As I started shuffling the books, in a corner I found my eleventh grade English textbook. Before I decided to open it, the hazy memories of it ran through my mind as if someone was showing me a Spielberg movie trailer (believe me I studied them so passionately) I took a long journey into my mind before I stopped at the image of a small boy turning into an adult. I quickly flipped the pages and started reading a very beautiful poem “when did my childhood go”.
I was soon engrossed in the tangible memories of my own childhood, my childhood of Enid Blyton and R.L Stine, my childhood of train trips to my maternal grandparents in Calcutta (I hate calling it kolkatta), my childhood of morning walks to the dear park with my dad, my childhood of christmas presents………I discovered myself being engulfed by nostalgia as I asked myself “when did my childhood go?’
Was it the day when I stopped reading my books in an uncritical manner?
Was it the day when I realized that we all live in a cynical world?
Was it the day in the book shop my hands voluntarily went up to a mills and boons novel?
Was it the day when my heart yearned for my tom cruise to come and say “ baby you complete me”?
Was it the day when I knew that I should not leave my home without applying a sunscreen?
Or else it was the day when I first uttered these words to myself , “ my childhood went away and it will never come back”.