Just by writing 1999, I'm feeling old.
It's just a casual photograph where, perhaps, I was eating off my father's plate and he probably must've put a spoonful of rice and dal in my mouth twice or thrice.
I can't remember correctly, but I was never the stubborn child. I was notorious, but never stubborn. In fact, I was favourite, especially my father's.
He used to give me new nicknames every week, and checked which of them annoyed me the most. He also used to let me pull his chest's hair, and then made expressions of being hurt. He'd always pamper me. So much sometimes, that my mother started worrying I'd be a spoilt child. Sometimes he'd let me have larger share than my brother, and at other times, he'd spare all of his time for me after he was back from office, when I'd lay beside him on diwaan and watched TV and told stories from school.
I remember us making rhymes after rhymes on random subjects which usually started with *jai kaali kalkatte wali, tera wachan naa jaaye khaali*; it had always been my favorite thing to do, until, one day, it all stopped.
That day we shifted to a new city and he had to remain back, to earn.
My childhood ended that day.
I was only six then.
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