The stories fade away…

Every time one of my distant relatives comes visiting, I get to be an audience to some amazingly interesting conversations. Ranging from how my dad and uncle used to come home to Trichur during their vacations and to spend the whole summer, how they roamed around with their noses sky high as if they owned the place, how they ran across the paddy fields to jump into the pond at the end of it, how they romped into the dense backyard plundering the weak creepers and shrubs,their feared enemies, or how they spent a lazy after-noon throwing stones to score a mango or two…

The worrying thought that went across my mind was, are we running out of stories to tell our kids when they grow up? Are we building a generation of fathers and uncles who have never seen the simple life? Our generation is a scared lot. The feeling of being protected has encroached our very existence. To explore or wander aimlessly is a daring thing to do in these times, not the regular drill. The cynics amongst us rue on “losses” in their lives, but what we dont realise is that we’ve been losing a lot of important things all along the way.

Let the kids splash their way around in slush, give them their grand-parents, let them taste the rain drops, let them fight with their fantasies, let them fly…

Lest we have a generation, whose tales begin with “There was this one time when your father and uncle played on the Xbox for a whole night!”