Lying in her bed, random at her best, the wench is
trying to come up with something significant for the day (Oh, did I forget to
tell you the wench has renounced her ever-busy post as the Communication
Manager for the Jungle?). As colors come to butterfly, the urge to dream comes
to the wench and she gets her magic pencil and fatso register (being the
technology-repellant that she is) and gets on to write the latest story just
when the Dragon Chipkali rushes in!
Her puffy eyes and drained face spells trouble, or
rather an epic tragedy so to say. Now, it’s of no surprise to anyone how
finicky Dragon Chipkali is about her nails (more on her broken nail story
later!), but I don’t see a single chipped nail- there they were, beautifully
painted with vibrant colors and a pretty picture as always.
 | |
| No, that's not how she looks! Well, not exactly! |
She hugged the wench tightly and then of course,
the story revealed itself accompanied with violent cries to the amusement of
everyone. (I know three paras down the line, you’re still confused what’s the
connection with the title. Well, patience, my friend!)
Ten minutes down the line, a huge grin occupies Wench’s face as Dragon Chipkali finishes her story. What charms her the most is
the stark comparison produced between her usual mature self and this
seeking-for-attention, and yet adorable baby!
But on a second thought, is it not with all of us?
We all claim of being ‘grown-up’ as we all call it and breathe, live, react in a
particular pattern that screams the ‘grown-up’ tag. And let’s accept it, we all
love to flaunt it!
Right from particular preferences in the kind of
things you say to the way you react (even the not-so-pleasant ones), ‘mature’
(or acceptable, should I say?) remains the key.
But isn’t it that deep down, each one of us is actually
a baby out there- an adorable but unreasonably demanding baby who refuses to
give up to logic and all those ‘codes’ that act as your maturity-meter? That baby
who is waiting to be soothed, pampered and taken care of. It craves to be heard
no matter how trivial the topic maybe, for it concerns him nonetheless.
But the baby is afraid of most of the people he
knows and lives with, some of whom even happen to be an integral part of their
life. And that baby doesn’t come out in front of anyone but only to whom he’s
intimate with, he can freely exist with.
Feel free to let that baby be himself. ‘Grown-up’,
unlike a tag as perceived presently, is more of a state of mind, a continuous
process that continues till your life does.
MEANWHILE,
here
goes Dragon Chipkali’s story that started this whole blog in the first place… J
While coming back from the South West part of the
forest from her work (She runs her super-famous bakery there, ever been there?)
last night, in a hurry as always, she took a fatfat (shared auto for ignorants)
to home.
Two stops later, a grumpy, fat fellow squeezes in
the seat next to her- much to her irritation. In addition to that, his
continuous humming of heavenly Himesh Reshammiya’s songs while impartially
distributing his time between chewing gums and scratching his partly bald head-
taking her to a different level of serenity.
True to her nature, she elbowed him (Ouchh!) while
pretending to be innocent (she’s pretty good at that!). The fatso did get
miffed but said nothing.
On her way back, however, she figured however the
tragic deed that had happened only when her siblings couldn’t stop their
laughter on seeing her.
The fatso, intentionally or maybe with all the
innocence possible, gave Dragon Chipkali a small parting gift- the gum he was
so dedicatedly chewing all the way, nicely glued to her side parting of her
long, thick mane. And the inevitable result, chopping off the glued portion, of
course, could not get the better of her.
Tragedy, it was. R.I.P that side lock; that once
belonged to her beautiful mane!
P.S:
(No, seriously!)
