I’m a kid. Twelve or thirteen. I’m always confused about my age. I just celebrated my twelfth birthday last month. So what do I say now? I’m twelve and running? Or just thirteen? The celebration was bright. With two cakes, a chocolate flavoured ‘Tom’ and a strawberry ‘princess’. One from mom and the other from dad. They are too loving, ain’t they? I love them too.
I’m twenty now. Not a kid anymore, you know. Don’t already assume that I got over my confusion with age. I ‘m sure today coz it’s today that I turned twenty. So it doesn’t mattet whether or not I plan to run to twenty one. Birthday wasn’t bright now. There weren’t cakes. My parents are still loving. They just didn’t want to distract me in the middle of my Board exams. Of course, little did they know of the fun and drama with friends! They wouldn’t understand anyway. Call it whatever crap, it’s a gap that generations can’t bridge! Its not about birthdays that I want to talk about the best part of birthdays! Gifts, as you guess it. I’m not so fond of surprise goodies packed in loads for my special day! But at the end of the day, gifts are what curves my lips. Tiny wrappings with chweet words. I’d love them anyday! Then again, now that I’m not twelve or twenty, my most pride pivots on the idea that gifts need not be taken always. I could quite well give them too.
Gifts as I said. They are precious beyond the price. Valued beyond the worth. And so I was waiting for this marvellous day. Years after my twelfth and twentieth birthday. It finally took me so many years to buy the yellow frock that I saw at twenty, that which I wanted to gift the twelve year old me. It was eternally long. So is the happiness that fills my heart. Eternal and supreme. Okay, what’s the big deal with buying a five hundred bucks yellow frock when you are earning almost hundred times ofit every month. No big deal at all. Except for the simplest idea that, it was a twenty year old’s dream of reliving her childhood. A cherished and sought after butterfly days!
Gifting it to her, I don’t know what I was expecting of her. It was emotional for me. A bit symbolic too. With that one yellow frock that I gave my sister’s little angel, I perhaps wanted her to step through my life and give me back my violet days. Of violet frocks and violet butterflies! Or may be, I just wanted to be happy that, finally now, I get to see my yellow frock often, rather seldom. 🙂
3 thoughts on “The yellow frock!”
Maybe you should just keep writing. 🙂
Maybe you should just keep writing 🙂
I will. I’m hitched to writing. 🙂