn to believe. May be this is the reason they are called fairy tales because once we grow up, we know that the world is harsh.
That afternoon was one of the calmest times I spent in a very long time. I felt younger. I believed more. I just liked to be in the fairy tales for some time. Reason was simple, they made me less intelligent and more innocent. I was happy.
That evening, I hummed the nursery rhymes, ate with that little monster of mine and played Jagjeet Singh's – "ye daulat bhi le lo".
So dark is the con of man. Thank god we have fairy tales. My mother says I was smiling in my sleep when she came to wake me up.