Category: Delhi

There is something unreasonably seductive about the sound of an aircraft whizzing overhead. A distant hum becomes an unmusical reminder from the past followed by a roar and a streak of white piercing the blue sky which makes me leave everything and run to the terrace or the nearest balcony. By the time my eyes focus, the neck cranes at the object chasing its silvery reflective surface. Not voluntarily, but dictated by muscle memory the arm goes up waving at the machine and the gaze pierces through grayish-blue windows looking for the friend who was lucky enough to have taken a ride. Frantically, I wave and shout, hoping against hope, he will wave back (was it he or she?). I even fold my hands in reverence to the flying bird-machine. Me, the lesser mortal, waiting for that friend to wave back from the blind window. A pair of eyes glare at me from behind the door, a disappointed head shakes, banging the door, I hear her say –   बचपना नहीं गया अभी तक  Both, my hand and head go limp and I wonder कहाँ गया वो बचपन  when I would run in the street chasing the aircraft till it disappeared in the horizon. ​My fingers twitch for some inexplicable reason and rush to seek something in the trouser pocket. The pocket is empty, the fingers retreat to form a V in the air and trigger an imaginary pebble in the air. Indeed I miss the बचपन  and remember the Gulel (a slingshot) with which I would try and aim at the craft. Stop, wait and take me along.