1. What I remember and miss most about being a kid is kite-running. Yes I was an insatiable kite-runner! Not the rooftop variety though. Growing in my grandparents' 6-canal evacuee property home was a boon. It allowed me uninterrupted running space, enough to chase flitting kites

2. It was the centerpiece of my childhood. The thought of waking on a weekend morning, getting ready (which involved the works, as my mom is quite the tiger mom!) and preparing for the kill could get me in a tizzy. Imagine there were kites to be had every weekend, not just basant

3. By the end of day my hands would be full of tiny string cuts, but they brought with them immense happiness, a sense of a job well done. The feeling of slicing the air at odd angles to grip the fleeting string, and then to start pulling the kite in and add to the growing booty!

4. Once I managed to swipe a huge patang. It was swaying past slowly, high up as a hawk, but I could hear the string swishing somewhere low. Once in my grip, I stood rooted in my spot, slowly pulling it in, winding up the string in a zigzag in one hand, marvelling at the descent.

5. I remember those moments in such frightfully clear ways. My thoughts, emotions, the elation, the thrill, and the magic of existence. And then I kissed that patang, proudly adding it to my collection. On other days when I couldn't conquer a single kite, I came away crestfallen

6. What can I say except that the end of basant was heartbreaking. Neither do I now live in an old bungalow with rolling hills & fruit trees. Deep down I'm still that kite-runner. When I remove all the layers that have grown atop me since then, it still is my true elemental core

7. I still dream my most cherished dreams in the form of my grandparents' home, my nana's fruit orchards, our dogs, my kites. And in those dreams, the kites are always flitting, and I am forever in a state of chase and existential lack. Is there an allegory there? I don't know