Not a child’s play

“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?"

"They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.

"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"

"A pit full of fire."

"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?"

"No, sir."

"What must you do to avoid it?"

I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come was objectionable: "I must keep in good health and not die.” 
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Ever since I can remember till a couple of days back, I always felt that I have always been living life like a pseudo child. I could attribute it to my tiny frame that I could still pass off as a college girl, if not a school girl! On the home front, I believe my folks really considered me a child what with my lack of any actual responsibility, flimsy life choices and attention span of a toddler. Things on the work front were sparingly different though. My boss wasn’t of the belief that I would choke myself if I was given a little extra push.  So one fine day I was given the mammoth task of talking to school children about financial awareness and even do the inglorious job of milking some business out of the unsuspecting lot. Of course the recipients of my knowledge were expected to go home and harass their parents about making that investment (we even had a goodie deal with the mobilizer of the largest business!!)

Oh god how my conscience twitched when my boss briefed me the details of my ignominious assignment! If not the hell, I sure had reserved my space in the purgatory. But like a true combatant I soldiered on with a straight face and hairs tied back like an archetypal banker girl.

How would I break the ice?  I kept wondering. I wasn’t even that good with kids. In fact I didn’t even know how I was with the kids. I had never given myself a chance to be surrounded by them. The only kid I had seen growing up infront of my eyes was my brother and sweet Jesus knows, that wasn’t really a bed of roses!

I reached the venue clueless as ever and was taken to a classroom brimming with children and adolescents screaming, screeching, making obscene drawings on the blackboard, throwing paper planes at each other etc. Boy, I missed my school. Their teacher banged the duster on the table and made the age old remark of the class not being a fish market. Its funny how every generation hears the same comment, I bet the remark is as old as the existence of ancient fish markets itself. Anyway, the children, if I may call them so (they looked way taller and stronger than me!) were asked to pay attention to what I said. The teacher then seated herself in the last row to mind any rowdy element from there and requested me to begin the session.

I had decided on starting with a joke. One never goes wrong with that.

So, how many would agree with me?

“Money is better than poverty… if only for financial reasons?”

Silence.

Pause.

A crackling laughter.

Nobody got the joke except the teacher in the last row. It was getting worse. Now they would team me up wit their teacher whom they evidently disliked. They would never listen to me. Never.

It was better to go back to the safe terrains. I would do what I had come here to do and go back. The idea of getting all pally was overrated, I convinced myself.  I dint care anymore if I could generate any business here. So I started with the importance of money implications of saving etc. As the session progressed I started getting what I had come totally unprepared for- smart questions from girls and stares from the boys, some of whom were even half my age! Sure I was too young for that sort of flattery. They asked the craziest questions and had opinions which could give a spin to the international financial markets.

Overall, it was not turning out so bad as I had deemed it to be. We even had a few good laughs. I wrapped it up fast, fearing the acceptance would soon turn into instant repudiation if I ate up their recess time. Also I decided that I wouldn’t in any way pressurize them. They were big enough to make the choice.

We got some good business from that school. It was a good feeling, not so much for the business generated but the fact that my words had made a difference. Also, being among so many children did take me somewhat to a place where there were many bittersweet memories to be revisited- my first best friend, my first fountain pen, my first stage performance, my first kiss. I had forgotten what fun it was to just keep spinning like crazy, how natural it was to greet a friend with an insult and how thrilling devising a game with secret codes could be.   

When I look back, there are so many happy images of my childhood but nothing surpasses the sheer joy of having an open doorway with an open mind. The best part being, everyone that I hung out with was blessed with an equally enthralling imagination.

 What happened to us when we grew up?

Surely being as free as a child is not a child’s play.