If there exists only one truth in this world than it’s the fact that there are no days like childhood. Childhood is the best phase of everyone’s life. The good thing about those days is we are immature. Immature to truly understand the world, immature to understand relationships. Perhaps one chocolate is more than enough to make someone our friend. When some one asks us to choose between a hundred rupee note and few iron coins, the child in us shall always choose the iron coins.
We have been given extraordinary power of weeping that is sufficient to melt anyone’s heart. I was the naughtiest child anyone can ever imagine. I had been a reason of irritation for many of my relatives and neighbours. This post of mine is dedicated to my favorite hobby of that time, The hobby of pressing doorbells. I remember there didn’t exist a single house in my colony which was not a victim of my hobby. The worst of all had to bear by Sharma Uncle, whose door bell got sick of ringing.
There were nearly twenty houses between the place my school bus dropped me and my home. There existed a timetable of on which day which houses’s bell need to be rang. But as said by someone that all bad things come to an end one day, so does good that include my hobby. It was an ordinary summer noon. My vacations were going on and I were enjoying the vacations. My father had gone office and I was all alone with my mom in my big and sweet home. My mom asked me to bring wiper from a nearby shop.
When I got out, I found that street were all empty without any human soul and the whole universe including the street were convincing me that there caouldn’t be a better time for practical implementation of my wonderful hobby. How could I ignore when the whole universe were wishing something from me. I saw left, I saw right but how stupid I was I wouldn’t seen the straight. Alas! Sharma aunty were coming. The operation was implemented and the bomb had been triggered, my hands had already done something that I wouldn’t forget for next 20-30 years.
This Essay Is About The Connotations Of The Words "house" And "home"
What would you call the structure you live in? Would it be a house, or a home? While the words “house” and “home” possess similar definitions and can be used interchangeably– after all both do provide some sort of shelter or protection- they embody very different connotations, and their usage evokes different emotional responses. A home does not have to be a building, ...
I had no choice but one i. e. to run. I wished india was the host of Olympics in that year and I was the first one from india to win gold in athletics, but who cares for the dreams of a poor child. The only wish I wished was that she wouldn’t had recognised me, while running, but not every wish is destined for accomplishment. I returned back with that bloody wiper and unlike other time with no chocolates. With the hope that if the case had been tracked and accused were detected than there should be consideration of the fact that that the accused had sacrificed his lovely hocolates.
My mom was eagerly waiting for me at the main door of my home and behind were standing the stone hearted Sharma aunty. She opened the gate and then what happened I can’t write it in words. The only thing I remember is I had been again sent for bringing wiper after 2 hours, the old one had got sacrificed and I had gained 2 inches in my dimensions. That was an end of my wonderful hobby but the creation of an everlasting mesmerizing memory. Who said pain doesn’t give us smile..? I’m smiling today remembering the sweet pain that I got on that day
