Not a pile of gold but a treasure of love- Vismaya Venugopal, IDC Economics

As J G Jennings mentioned in the poem, Lovely is Youth, the phase of our childhood is indeed the most euphoric time of our lives; the sad part being that it gets over like the expeditious flight of a meteor. Talking of meteors reminds me of the times that we children used to stand in that small park, the centre of activity in our quarters, and watched shooting stars fall, not realising that we were also a part of the flight. While I have a poor memory that flies away like leaves in the wind, the memories of those childhood days  has stayed in my mind like a huge rock immovable by any wind gust. The friendships I formed during those days made me realise its importance in facing the sea of adversities that life offers.

The nostalgia of the 11 years that I spent in the place that I could call heaven has been carved in my heart. The park is the best museum for me, with the artifacts all grown up and separated from each other now. But while creepers grow different ways, the bond it formed in the beginning makes it stick together anyways. Those bonds were the ink that my pen needed to write the pages of my unfinished novel of life. Every evening felt like the celebrations of festivals with everyone out of their houses, playing and talking and basically on cloud nine throughout. All the fierce matches of badminton played under the dull streetlights with the moon for its bulb, the days spent cycling around the park imagining it to be an amusement ride and those Saturday evenings indefatigably spent playing Cops and Robbers are beautiful sad memories that shines like the sun in a blue sky.

The plethora of falls and injuries now feels like caresses, with the tears blooming me into a flower from the bud that I was back then. Seventh standard was when the curtain of this play fell, an end to a beautiful scene. Even after moving from there, opening the creaking windows of life back then, brings in a flood of light to the current confines within the four walls of my room. The childhood I got is a four leaf clover which I consider as my greatest luck because those innocent days were filled with perfect exhilaration. John Green once said that some infinities are bigger than other infinities; and like Hazel Grace,  I am thankful for the little infinity I got in my childhood, a fountain of memories that noone can take away from me. Those good times is reflected in the sanguinity hidden in the pritsine melancholy of my reminiscences.