Pixie Dust

I think I have left it somewhere. I look for it more often now than ever before but I have no clue about its whereabouts. When was the last time I had felt its presence?

I am growing older by day and life is not the same anymore. Of course, during the course of this life, I’ve learnt many things, discovered and developed, laughed and cried…but I have stopped feeling that special thing I used to feel when I was younger.

I don’t know how I lost it all. Was it lost one fine day or on a midsummer night? Or was it lost in my rueful journey to enlightenment?

Whatever the case maybe, I have to live with the fact that I don’t dream the same dreams anymore. I don’t laugh or cry at the tiniest bits of things any more. Small things that used to mesmerize me don’t affect me anymore. The pitter patter of the first drops of rain used to make me dance. Getting drenched in the rain on our terrace was unjaded joy. Now, when it rains, I feel so fussy about my feet getting dirty, the leather shoes being spoilt, the clothes not drying. When did this change happen?

The unpretentious laughter of those days has become so sophisticated. I don’t remember the last time I laughed my heart out, totally happy with the world…like I used to when I was with friends. I remember spending endless hours babbling uselessly with them and laughing uncontrollably at silly jokes. The world was so beautiful then. Now, every word I utter is measured, filtered and weighed. Laughter is so fake, so hollow.

Circumstances have made me strong and mature, practical and responsible, but they have surely stolen my innocence, my dreams and fantasies, my innocuous self.

For men, it may be called the ‘Peter Pan Syndrome’. I don’t know what to call it for me. But yes, I never wanted to grow up. It was great just being in school with the friends who are almost lost now. School hours and even after hours at times were like a journey to Neverland. We had our own sets of mermaids and pixies and fairies. We had our special Tinker Bells too. The school had not one but several Captain Hooks. And we used to spend hours plotting their doom. There were loads of nonsensical secrets that we treasured and communicated with each other in idiotic code languages. The reason for writing all this is that looking back, I miss those days and those friends who had made my life so beautiful. When nostalgia grips me, I feel that if I were Peter Pan, I would never have had to grow up in this world so full of sham. “Growing up is such a barbarous business full of inconvenience and pimples.” My son so fondly assures me that he will build me a time machine someday so that I can go back and re-live those days.

The truth is that as much as I miss my friends today, I know that they have also lost that special feeling like I have. They have all grown up and have mastered the art of living in this world. What bothers me is that we have left those days behind and will never get them back. Does growing up only mean losing the innocent fun of life? Does ageing mean learning to be hypocrites? Does it mean that if we enjoy the childish pleasures of life, we will be branded as immature, imprudent?

If you are reading about my anguish today, I hope it rings a bell. I’m not asking you to be Peter Pan or bring the feeling out of the rusting, worn out chest from the attic. All I’m asking you is not to kill the Peter Pan if you find it in someone. We cannot change the world, but can change ourselves and our dear ones. We can sprinkle pixie dust on ourselves and chant, “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do!” Let us all live like never before. Let us enjoy the tiniest joys of life, away from the complicated turmoil of this world. Let us help each other to turn away from the sordid realities at least for a while each day. Let us find more people laughing and enjoying unpretentiously. Let’s be Peter Pan!