(Childish)Wonders of the World
The dark skies loomed over me, the heavy kit sagged on my shoulders and sweaty clothes stuck to my body uncomfortably. I was a third grader gleefully attending cricket coaching. That Saturday evening after the session got over at 6.30, I found myself alone as my friends slowly dispersed. My parents were out shopping and I was told to sit tight and wait for their arrival. For over 20 minutes I sat restlessly, playing with a red leather ball and imagining scenes of me being the world’s best cricketer.
In the back of my mind I was starting to get worried and by 7 o’ clock I was pacing around frantically. I stepped out of the pitch and peered into the poorly lit street. I mistook every car’s headlights to be my father’s. “Did they forget me?” I pondered while sobbing. A few anxious moments later, I made the most absurd and unintelligible decision yet.
Picture this- an eight year old stranded in a cricket pitch six kilometres away from home, almost certain his parents have forgotten about him. He is exhausted and the cricket kit is his only companion. The neighbourhood he resides in isn’t the convivial and safe kind. The streets that lead home are dim and daunting. He is in a fragile state of mind and each passing minute makes more restless. And he makes a decision:-it was either the bravest or the dumbest thing to do.
“I am going to walk home!”
Frankly, I do not quiet remember what got into me that evening, but I do remember never looking back once I set out. Yes, I was intimidated and afraid of being alone and having to get home by myself, but I wasn’t overwhelmed by those emotions. The first half of my journey took me through the lively JP Nagar 7th Phase with big streets, bright lights and heavy traffic that surprisingly didn’t make me feel small. In fact I was enthralled; for once I felt a deep liberty that I did not understand. I noticed details differently and everything had an innocent charm.
There was a man with a purple shirt, slightly tilted shoulders and a brisk stride walking ahead of me, always just a few feet in front. I never lost him in the crowds and soon I began to believe that he was a special convoy who would take me all the way home. “Perhaps he’s even God”. For over two kilometres he led the way and I dutifully followed. When he finally stopped at a discrete stationary shop, I was bitterly disappointed. I stood by him for a moment, studying him closely. I was hoping that I would get a glimpse of his face. I stared at his back a final time before continuing with “my quest”.
It never occurred to me that my parents would be worried sick and would eventually even approach the cops. When I did spare them a thought, I was convinced that they would be proud of me- of the eight year old boy who walked home all by himself. I remember picturing my mother opening the door with a glorious smile, my father giving me the thumbs up and my awe-struck sister. All my previous worries of how they might have forgotten me were erased. I was set on my goal and such questions never percolated through. The ones that did were swiftly ignored. I felt all grown up and responsible when I was being completely irrational and ignorant.
There were a few terrifying moments in my walk too. I turned the darkest corner in the world to see a small flicker of light. It was the flame of a cigarette hanging from a man’s lips. Then the gloomy orange lamp overhead flickered on and I saw him, a rugged man leaning on his motorbike, looking at me passively. I walked away as fast as I could, but I like to think that I put up a brave face that hid my fear.
As I got closer home, the more valiant and triumphant I felt. The darkness no longer crawled over my skin and I felt completely at ease. About a kilometre away from home a man on a bike pulled over. In the sweetest voice he asked me my residence, and upon knowing that we stayed in the same apartment he offered me a ride home. I had never gotten on a Royal Enfield before so my day just seemed to be getting better. He left me at my block, smiled and even shook my hand.
That was the day my fascination for solidarity began. It isn’t about getting rid of dependency or nagging people, but more of the thrill that accompanies liberty and I enjoy being alone sometimes. Label me self-obsessed if you please. Often in a day I find myself all alone, away from others for no reason whatsoever. People tend to think I am depressed or that something’s up. Not really, but perhaps there is something askew. I have rarely seen other people do that. These endeavours are like timeouts of sorts, but I’m not sure from what.
That little innocent kid had a sorry finish to the day. Which was also the start of miserable two weeks where I was reprimanded severely at every opportunity my family got. To my surprise there was no one waiting to open the door for me as I had so gravely looked forward to. I had to approach our neighbours who called up my parents to inform them that I was back.
It was a sick reunion. My father was raging while my mother was in tears. Together they tore me up emotionally. At that time I just couldn’t see how I was at fault. In a feeble voice I had mustered the courage to tell them “It’s also your fault, you didn’t pick me up”. I felt terrible but I won’t forget the lessons they gave me on responsibility and dangers of such stupid acts any time soon.
It was a wild night and I completely loved it. It taught me so much; the experience was truly one of a kind. As I walked that night, I could see the deserted path stretching ahead, the soft afterglow in the skies after dusk and the warmth I felt after finally doing something on my own. Replicating it today would be hilarious and frankly stupid. As much as I want to revisit that night, doing it as a sixteen year old would just defeat the purpose.
It is of those moments I can pick out and say-“Yeah this definitely shaped who I am”. So at the end of all this; is there a lesson? Oh yes, please give little kids their own phones or else they’re gonna walk 6 kilometres in the darkest streets and feel proud.
