If only I knew it as a kid..

"Vroom Vroom" the kid went as he swiftly rode a scooter. His father followed him awkwardly on a skate board. What struck me as amusing was the impeccable technique and confidence with which the little kid rode, while his father struggled to keep up pace. 

We meet a few people everyday in our routine, they might be strangers, yet we see them everyday and without ever realizing it, they get us thinking. I see the father son duo every morning as I walk to college. The kid, a curious little fellow is always in for a bit of early morning enlightenment as he shoots his father with numerous questions, innocent but intelligent questions, questions to which we have long stopped probing answers. Of course the father doesn't have all the answers but he has patience, and a lot of it.

Why am I writing all this ? There is a reason. There always is. I talk about the kid's scooter driving competence, his curiosity and enthusiasm- qualities which we lose out slowly as we keep growing. A certain financial and moral responsibility keeps weighing us down, insecurities keep us on guard, so much so that we are a pretense half of the time except for among a tiny fraction of the people we absolutely trust. Sometimes, we find ourselves short of our skill, the skill that we took pride in all our life, slowly waning as other priorities suddenly reach the top of our mind. 

I miss being a kid, the security of it, like the little boy under the aegis of his father, I see every morning. I miss doing all that I want, without care or fear. I do not want success or failure to affect me, my confidence. I do not want to run a filter in my mind every time I speak. If only I knew the truth as a kid, I wouldn't have perhaps wished so earnestly to reach here so soon.

That evening in windy Chicago

A glass of coffee and a half bitten piece of croissant lay on my table. While the wind blew ever so lightly on my face, a helicopter circled the Will's tower that stood behind me. The skydeck where I stood a few days ago, appeared now like a little matchbox protruding out from the skyscraper. In spite of all the noise, it was comforting to sit there on a Friday evening when people walked back home in weekend cheer. I could see two people dressed in suits, presumably business associates discussing animatedly at a table father away, one of whom was an Indian. He took a quick glance at me and I saw a certain flicker of recognition in his eyes, he smiled and I smiled back in acknowledgement.

I was still enamored with the Art Museum I just visited, it had made quite an impact on me. While Vincet Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir were just names that I had heard of previously, I never thought art had such immense power of expression. It was when I saw Seurat's painting "A Sunday afternoon on the island of La Grande Jatte" that my trip was complete. I stood there for long admiring the work, absorbing all that my eyes could, much like the scene from Ferris Bueller's day off, only I was more fascinated by the landscape and Seurat's portrayal of shadow than the little girl under the umbrella. I was also immediately taken by the concept of portraying a woman along with her modern dressing style at the Impressionism, Fashion and Modernity exhibition for a woman is not just her body or beauty but also the way she carries herself - a fact so well expressed by the 19th century French painters.

The walk to the Bank of America Theatre which was playing "The Book of Mormon" was long yet pleasant. The shade of the skyscrapers and the occasional iron bridges brought a touch of serenity to the bustling city. It was my first theater experience, the setting was almost royal. Watching television is great but nothing can beat the experience of an actor performing live; so open, vulnerable and alive that the effort and money to watch it is all worth it. From the creators of South Park, this vile comedy was a stark contrast to the decent setting in which we were placed with everyone dressed in expensive suits. A hilarious account on Mormon missionaries, the play in spite of all the filth actually makes you think about religion, its rigidity and the way we interpret it.

It was the last day well spent in Chicago for every moment was special, infused with either awe, humor, admiration or motivation. It also marked a new beginning, the enthusiasm to start an independent grown up life, the life of a graduate student.