When the orange evening meets the blue of the sky
My heart leaps a thousand miles all at once.
I free my hair and let it run wild along with my heart
My skin tingles in the warmth,
And my heart becomes a fluttering butterfly.
I stand there, there somewhere in the horizon
I whisper to the passing wind to take me along to a distant land,
Where I could cage this scene in my vision and never blink.
The wind stops dead and whispers back, " come along!"
I pack my bags , I hire a caravan,
I leave back a thousand memories as I sail for a thousand more.
I hold onto a few, I let go a lot more.
I blot the yellowing pages as I travel places.
The world seems awake , life seems beautiful
And I open my eyes and long for this dream,
A gypsy in me dreams of it with open eyes!
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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