When I was little I could accomplish much more than any adult could at anytime. I used to fly, I believed I could see bacteria, I turned into a mermaid occasionally, touched the sky when I jumped, was friends with the moon and much more.
Though after a few years into life there were certain things like school and homework which temporarily cut my wings off, but I still had plenty of time to have meaningful conversation with the postman, the priest at Iskcon, spiders and sparrows.
One of the memories that I would like to excavate from those times to revisit is when I was really really upset, probably the first time in my life I was actually upset. It was because I wanted to know the meaning of a word, which no one could understand: “pab-lum”.
While being surrounded by so many elders I heard them use this word very frequently. I always knew that they sometimes switched to speaking in English when I was around, so I would not understand what they spoke. Least of my concerns, seriously.
My curiosity hit the peaks when “pab-lum” became the subject of all their conversations.
So, I demanded to know what was “pab-lum” and was outraged to know that they did not understand what I was taking about. They all gave up, like all elders do and told me to forget about it. Being the kind of girl I am, I almost wept through the night. When my uncle suddenly uttered THE word “problem”.
That’s the word!
So I asked him to pause-rewind-play. Everyone laughed over the whole thing and tried to make me understand what it was all about. Well, I got the point. That was my momentous introduction to the world of problems, and the rest is history.
Right now, things are obviously very different. But some residue of the past still lingers, the few moments when inertia pushes me back to the default value. Those few moments when I laugh like a maniac, trust blindly, love unconditionally, make faces in the mirror, dig my nose, afford a tiny jig when no ones watching and so on. Of course, it doesnt take long to feel stupid and come back to the ‘real’ world. But sometimes I wonder which part of it is real, those few childlike moments when I live life like me, or the major part of the time when I am what others have made out of me? A little something from the unpablumatic times,the protagonist of this story : (Bravo!Bravo!)