To the eyes of a two year me, life was rater different from
what it is now. It was full of magic and everything was a kaleidoscopic in its
own nature. I have no real memory but rather flashes of it, vestiges of a memorable
time popping up like bubbles in a champagne glass. These are not memories that
I can make any sense of but are rather distinctive and certainly not very
descriptive in nature. I don’t remember all of them ( I was just a couple of
years old, my brain was still finding places to keep stuff and had other
serious problems like food and potty to bother about) but I do remember a few
of them and of course one of them has a lot to do with braids.
When I started thinking about braids and what the to write
about them, frankly I was turning blank, with the very little hair that I
myself has that was no surprise. That’s when I realized that I should stop
being a stupid narcissist and concentrate along another lines. I donned my
thinking hat on and started thinking what thoughts braids inspire in me. One thought,
rather one memory stood out of all. It was that of a two year old me, the hazy vision
of the dangling braids all in sepia like in any good flashback from a beloved
part of my life. I could see through the baby eyes of mine the life that was in
and around me.
The first of the visions that I remember has my mother’s
face in it, much younger and with much less wrinkles, so much younger and
carefree than I ever remember her. I could faintly hear her smiles as she cajoled
me. I could feel the delight in her giggles as I hung on to her braids and carried
out various scientific experiments on like, biting, tasting, pulling and what
not. I can remember the cries of utter delight that I let out and the immediate
effect it has on my mother’s face. I remember watching the smile that reciprocate
on her face, her eyes lighting up as if she was beholding something miraculous
n her hands. Something that only a mother can feel for her son I guess.
Every one of my memories of my grandmother has something to
do with braids. I have seen beautiful pictures of my ravishingly beautiful grandmother
at my home. She had a very long braid, so beautiful were they, But that not the
one that I remember. By the time I was born she had lost the blackness of her
hair and her braids were no longer that strong but I can say that they would
put most girls to shame. I remember I her braids, much before she lost it to
old age and its ailments. It was like a silver thread, so beautiful; I can even
remember seeing them shine brightly in the sunlight. The little me was so fascinated
by the games her braids would play with the light, I would try chasing it, jumping
on it and everything else I was capable of them.
I don’t know whether I could go on and say that braids has
done a lot to my childhood, or that it played an important part in my younger
years. But I can say this that though I have no braids, braids have featured in
some the most cherished of my childhood memories. My memory of my mother when I
was little was one the most beautiful memories that I have of my mother, a
personal favorite, one among the very few where I remember her as carefree and
elated. Huh! Memories sometimes that is all that we may have for ourselves. My only wish is that these memories be real and not just a product of my runaway
Story written for : Beautiful Ends to your Beautiful Braids!