Page 14 - September 2020
P. 14

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                                                               It was almost always the same vivid scenes.
                                                                  It   started   with   the   garden   –   his   precious   haven
                                                         during   his   childhood.   Sprawled   on   a   mat   laid   on   the
                                                         ground and beneath the shade of the majestic mango
               Touch Me                                  tree, basking in the warmth of the glorious Sun during
                                                         the  summer  break,  eyes  half  closed,  feet  propped  one
                                                         over the other, and his head on his mother’s lap as she
                                                         read   to   him   the   adventures   of   Tom   Sawyer   and
                                                         Huckleberry   Finn   –   he   was   quite,   the   picture   of   ease.
                                                         His   mother’s   lilting   voice   kept   him   enraptured   –   oh,
                                                         was   she   quite   the   narrator!   As   her   voice   hit   a   high
                                                         note   here   and   low   one   there,   he   would   find   himself
                                                         getting   engrossed   in   the   story   and  imagining   himself
                                                         to   be   either   Tom   or   Huck!   The   occasional   bee   or   fly
                                                         that   came   to   squat   on   his   nose,   and   stare   at   him
                                                         incredulously,   as   if   to   question   his   proposition   of
                                                         being   Huckleberry   Finn   or   Tom   Sawyer   himself,   was
                   Navya Benny                           the   only  annoyance  that  interrupted   the   flights   of   his
                                                         fantasies.
                                                                     And   all   the   while,   his   mother   would   thread   her
                                                         hand  through  his  hair,  as  if  she  were  weaving  her  own
                                                         little story in his mane…
                                                                     It   then      quickly      dissolved      into      another   setting.
                                                          This  time,  he  was  at  school.  Ah!  His  second    home!     It
                                                         was here  that  he  understood  the  true  meaning  of



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