Letter to Chhuti II

Dearest Chhuti,

I am fervently hoping that I get to meet you this Sunday since tomorrow is a working day, again. One of no work that cannot be done at ease. The world moves this way Chhuti, it has to compress things to an extreme pressure point to illustrate that it too is -- an entity we need to carry on shoulders till it freezes, and freezes the heart too. It believes in burdening us. In the span of the whole day, which felt like Happy Diwali, with many noises from authoritative voices, again for nothing but a lack they must themselves have, we teachers just skipped the fact that it was Chidren's Day. Your day.

I got a Chhuti when I was a part of the children gang too. I get one no more. That is how I measure age I guess. With or without you. It was so good to be you. Offering smiles to others, holding hands and playing games on outdoor fields, marking an era of friendly banter. Everything is calculated now -- steps, speech, stance -- everything. I have been thinking of you since the last couple of hours as I was hoping to meet you tomorrow. But now, it ain't possible.

So we have this written conversation instead, the shortcut to you. I am blessed till I believe in this time-out, with you. You must be commanding your mother for a milkshake now, or simply refusing things her way. You must be chattering away now, irrelevant to time or place. You must have made the best of your day, by doing nothing worldly productive but by simply being yourself. I wish to melt in that flavour too, and pull all other ingredients in that buttery world along. I wish for everyone around to imbibe the joy.

But that is not to be, Chhuti. Everyone around is complaining that you aren't around. Everyone succumbs to the sadness of losing out a childhood. Of ice candies and pickles on paper and fancy chewies. I hope you had all of it today, or Lays and Coke and Five Star and one cartoon character running into the other. Through your bubble I see the world so differently, so diluted.

But, bubbles burst...

K.