Whose wine is it, anyway?

Back in the Kindergarden times, When we thrived on nursery rhymes, When we were grasping our tables, And learning morals through fables. While studying the consonants, And forgetting our vowels, We'd mew like cats &hoot like owls. When a smile could make amends, And bridge gaps between feuding friends. We would conjure tales in our heads, And carry no worries to our beds. When we would join in a chorus and sing, Because awkwardness was an unheard thing. When appearances were an afterthought, And happiness in wealth wasn't sought. the nose would never cease to leak, We'd prance around tongue in cheek. Toothless grins and scabbed knees, Were sufficient to charm and please. With No attempts to please through flattery, thumping your friend didn't amount to battery. Childish mirth and innocent revelry, is nothing but a distant memory. So now I chide and mockingly grin, With hope of reviving the lost child within.

My story of friendship dates back to 1999 when my parents shifted to a new house in the suburbs and I began the daunting task of trying to fit in and make friends. Children, like dogs, are territorial and don't particularly warm up to new faces. I was excluded from games and parties and was shunned altogether. I would have grown up a loner with fictional characters as friends had it not been for Aisha, a young girl of my age who took a liking to me. I, being inherently a talkative person and she a sound listener, we bonded instantly. I would conjure tales of dinosaurs and warrior princesses and she would drink in every word with rapt attention. She accepted me and my imaginary friends with open arms and a toothless grin. She was my best friend and confidante. We would team up for weekly visits to the library. We'd have picnics on the terrace with a hope of recreating Scenes from Enid Blyton novels. We once sold lemonade on the streets in the hope of earning a few bucks. ...