I was at the Art Institute of Chicago recently to watch the Picasso exhibits. Apart from being completely blown over by the genius of the artist, something else caught my attention. The institute was pretty crowded that day, and it was hard to pay attention to any particular face or keep track of anybody. The crowd was moving along like a stream of water, pausing at every painting briefly. But there was one little boy who I couldn't help notice.
He had come to see the paintings with his mother and younger sister, and they were standing right next to me. I figured he must be around eight years old. He was wearing these Harry Potter glasses and looked rather contemplative. Very soon I realized that I had an admirer. This kid was trying to imitate my behavior at the institute. He paused at a painting for exactly the same amount of time, and focused in exactly the same areas of the painting as I did. If I read the description of the painting, he would read it too, else ignore it. He folded his hands when I folded mine, and when I stepped away from a painting, he followed suit, constantly casting glances at me to make sure his imitation was perfect. His younger sister on the other hand was far too young for Picasso I guess. She looked bored and kept trying to distract her brother, but in vain. This went on for a really long time. I should say I was really amused by his behavior, even feeling proud at some point that this kid was imitating me and not his mother. :D
He had come to see the paintings with his mother and younger sister, and they were standing right next to me. I figured he must be around eight years old. He was wearing these Harry Potter glasses and looked rather contemplative. Very soon I realized that I had an admirer. This kid was trying to imitate my behavior at the institute. He paused at a painting for exactly the same amount of time, and focused in exactly the same areas of the painting as I did. If I read the description of the painting, he would read it too, else ignore it. He folded his hands when I folded mine, and when I stepped away from a painting, he followed suit, constantly casting glances at me to make sure his imitation was perfect. His younger sister on the other hand was far too young for Picasso I guess. She looked bored and kept trying to distract her brother, but in vain. This went on for a really long time. I should say I was really amused by his behavior, even feeling proud at some point that this kid was imitating me and not his mother. :D
But, on my way back home, my amusement turned into serious contemplation. I was transported back to my childhood days, when I tried very hard to look and behave like an adult. I don't know if I really wanted to be an adult, but I tried to imitate them nonetheless. I watched my parents, other grown-ups, even older siblings very carefully. When our family watched a movie on TV, I would watch my mother every time there was a funny scene, to see if she was laughing. If she laughed, I would laugh. If she didn't find it funny, then it wasn't worth laughing. I tried to chew food the way grown-ups did. Yes, I thought grown-ups chewed food differently from kids. I've draped myself in my mom's sari several times and admired myself in the mirror. I felt really good when I was in the middle of grown-ups having serious conversations, or when the seniors in school knew my name. I imagined how I'd behave, how I'd eat, how I'd laugh and how I'd talk when I grew up.
And then, I thought about all the times in my adult years, when I've wished I were a child again. I've wished I could go back to my school days, when life was much simpler, when everything was taken care of, and all I had to do was study and write exams, and wait for the holidays. Days when I was so young I didn't think so much. My only biggest worry then was how 1st standard was going to be when compared with kindergarten. Days when I cried my heart out when my necklace of pink beads broke, spilling the beads onto the earth, and that was the most painful thing that could happen. I still remember the tightness in my chest. And then I wondered, if I were to become a kid again, if I were to get that pink necklace back, would I hold onto my dear childhood, not wanting to let go? Or, will I reach for that sari again?
And then, I thought about all the times in my adult years, when I've wished I were a child again. I've wished I could go back to my school days, when life was much simpler, when everything was taken care of, and all I had to do was study and write exams, and wait for the holidays. Days when I was so young I didn't think so much. My only biggest worry then was how 1st standard was going to be when compared with kindergarten. Days when I cried my heart out when my necklace of pink beads broke, spilling the beads onto the earth, and that was the most painful thing that could happen. I still remember the tightness in my chest. And then I wondered, if I were to become a kid again, if I were to get that pink necklace back, would I hold onto my dear childhood, not wanting to let go? Or, will I reach for that sari again?
