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All Grown Up



I saw a notice on the notice board the other day. It said ‘New library for kids in flat no. xxx.’ 
‘This notice doesn’t concern us anymore does it?’ I jokingly remarked to my friend, who was standing next to me. She looked a little hurt. 
“I was going to take a look", she said.
 “For your little brother?” 
“No, for me. We’re still kids, aren’t we?”

On children’s day, another friend asked me if I was participating in the children’s day event in the apartment. " No. Are you?” I replied, thinking ‘We’re too old for such things.’ I was about to say that out loud when he said, ‘Yes, I’m dancing.’

Both incidents left me a little taken aback. When had I started classifying myself as not-a-kid?

At twelve, I was officially too old for the children’s playground in the apartment complex . At seventeen, I was too old to attend the summer theatre workshops at Ranga Shankara.

On my eighteenth birthday, society decided that I was an adult. That meant I could live by myself, drive, earn, vote, watch movies rated A and even get married if I were so inclined. It also meant that at every event for children, I would be an escort or a volunteer or an organiser - never an invitee.

When I was a kid, the adults’ world looked boring and scary. Textbooks got thicker, fonts got smaller, illustrations became black and white or disappeared altogether. There were no merry-go-rounds, no balloons at birthdays parties (if there were birthday parties). Adults worked in big silent offices with cubicles. They typed things I could not understand on computers all day. They didn’t play board games or, to tell the truth-any games at all. And worst of all, their conversations had layers. Adults around me were often upset or offended by what I had thought was perfectly polite and friendly conversation.

Now I understand the things in the thick textbooks. I take part in conversations that I couldn’t comprehend.  I even enjoy them. Offices are not so scary when you’re as tall as the workers (at least the shorter ones)  there. But while I like the new world that I am becoming a part of, I can’t say that I don’t miss what I’ve left behind. I still love the colourful illustrations and posters in school classrooms. I still love balloons and word-building and Jenga. I still hum nursery rhymes. And I still dislike conversations with layers, especially now that I can see them.

‘Must I leave my childhood behind, then? Can I do it?’  is a question I realise I already have the answer to. It was clear in my laughter as I spun around in the merry-go-round in the middle of the night at eighteen and a half.


****
I wrote this a few months ago and forgot to post it. :) But my nineteenth birthday is the perfect time for this post, don't you think?

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Comments

  1. Srinivasan20 September 2015 at 07:17

    Age is no bar for anything. Childhood memories are for ever.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous13 May 2023 at 17:54

    "Conversations with layers". I had been looking for a phrase to describe the rather unsavory phenomenon. Found it. Thank you!
    Adding layers to conversation is tiring tbh. It's unfortunate that it is rather prominent at times :'(
    Saying what one means and meaning what one says is the best. Simple.

    ReplyDelete

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