Losing my marbles

When it comes to childhood memories, not even a wink is required to recall them. Any person for that matter will roll back to the past, musing over the pleasantries of the early days. Most of these memories come from schooling. Unlike the present-day schools, we use to have a lot of free space. A part of the school building was a well-maintained garden with beautiful colourful crotons and flower plants, the rest of it was reserved for prayer assembly in the morning and later in the day, a play yard for children.

The best part of schooling was the recess break. During break-time, we used to chase each other around and play games of marbles. Sometimes, little holes were dug several inches apart and we tried to shoot the marbles. We did not have to shoot the marble into the hole or declare which marble we were aiming for. We would aim at all our opponent’s marbles; if you hit one, it was yours. We played simple games without complex rules.

Flicking one with my thumb off my fisted hand and hearing the sharp, cracking sound as it hit its target was deeply satisfying. I always thought that there is something magical and alluring about marbles. I found them appealing. I used to naturally reach out to touch and hold them. I never resist the urge to pick up a marble if I come across one.

I was never too good at this game, but I was not as bad as I was at most other childhood activities. My friends back then were marble hustlers. I have consistently gone home empty-handed, leaving my opponents with all my colourful little treasure. The game still brought some excitement into my life at that age. My marble shooting was not perfect when compared to my playmates. In spite of it, I proudly held the shooter marble in the crook of my index finger, and, with my fingers curled and knuckles down, used my thumb to flick it like a perfectionist. I did not provide much of a challenge for any of my competitors. It did not mean I did not enjoy myself. I did.

Nothing I ever did in my life when I was a kid was quite as exciting as playing marbles. The winning spree, the triumphant yells were ecstatic. As children, we had the gift of living in the moment and finding wonder in the ordinary. The vestige of those hysterical shouts and bawls still finds traces somewhere afresh in my memory.