one last time...

How i wish to pack all things wonderful, in some fancy glitter paper, and take them where ever i go. They would surely last me many years.

B's vocabulary - which seems to be growing day by day, spending long hours chatting with M and friends, eating chaat with cousins; while it's pouring outside, squabbling with mother on petty issues, talking about anything with father, reading novels late into the night seated on my rocking chair.... I'm going to miss all this and much more.

I am mesmerized with The Secret Garden. It makes me want to go back to it again and again. The same with The Wind In The Willows. The latter is more adventurous in nature. But, both will put a soft smile on your face, many a time. I'm sure about this.

Another extract from The Secret Garden. One of my all-time favourites. Here we go;

'I shall stop being queer,' he said, 'if I go everyday to the garden. There is magic in there - good Magic, you know, Mary. I'm sure there is.'
'Even if it isn't real Magic,' Colin said, 'we can pretend it is. Something is there - something!'
'It's Magic,' said Mary, 'but not black. It's as white as snow.'
They always called it Magic, and indeed it seemed like it in the months that followed - the wonderful months - the radiant months - the amazing ones. Oh! the things which happened in the garden! If you have never had a garden, you can never understand, and if you have a garden you will know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show their buds, and the buds began to unfurl to show colour, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In it's happy days, flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner. Ben Weatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scrapped out mortar from between the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely clinging things to grow on. Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves and green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas.....

.......'Then something began pushing things up out of the soil and making things out of nothing. One day things weren't there and another they were. I had never watched things before, and it made me feel very curious. Scientific people are always curious, and I am going to be a liitle scientific. I keep saying to myself: " What is it? What is it?" It's something. It can't be nothing! I don't know it's name, so I call it Magic. I have never seen the sun rise, but Mary and Dickon have, amd from what they tell me I am sure that is Magic, too. Something pushes it up and draws it. Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something were pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breatyhe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of Magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places. The Magic in this garden has made me stand up and know I am going to live to be a man. I am going to make the scientific experiment of trying to get some and put it in myself and make it push and draw me and make me strong. I don't know how to do it, but I think that if you keep thinking about it and calling it perhaps it will come.

PS: This is to be my last article, till i-don't-know when. I will not be blogging henceforth. I'm shifting to Mysore for further studies. You can always mail me. I'll be very happy to hear from you.

I hope to come back soon(wishful thinking, i know), rejoin the blog-world, to visit your pages, and write on my own. Till then, all the best, with whatever you do!

Inshallah!