Growing up with the missed childhood
Despite the tangle of ideas in my mind, I was young, innocent, free, and therefore almost happy. Yesterday, I was reading Tolstoy’s Youth sitting peacefully midst the tall green banyan trees and mosquitos, who believed my blood would be delicious, I wasn’t sure of that, but they were. When I read the above line, I thought to myself, ‘Can it be said any better?’ I had read many such lines in his writing, but this one was exceptional, it was immortal and left no one in the present, it transports you to the past when you felt the same…but just forgot what being happy was all about. I was no exception, I went back to the time when my English teachers used to advise me to read more, but I being the stubborn topper, didn’t find it important, and used to reply, “I don’t like to read…” It was all about numbers for me then, getting full marks in mathematics, gave me pleasure, while English grammar was something I could never understand. I never saw English beyond the grammar book, n