My first hero

It's a day spent well and just before my plan of sleeping, I let my mind free. This is the moment when my otherwise shackled, quiet and tamed mind gallops backward to the aisle which was crossed playing, giggling, crying, imagining, loving and living as a child.

Those were the times of sheens and shines, we laughed frequently and laughed till we cried.

Craze was such we collected wrappers, bottle caps, broken bangles and all that was junk. Where did the happiness come from, later, I shall debunk.

We wore dresses till they were torn slightly, we smiled, got them mended by mom and wore till it was torn again.

We never regretted the power cut, for it presented the candlelight dinners. We enjoyed alot the stories and lessons coming along. Repeat versions later on some other days were as good the 1st ones.

It was known good then, to be beaten by at least one. If it was not mom, dad could have been the don.

We are now gentle men and women but back then, we were little demons. Mamma will come as a queen on the white warrior horse; her weapons were chakla- belan or little demon's toy gun, which she couldn't fire bullets with, though she could swirl it at us.

Dad chose to play our hero. Saved us on many such days with so many ways.

Some thought he was omnipresent, others thought he could fight demons, some knew him as the instant money machine and we knew him as akbar knew beerbal, chandragupta knew chanakya, or Arjuna knew krishna. He chose not to be the king himself but to be the king maker.

For we know he made sacrifices at various runs of life to make sure we run that extra mile where there is yet another milestone.