I remember riding around my grandmother’s house in a tricycle. Everything around me seemed so big. The wild berries eaten while playing on a raised cement platform (chabootra in Hindi) , found in most old colonial houses, in the summer afternoon, left a yummy sweet taste in my mouth. The silly childhood rhymes felt so profound, apt and worldly when they were finally composed. I enjoyed the love bestowed upon me by my grandparents and parents. Life seemed fulfilling. Dreams of years ahead were full of romantic escapades. There was an eagerness to await for the time when,”I would become big.” The most gratifying appreciation was that which came from the immediate family. My little world traveled with me wherever I went.