It was sudden, not a gradual realisation that there are a lot of things i cant do anymore.

I cant run after the ice-cream-wallah as he peddles his ice candies down the serpentine lanes of my neighbourhood. I can no longer steal mangoes from Mohitbabu’s orchard, not even when he is not watching affectionately from his window. I can’t, howsoever hard I try, fly a kite at two o clock on a June afternoon. I cant generally pick up a fight with a friend, and forget about the ordeal one hour later.

I cant imagine my bedpost to be a palm tree, and climb it up. I cant be scared of ragamuffins, thinking they’ll pack me up in their ragged sack. I am no longer the best batsmen of underarm spin. I cant dream of becoming Amitabh Bachchan, or Batman, or even Sachin Tendulkar.

Thank God, at least I can paint the sky red, when no one is watching.

 

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