Point of View

Some incidents and memories never fade from our minds—whether they're the ecstatic ones or the ones that tug at our hearts. (I prefer not to use words like 'toxic' or 'traumatizing'—they've become overused and often magnify negativity, sometimes making situations seem worse than they are). Instead, I prefer to focus on memories that make me smile. Of course, there are also those "hard to forget" moments that always seem to pop up when I’m lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. But, I enjoy reflecting on sweet, old memories, and I often do. 

So, one fine day, my parents decided to ask their almost-five-year-old daughter (me!) what she wanted to be when she grew up. The five-year-old me answered:

"I want to grow older."

My mom smiled and asked, "Yes, but when you grow older, what do you want to become?"

At that point, the five-year-old me didn’t have an answer. In my young mind, growing up itself felt like the goal. Little did I know, I had some pretty solid reasons for thinking that way.

Whenever I went out with either Mom or Dad, my point of view was quite different from theirs and from many of my favorite people—like Sheena Miss at school, the friendly ice cream shop uncle, my dad’s friend who always smiled warmly, the grocery store owner who gave me a peppermint now and then, or the aaya at school. The world looked so different through my eyes.

For instance, I always had to ask my mom to turn on the lights or hand me a cookie from the cookie box because, from my point of view, I only saw the wall—never the switchboard. And the big, low-lying containers of flour and rice were often all I could see. The cookie box was always out of my reach, like some unattainable treasure. At school, I had to tilt my head just to catch a glimpse of Sheena Miss’s face; otherwise, I only saw the pleats of her saree. The ice cream shop was a whole adventure in itself. All I could see was the big brand name and logo plastered across the ice cream fridge, while the actual ice creams remained hidden behind the counter. Every time, I’d balance on my toes, trying to catch a peek, and without fail, Dad would scoop me up so I could finally pick my favorite flavor. 

For years, all I could see in the grocery store was the rack of biscuit packets behind the glass shelf. I’d stand there, impatiently waiting for Dad and the shop owner to finish their endless conversation, while staring at the world around me. Bicycle tires looked like giant wheels, and bus steps seemed to be half my height.

At the temple, the only time I caught a glimpse of the shaami (the Lord) was when my mom lifted me into her arms, whispering in my ear to pray for good manners, good health, and to be a smart girl. With hands clasped and eyes closed, I would pray sincerely. But the rest of the time, I only saw the walking saree pleats and pant pockets of other people.

One time, I asked my dad to buy me the largest set of crayons. To explain, I stretched my hands wide to show him how big it was—though it was really just about the size of an A4 sheet. My dad first got me a box of six crayons, but when he realized that my "large" didn't mean six, he later bought me a box of twelve crayons. That was "larger" for me, but still not "the largest"! When we went back to the stationery store, all I could see from the outside was a dust-covered cupboard. But once Dad lifted me up in his arms, a whole colorful world opened up before me.

So, after experiencing all of this, what five-year-old wouldn’t wish to grow up quickly? It made so much sense, didn’t it? Little did I know that growing up came with bills, responsibilities, and no unlimited ice cream selections!

That day, when my parents asked me what I wanted to become, I didn’t know what else to say besides “I want to grow older.” Eventually, I learned to respond with what my parents wanted to hear. As the years passed, I stopped thinking about those little things. Growing up wasn’t the goal anymore, and I never again said, 'I want to grow older.' It’s funny how life changes—now that I’m an adult, I sometimes find myself wishing for those simpler times. Back then, my biggest challenges were reaching the cookie jar or picking out the 'largest' crayon box. Now, the world seems so much bigger, and the responsibilities even heavier. But if I could go back, even just for a moment, I'd probably smile at the little me, so eager to grow up, not knowing that the real magic was in those small, fleeting moments.