Looking back in the windows of time,
I ponder on the games of innocence played without reason or rhyme.
A toddling Sweetie, Grandpa was my playmate,
Rollicking me to sleep after play on his ailing chest plate.
As a child at three, spent hours to myself as a loner,
Posing once as my dolly’s mother or an ice cream vendor.
My little kitchen set giving me sweet company,
Preparing me for a future’s domestic role in harmony.
Cooked chapatis, rice and puris on my baby stove,
Waned interest in the kitchen as an adult, sparking many a row.
Hopping away to glory in hopscotch,
Pebbles thrown in chalked columns in the hot summer and scorch.
Fisherwomen and their loaded baskets – a delight to the eyes,
I cast my nets for a catch with my imaginary oars– all sporting lies.
Freezing into statues with some funny chanting,
Played hide and seek in secret hideouts in panting.
Summer evenings were venues to current shock,
Occasionally its variant played was key and lock.
Climbing trees for guavas and scaling the forbidden white hills,
Never played cricket but watched balls breaking window sills.
Aameena Akkameena and other poetic bands,
Accompanied with rhythmic movement of hands.
The four holed board, the inimitable carrom,
Smoothening the striking arena with soft talcum.
As an adolescent, badminton was my favourite sport,
Away from physical strain, scrabble was my word court.
Tried learning the moves and counter moves of chess,
But all in vain as it turned to be a big mess.
Computer games were never my cup of tea,
Beating me was my Dad in road rash with utmost glee.
Memories of beautiful games and little joys with pals never pale,
All this looks like a lovely fable or a wonderful tale.
I wish those days to come back and remain in my mists,
All my efforts would be in capturing them in my fists.
ALL PLAY AND NO WORK….WOW!
