It’s Childish
Buttercups and Daisies, Artwork by Hugh Cameron
My toy cabinet is almost twenty years old. After around five years of its arrival, my mother instructed our carpenter to make some tiny changes so that my big Minnie Mouse could fit into the cabinet. I still remember that I used to be very cranky about the doll. I had a vision that she was a misfit in the lot and she probably cried every night for not getting a place in that all doll house. And after watching the “Toy Story” series, I had no doubt about my wildering thoughts. I even used to wake up at midnights and tip-toe to see if they were having any discussion or not. But I always ended up saying, “Huh, they are so smart! They knew I would come.” Moreover, I started a new arrangement system to make them understand things like who should be sitting with whom or who would be going with me for outings and why others had to stay, and so on and on. The conversation trail had no full-stops.
Last weekend, I sat in front of my cabinet. It was as usual blooming out with some happy faces. I paused for a moment and then opened the glass door. I needed to grab some toys for a campaign. I took out Loppy, a doll with a pink frock; then Bruno, a brown overly-stuffed puppy; Snowy, a big white teddy with a red bow tie; and then my only bride doll, Lizzy. I looked at my favorite Minnie. But I had questions, “Should I give her away?” Or, “What else can I give except her?” After some years of adulthood, I still had that childish hesitation. I still had that “No...It’s mine!” kind-of-defense. I could still feel my eyes getting welled up. I kept her at her place and took out a stuffed duck.
My cabinet still has some favorites. And I guess they will be there until I decide my way with my childhood squeezes. It may sound way too childish. But is there any place where we would go to search for the parameters of childishness? Or can anybody answer “When should you give up on your innocence?” “Is there any rule that whenever you’d be in your 20s or 30s or even 60s, there should be a line to give up on your simple childish attributes?”
It’s not just about things. It could be about anything. It’s all about that last trace of our inner-child’s emotion. And that’s a precious aspect of our personalities. That defines who we really are.
Even if we agree or not, we are all stuffed into a time where complexity is the core-value. We find that demon in almost every way. If we accept a small dot of innocence, it may not change the daily core-value, but it may give us a chance to celebrate that little forgotten joy for the rest of the day. The value of our sincerity will not fade away if zephyr-like childishness comes in the po-faced hours. We just need to accept our infrequent yet pertinent emotional transitions. I call that acceptance Ina*.
Imagine if you could have the chance to talk to your own child-self, what would you ask? Probably your one question would be how did you learn so fast? I guess the answer is ‘acceptance’.
(*In Sanskrit, Ina (इन).—a. means determined or anything that is powerful.)