Taking those white squares of paper, folding it three ways and then another until it got to a shape of a boat with a pointy triangular sail and gleefully exclaiming ‘mine is done’ while the cousins were still struggling with the squares, was an achievement beyond anything to be compared.
Running to the transparent stream with tiny fishes lurking around rocks and gently letting go the boat; then swishing its tail-fin while coaxing it to go without toppling over was ecstasy.
Some days the mild showers soaked up the boat even before it got launched.
Watching my creation set sail and float away was the best the world could give to me at that point in life as a child. The force taking it downstream and with me running on the side trying not to stumble, and then coaxing it with words was the high point.
The meandering stream carried my boat, now and then lightly bruised by rocks and little obstacles as it flowed away yet fighting through.
The running feet along the shores vying to see their boats with trepidation- ‘whose boat made it first and whose got sunk’, was on our minds. Like warriors going into the battlefield with whooping cries and returning victorious if it made it and then rescuing it downstream was precious.
Scrambling away to make more paper boats and into the frenzy of ‘who did it first’ and then letting go the next batch of sail boats- while cheering with joy was our summer fun in Kerala.
Coming back home and then launching into an animated discussion about who made it, who did it well and who didn’t -then laughing out loud while describing the event and at times rolling over clutching the stomach at some inane joke.
Those days of simple pleasures and childhood are treasured memories.