Memories bring varied emotions. Some bring a smile on your face, some make you feel shy, some are quite embarrassing to even remember. Some make you angry or irritated while others make you sad. I have laughed recalling my memories, smiled sometimes, got angry even. But, whatever emotional roller-coaster ride they take me on, one thing is for sure… I would never ever like to part with them.
Today I am on a journey to recollect all those memories of my childhood where I was injured or caused injuries to others (accidentally of course). By the grace of God, the injuries were not serious. Some of them make me feel guilty and some make me feel like whacking my own self to be so clumsy.
As far as I can recall, my first injury occurred when I was four. It was winter as the whole family was sitting on the terrace in the sun. Now, in those times my grandmother used to have small tin canisters to keep pulses and grains in the kitchen. She had a habit of drying out the grains under the sun for a day or two before keeping them in the canisters. As a result, on that day, there were these small empty canisters kept on the terrace beside the sheets where the pulses and grains had been kept.
Giving in to my curious nature, I went near these canisters and started playing with them. My confidence increased when I found that nobody was paying attention to what I was doing. And so, I started throwing the lids of those canisters in the air and tried to catch them (Really smart of me eh!). How long could have that type of game lasted for a four-year-old? Within two minutes, I missed the lid which I had thrown up in the air and it came crashing down hitting me near my eye. The corner of the tin made a deep cut and blood started oozing out. My family members panicked and hovered around me. They thought I had hurt my eye. As soon as the bleeding stopped, my father rushed me to a nearby clinic. This incident came to an end with a couple of stitches and a scar for life.
After a year or so, I was again badly injured but this time it was my toe. It was evening and I was playing in an open field with a group of children of my age. I vaguely remember that we were playing cricket as we had made wickets stacking the bricks lying around. Out of nowhere, an argument broke out between the teams. One of the boys got so angry that he pushed the stack of bricks. As one would expect, I was standing at the perfect spot where the brick dropped squashing my toe. Few girls ran to my house to tell about the incident as I sat there crying. Among so many children, I was the only girl who was caught off–guard. It was this incident which confirmed that my reflex actions were next to nil.
I don’t remember myself to be a naughty child. Even my parents can vouch for it ;). But, I had once hurt my sister very badly. We were very young. I must have been six and she around four or five. It was late evening. The porch of our house was dark as there was some fault in the switch. A weird idea of becoming a ghost and scaring my sister came to my mind. As my sister used to approach me, I used to roar and scare her. Squealing and screaming she used to run inside the house. She knew that it was me playing with her and so she used to come out again. And again I used to make noises to scare her.
It had become a sort of game. It must have been the fifth time when she ran inside that I heard her crying. For few minutes I didn’t go inside as I was confused. But when I heard my family members talking in urgent tones, I had an inkling that something had gone wrong. As I went inside, the first thing I saw was blood, lots of blood. The blood was flowing on the floor like water and it was coming from my sister’s head. My mother was trying to stop it with her hands and her whole hand was red. My father was bringing rolls of cotton to stop the bleeding. My grandmother was trying to stop my sister from crying. That scene has never ever left me.
Seeing all that, I started crying as well. I didn’t know what had happened. I was so afraid that I couldn’t say a word. Standing in one corner in the shadows, I silently watched the whole scenario. Somehow my parents had stopped the bleeding and immediately they took her to our family doctor. I came to know from my grandmother that my sister had slipped while running inside and had hit her head on the sharp corner of the pillar. After the first-aid, she came back. That night was too silent for me. Nobody was speaking much. It was a horrific incident. My mother was crying as she mopped the blood on the floor. I was quiet as the guilt of being the cause of such trouble was eating me up from inside. None of them knew that it was me who was scaring her and making her run. But my sister knew. Her eyes were accusing me of hurting her, but she kept quiet.
She recovered from the injury, but never again we played such games. As we both were young it didn’t take much time for us to become friends again. I am glad that she never held that incident against me, but I still carry the guilt of causing her so much hurt, in my heart.
Maybe that is the reason that I become very anxious when my children start running in the house. I do not encourage it for the fear of what occurred in my childhood. I had narrated this incident to my elder one when she was big enough to understand. I feel happy to see that she takes care while playing with her younger sister and never makes her run in close or narrow spaces.
Childhood is a phase when you can get hurt the most. It might be because a child does not know fear or caution. I am no expert but I think, these injuries which we receive in our early years help us to become stronger than what we can be. These injuries are like lessons of life which help you become more alert and cautious so that one can enjoy life to its fullest.
What about you all? Do you have memories of injuries in your childhood? If yes, do write them in the comment box below.
This blog post is part of #A2ZChallenge. My theme for the year 2018 is Memories. This post is for the letter ‘I’.