Tonight as I walked down this road under the not-so-big umbrella to shield both my backpack and me, carrying the weight of a laptop and empty lunch box, I stopped short. Right under my nose was a tiny puddle that conjured up a few moments from the past. Like always, questions and thoughts from that obnoxious part of my brain began firing. The first question was to jump into the puddle or behave myself?
The last time I did what the adults call an act of a child was years ago when I was rushing back home for lunch on a rainy summer afternoon after playing the gully cricket with a bunch of lunatics. What stopped me today and made me think thrice?
Perhaps the memory that reeled back to that day when I was bought an ice cream and made to share it not-so-willingly, the smell of the mud that's gone missing now, or may be the child who grew up to be over conscious about dirtying her Palazzo and the fright and embarrassment of being caught by a stranger watching her do this silly act. I can't really say.
Nonetheless, for once I stared at the road of memory behind me and made a silent promise to the little puddle before me that next time there won't be a second thought or another road of memory between us.