Yesterday was my Dida’s birthday. So it goes without saying, that all her kids, their kids gathered at my mama’s place to celebrate. After the usual cutting of the cake, and gorging on the hot chicken quiches, my cousins, P & O and I broke away from the ‘elderly lot’. Since P and I were extremely tired after a harried day at work, we sunk into the comfy bed, and curled near each other.
I don’t exactly remember how the conversation started, or maybe we just ranted off our work troubles, but sooner or later we landed on the topic of food. With me in the group, it had to land on this topic sooner or later; but this time we were specific. Food written in Enid Blyton books.
P & I reminisced about the warm scones and ginger bread, cookies and fruit beer, and really longed for a holiday in a caravan, just like George, Julian, Dick, Anne & Tim. And P rightly said… all of us, at some level, connected with some member of that Group. Whether it was George for me, or Anne for someone else. Each child (we were sure) attached themselves to one of the group. Whether Famous Five, Secret Seven, the Naughtiest Girl or even the Five Find-Outers, we still love Enid Blyton for the childhood she gave us.
And then P & O could not stop talking about a particular children’s book, and the illustrations that graced the sides of the pages. As P handed me the book, I couldn’t help but sniff the pages. And I flipped page after page, looking at the mostly black and white drawings of teapots, dragons, houses with legs, and furry chicks. Those pages transported us to another world. A world, which I think is also called – Never Never Land. A land where we can be children, expect to be in awe of the simplest of experiences, imagination runs wild as ever, and never worrying about logic or elders.
As P (a graphic designer) went on and on about the futuristic aspect of the illustrations, little seen these days, my fingers traced the cradles drawn, the colourful geometric-patterned quilts and aces and spades, hearts and diamonds glittering across the sky. And then something happened that took me by surprise. O decided to read out her favourite story to us! What a treat!
And as she read out Bye Baby Bunting, who needed his warm woolly pink blanket to snuggle in, I found myself forgetting about the shackles of work, and slipped into the dreamy world of Baby Bunting, where Granny cut the Sun’s hair and washed the Moon’s face. It was a definitive moment for me, for it was a chance to be a child again, listen attentively to a story, grasping at the finer details, drawing an image in the canvas of my mind.
And I wasn’t stingy. I coloured the cupboards yellow, painted the cradle mellow, and ruffled the leaves in the forest, and imagined their hearty breakfast!
|Pic sourced from Google.|