New Born Dream

At 5, the question made its first grand appearance into my life, through the over painted lips of some nosy lady at some not-so-cool party.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A: None of your business.

B: Who the hell knows?

C: Who the hell cares?

D: All of the above.

The answers run through my mind, as I think back to that memory that has weirdly sustained the ‘delete’ hobby of my mind. Can’t remember what I had for lunch, or even what I’m wearing right this second, without having to glance down, but the most random of incidence from over 15 years ago. Aye aye, Captain.

Unfortunately I wasn’t this sassy at 5. Fortunately I was young enough to stick my tongue out at her, run away, and not get into any trouble for it. Well, not any serious trouble anyway. Delivering insincere apologies under the watchful eye of my parents didn’t exactly weigh me down for long.

On our way home, I remember dad turning casually to watch me almost decapitate myself by hanging out of my train window. Judge not, I exaggerate. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, give mom a tiny smile accompanied with raised eyebrows. I didn’t know the word for that expression back then. I suppose it was curiosity mixed with the thrilling expectancy of having the first peek into the nest where their child’s dreams lay cocooned in a shell, still unhatched. Oblivious to his barely suppressed excitement, I snuggled into his side as the question entered my life for the second time, this time accompanied with my dad’s patent smile.

“What do you want to do when you grow up, kiddo?”

This time around the question didn’t seem intrusive. Without missing a beat the words were out of my mouth.

“Read, daddy. I want to read when I grow up.”

I remember mom and dad bursting out laughing in a crowded train earning at least a dozen quizzical looks between the two of them, to my distinct annoyance.

Why did they always have to laugh so loud?

“I love you, you funny pup” my mom confessed as she leaned over from the seat opposite mine and kissed my nose. It made me look like a red nosed reindeer, but I didn’t mind. I giggled and snuggled further into my dad’s cushioned frame.

As the rumble, that laughter ignited in my father’s belly, died down, he turned to me once again.

“Just reading all day long won’t get you money to buy chocolates, love. Or to even pay for more books. What will you do then?”

This sent my brain into overdrive as I eyed my window, seriously contemplating instant decapitation. I turned back to dad, barely managing to get the words out through the huge lump in my throat, while my vision blurred with fast approaching tears.  

“What should I do then daddy?”

 Dad glanced at mom, giving her an ‘opps-didn’t-see-this-coming’ look, before ushering me into his lap and cradling me there.

“You could read all you want, baby girl. Maybe you could write, too, along with it. That will get you money to spend on nice smelling books”, he coaxed, looking down at me.

“Write?” I looked up with eyes wide.

“Yes, love. Would you want to?”

I looked into his eyes searching them for mischief. All I encountered was unbound sincerity. A conviction of his infinite trust in my ability to make dreams come true. I believed him. In that instance, I knew he would always be there to help me find my path. Perhaps unknowingly sometimes. My 5 year old self found solace in it.

I smiled up at him, now excited.

“But what would I write about?” I inquired.

“Anything you want, kiddo”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

And just like that, I became a writer.

P.s. 17 years later, I am absolutely, irrevocably, in love with my parent’s infectious loud laughter. Life, I’ve decided, is too short to laugh any other way. A midst the tears, when the cosmos throws in moments of pure delight, you need to let every nerve ending join in the celebration. Let them vibrate with the sound that carries, encased in it, the point of our existence. And maybe, just maybe, if you and I are fortunate enough, that little one lying with her/his ear pressed to our chest, will learn to partake in this celebration. We could be a generation of people laughing out loud a midst the world who wakes up everyday, aiming to silence our voices.

Imagine the beauty in this form of rebellion.

This could be our legacy. 

It sure was my parent’s legacy to me.