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Children on the way

One never knows how life can change as we grow. It's only when we turn into adults, that we feel like being kids again, and when we're kids, we dream to have responsibilities, a family, a house, and a job. A dream job.

Seeing them I wish I'd never grown. They had so much left in life. So many to face, so many to see. Responsibilities, expectations, and dreams to conquer.
They were happy now.
Five beautifully innocent faces, happy and content with their lives. How I wished I spoke better Marathi to communicate with them. They flocked around me to bravely look at my camera's display, as I composed a photograph of a wall and a vessel. So curious, their eyes full of wonder. The youngest boy of six or seven shifted his legs as I smiled at him. "Do you all want to see?" I asked in my pathetic Marathi, lowering my camera to their level. Appreciatively, they gathered around its screen, their faces full of awe. "Can I shoot you?" I asked them in my broken speech.

The young girl smiled shyly, and I clicked her innocent face. I wished to be eight again. To play, to cycle, and run around. To fall and get hurt, roll in dirt and muck, and have mum yell at me for it. They were so lucky. I wished they'd never have to grow. I showed them their pictures, and they squealed in recognition of their own faces. It gave me so much happiness. They would have something to tell their mother when they ran home for lunch. They would tell her of a strange didi with a camera, and how wonderful it was to see themselves in its screen. It was so exhilarating to see their curiosity and wonder.

I so felt light and happy, that it made me smile all the way back to hostel. I wished I could play with them. I wish I could speak in Marathi. I wish I could make more time.
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