On Cinnamon and Puddles

puddles2

After successfully explaining the intricacies surrounding the famed cinnamon roll and getting more than what I asked for (jack fruit rolls, dates rolls, croissants and rolls filled with Arabic spices) I ventured out of the kitchen satisfied with myself. My tryst with cinnamon began when I realized that I had been pronouncing it wrong. I honestly did not know how it was pronounced because I always looked up the difficult words in the dictionary and tried to figure out the pronunciation by myself. So, on a particularly uninteresting day, I was shockingly corrected by a fellow friend. Rarely do I get the pronunciation and spelling wrong. Stunned, I came back home and searched for the word and listened to the pronunciation. Since then I have been guarded about the words that fell from my lips. I mentally double check what I want to say before uttering anything. I am digressing. As I left the kitchen I looked out of the window from my dining room to check if it was still drizzling. As expected it sure was. I stood there enjoying the cool breeze when I saw a small kid wearing beige shorts and an orange vest run up the stairs in the neighbouring house. He might have been six or seven years old. Barefoot, he ran across the terrace jumping in every puddle with a huge smile plastered on his face. No, he didn’t have company, just the slight drizzle rendering his game a worthy one. He dashed back towards the stairs and picked up the black umbrella which was lying upside down. Like a Victorian maiden he strutted around the terrace doing a balancing act. Point to note: the umbrella wasn’t in its best shape. A couple of long strides later the umbrella turned inside out. He looked at it curiously and pulled it down trying to bring it back to its original shape. Four tries later he was back to where he began. He jumped around with the umbrella and explored the relatively bare terrace. He found a white flower on a long stem and seemed pretty happy with his finding. His running around brought him in front of a lone solar panel. He looked at it and decided that it would be fun to see the flower tumble down on the panel. Acting on instinct he threw the flower onto the solar panel and looked expectantly. Nothing happened. The flower remained on the panel, now out of reach. He stood there trying to figure out the best course of action. He put down the umbrella and gently placed his feet on the glass panel and tried to climb the wet panel. The expected happened. He slid down but thankfully did not land on his butt. He jumped around a bit more and then decided to hold the umbrella and retrieve the flower. With two feet and one hand he desperately tried to reach the flower which was adamant on remaining out of his reach. After another unsuccessful try he gave up and continued his initial game of running around in circles and jumping in puddles. It was actually fun to watch him run around with any inhibition. I don’t have a care in the world. Ooh, puddle. (Jumps). It is cold. Ooh, another puddle. (Jumps a couple of times). A pattern ensued and I quietly smiled and stopped peeking from behind the golden brown curtain.

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