Thursday, 9 September 2010

The Last Toy

A year ago, I’d picked up a toy on a railway station; one of those cheap plastic mobiles you hang on a baby’s crib, one with ghungroos that rattle when you key the thing up and it spins. That sort of a toy is my earliest memory of a toy. The one that I picked was very similar to the one that I had as a baby. I liked it; the movement of colors still mesmerises me.

When I got it, everyone teased me; called me a baby and I gleefully played with it. I hung it on the door frame of my inner room and would twirl it from time to time. Then some while ago, I unconsciously stopped doing it. The toy collected dust. I cleaned it occasionally. Then a few weeks ago, I figured out that the mechanism had stopped working; rust, probably. So I just let it hang in all it’s colors.

Today, I realized that it was filthily covered in dust and there was no reason for it to hang there. So I took it off and asked mom to throw it; I couldn’t have done it myself and she’d been dying to do it. When she did take it away, however, I felt a tear sting my eye. I don’t know what happened but I felt like sitting right there on the ground and throwing a tantrum to get a new one or get that one repaired; anything to stop it from joining the junk pile. But I realised as I relinquished my hold on that toy that I may have a child in me forever, but I had to let go of this last toy.

I just had to grow up….. and that felt sad…..

Do you have an episode to share? Some writing you'd like me to put up? Send it in to me at '' and I'll post it here under your name.

1 comment:

  1. I feel exactly like you... Growing up is both painful and pleasurable.. Quite a catchy title "Rush hour pages".. Keep blogging!