Getting back

Its almost close to travel dates and my mind goes blank.A year of my own company has made me very much of a recluse,happy with my books and my space.Now I have to take a flight half way around the world because i choose to take a holiday,but the butterflies in my stomach will put any butterfly garden to shame.I am a nervous traveller and a bad travel companion,while the rest of the passengers sleep,i will be wide awake.My suitcase is a mess because i cant seem to plan how many clothes to take.Why cant i relax,why cant i enjoy the moment.Its depressing really that my mind is a total blank,that i worry that my replacement (sister in this case to look after the mother) may not arrive in time and that my mother will have to take all the responsibility of running the house.Its insane for a woman who has travelled to Europe in the past with not a single friend in those parts.I still remember the day i hitched a ride in Paris of all places at some odd hour in the night.I wandered around the streets of Paris with a map in hand and found my self lost in the suburbs and didn't stress myself out.I remember asking in french for directions from two terribly drunk chefs somewhere in a village on the outskirts of Paris.Walking back from a late night movie and getting lost in the metro but finding myself on a busy street again,and walking back to my hotel.Was that me?.Whatever happened to my adventurous spirit.I believe that years of being part of a couple has made me soft.I love not having to take responsibility but its about time I took charge again.I promise myself that I shall explore the world again,I shall not stress and I shall once again live life on my terms.Sometimes regression can be a positive thing.

My little six year old friend

We first met when we were six.I had been home schooled and was therefore terrified about being with so many children.She was made to sit next to me and she got talking,asking me a load of questions really.I was rather impressed.I had never seen anyone with such light hair or such fair skin so I assumed she was from another country.She on finding that I had no clue what school was all about(she had experience of being sent to a nursery school and was therefore a sort of expert)decided to take me under her wing.When she asked me what religion I practised and what my nationality was I answered in all innocence that I was an Indian christian.Her reaction has me laughing even today.At six and studying in an Anglo Indian school meant that most kids had grandparents who were English or Australian and the few of us who were died in the wool Indian were a small minority.She told me very firmly that I was no Injun(her way of pronouncing Indian) and should get it out of my system double quick.I was too young and too inexperienced to even question such wisdom so I fell in line.I liked her a lot.She was a regular child and what struck anyone who say her for the first time,was how dirty she was.She was a grubby child,dirt streaked her skin(thanks to sucking on a leaky fountain pen,and playing in the mud or sandpits)Her hair was always a mess though it started the day being neat and tidy.We both shared our common reading problems of Indian languages so we were sisters in arms.Naturally this reinforced her view that i was no injun.Several times we left our school campus(not allowed) to run over to her house that was pretty close to the school.Her Irish setter would slobber all over us and her grandmother would give us some cake and make beautiful cloth flowers dipped in perfume.I loved getting those and would cherish them for years after wards.We studied together till we were around sixteen and then she dropped out of my life soon enough thanks to the anxiety of exams getting to her.I lost track and some stories drifted my way of her having married a foreigner(didn't even know his nationality,and having moved to England).Some 25 years later a chance school reunion kindled my curiosity as to what happened to her.An enterprising headmistress (she kept all our addresses and phone numbers) put us back in touch.

Now its time to meet again.On an off chance I decided to write to her that I would be visiting England and would like to meet her.Her reply was prompt and a positive one.My best memories of her are as of a six year old.Well into the 40s what do i expect to find.Will she be in some ways the same girl I knew.I wonder?.The thought of seeing her again brings back so many childhood memories.Memories of small desks in which we stored all that was forbidden,sitting next to her in craft class.My famous addiction to sticking glue which i could snif for hours(in those days no one told me it was unsafe)and the many games we played,the trees we climbed and the knees we skined.