I still remember the field where we used to play, soaked in mud, rushing to the goalpost somehow, falling down, getting wet, getting up, falling again, running back home, watching it rain.
I still remember the evening tea, with mom and dad, and the smiles and laughter and sarcasm and jokes.
I still remember being curious about a thing and curling up in bed with a book; I remember being emotionally hit by a film or a story and crying.
I still remember my first poem, the one I had written for mom on Mother’s Day, how I had enclosed it in an envelope I made, and how elated she was.
I still remember getting attached, getting heartbroken, getting angry, getting lessons and finally getting happy.
And in all these things, I’ve not had a purse in my pocket. I’ve not brought the past back and I’ve not worried about the future.
I don’t know how they measure it, but I am pretty sure I’m rich. And so are a lot of people.