Its funny how my eyes always find him.... amidst the crowd... always
i was watching him again today laughing like a child... that he is...
dancing like the red top ... that I used to spin when i was three...
when i see him free...spirited...alive...living every moment of his life
i become a child again .... watching the magician transform a piece of cloth into a white bird ... the bird which always flew away... into the sky...
wanting to trade places with the magician or even the bird...

When i was a child .. i used to draw hearts.. now i dont
when i was a child... i used to easily cry when hurt... now i cant
when i was a child i didnt play the games that other children played...
now i want to... but there is noone to play with...

post conventional stage of morality according to Kohlberg was one in which people begin to think beyond the conventions, society - created moral rules, and form their own sense of morality based on intentions, circumstances, obscure principles.
And he also said.. very few people reach that stage...
i feel he is concluding in some way (or maybe i am being judgemental) that conventions are traditional hence regressive hence need to be changed..
being non conformist... being "unconventional" ... being rebellious.. is being young..

however
I remember my grandmother reading out "panchatantra "stories to me... and i remember learning from them...

why do all people find indian psychology too vague to even try reading it.... and will go ahead and religiously read and quote nietzsche and sartre...

there is something wrong with the way we judge things ...
there is something wrong with what we think is right..
there is something wrong with the way we look down upon people who dont know english too well..

careless memories....

remembrance of the things past...
another coincidence.. or maybe not!
another insipient musing...
another casual encounter with someone familiar...
another solicitation by time.... memories unwind.

another face .. I still recognise
though the contours have changed...
his smile still curling beneath his eyes..
those eyes still cannot hide the counterfeit emotions...

maybe its time to colour the sky purple
maybe yodel a new song
maybe write a new poem
the mind is always spinning new memories using the old yarn...