Whenever my parents speak of my childhood, they start with this one particular story. I was barely three, and they’d taken me to a wedding where we scarcely knew anyone. They took their eyes off me for a few minutes, and I disappeared. After searching for me frantically and nearly giving my grandma (who was at home) a heart attack, they found me in the midst of a group of kids almost thrice my age. They’d all gathered around me, patiently listening to some grand story I was telling them in baby-talk. All of them came to wave me goodbye when it was my time to leave.
And then they turn to the present me with a sigh, and remark “Where has that little girl gone now?”
I dont know. I like to think that she’s still hiding inside me somewhere Continue reading