As a child of four, I used to race up to the blue bench in the street corner and look at those deliciously cooked jalebies(typical Indian street food). I would instead stare at them. Pitying on my innocent face, that slim-beard-old uncle, would hand over me two of them. I would just run off to my mum and giggle continuously by showing her the jalebies. I remember when I would just finish off eating them and my mom told me to wash my hands I would instead rub my hands on my hair.
But now, it’s no more. No more that blue bench and no more those lovely memories. I have to look up at the trash put, in that corner now which was once, not less than a fairytale castle to me.
Everything has changed but not the memories instilled and engraved in my heart for ever. I have no photograph of that street I still cherish. I made the memories which I never want to neither edit nor renovate.
I would just struggle to walk then, even though I knew how to because of my mum and dad who used to hold my hands in such a way that I used to swing in the air rather than tapping the ground. This could accompany scoldings also if I did any thing too mischievous to be forgiven as a sin.
Is there any camera that can capture my the feelings?
Really, but I wanted because I do not want to lose, these little bits of memories.
Today after ten years, at the age of 14, I sit at the extended window sill gazing, at these clouds which can flow where ever they want. I really once want to roam throuch those streets occupied mostly with those stalls.