Childhood is full of beautiful experiences and the best part of everything is that we do not understand everything completely and make our own innocent assumptions and interpretations of things. We still had not stepped into the ugly world of maturity and had full license to behave irrationally, stupidly, petulantly; in other words, like a child.
One experience that suddenly came to mind now was of a science experiment that I had to do in Std: II. We had to grow a butterfly from a caterpillar and witness all the stages of metamorphosis. The idea, no doubt, excited me very much and compelled me to have some friendly feelings towards studies for a while. The pictures in the science text book were wonderful enough; the idea of actually doing it fascinated me. So, I borrowed a clean “Nilon’s” pickle jar from my mother (promising not to break it and ask for another one) and began my hunt for a caterpillar. It was easier said than done. I hunted through all the nooks and corners of our neighborhood, climbed trees, got bitten by unidentified living objects as I came across many specimens of the slimy/creepy kingdom, but not any caterpillar. The whole experiment was losing its sheen for me and I wondered if I should also directly catch a butterfly and show it to Mam (as some of my friends were doing). But, my friend came as an angel at that time and told me that caterpillars could be found on the lemon shrub of a neighbor who lived on the further end and whose house I had not checked then. The news brought me back on the hunting track and I made a rush for that house. I stood before the lemon shrub and examined every branch, but to my dismay, I could not spot any caterpillar. I felt really frustrated as the hot May afternoon sun shone on my head. Reluctantly, I went and pressed the calling bell of that house and Dadu (grandfather) opened the door. I was always a bit afraid of that Dadu. He had bushy eyebrows and always carried a stick and I wondered if he would use it on me for disturbing his afternoon siesta. But, when I told him my purpose of visit, he smiled at me and told me that there were indeed many caterpillars on that lemon shrub. I shook my head stubbornly and said that I did not see any. Dadu went inside to get his specs and chappals and then came along with me. He bent down and peered into the shrub through his thick glasses and stood up with a triumphant smile after sometime. He guided my head to look at something under a particular leaf and told me to be careful of the thorns. First, I could not make out anything, but when I looked close enough on dadu’s insistence, I could make an outline of a green-something with faint brownish-black markings. My caterpillar!!! I thanked Dadu profusely and showed him one of my favorite dances as he put it on a stick and transferred it to my jar. He advised a strict diet of lemon leaves for it and told me to cover the jar with perforated polythene so that it could allow air for the caterpillar to breathe. I took in every word and ran outside to show everyone my prized possession. My friends were very appreciative and promised to visit it everyday. I thanked them for their kindness on my caterpillar’s behalf and ran to home. Though my mother was not that excited, my father said that it was beautiful (He finds all things about me beautiful). I set it on my study table and named it “Lotlota” (translated from Bengali, it would mean something soft, mushy, and shapeless). Lotlota became my obsession over the next few days and I looked after it like my baby. Under my love and care, lotlota was growing into a healthy, very green and handsome caterpillar. But, to my horror one morning, I discovered that lotlota was gone. Vanished into thin air. Though there was no way through which it could have crawled out of the jar, it was not there. I started crying and everyone in the house tried to find it in the jar (even my maid). But, it was not there. Mother told me take the jar to the school and show it to my teacher for she could know something. I agreed tearfully and took it to my teacher and told her how lotlota was absconding. She looked into the bottle carefully and removed the polythene covering and started to take out the lemon leaves that I had left for lotlota one by one. The sight of the leaves made me feel like crying again. She examined each leaf carefully and smiled suddenly. She called me to her side and told me, “Here is your caterpillar, kakoli, see, it has been transformed into a pupa, congrats!! It underwent the first stage of metamorphosis”. She beamed at me. But, I looked at it with horror struck eyes. How had my healthy, green lotlota changed into a blackish-brown, shrunk piece of dry something hanging from the stalk of a leaf? I would have easily taken it for a dry leaf and thrown it away. My teacher assured me that I was on the right path and I went home a bit pacified. But, I missed lotlota and sulked around for the next few days. And then, one morning, I witnessed the first miracle in my life-A beautiful black butterfly dotted with black spots and with red and yellow ones on the under wings was hopping impatiently inside the jar, the jar being too small let it fly. I remember I stared it awe-struck for a long time, surprised by how this so alive, so beautiful creature had sprung up from that dead looking, ugly pupa. Also, it was so unlike the clumsy lotlota too. I no longer wanted to call it lotlota. I wanted to call it “rani” or “sundori” (pretty lady). And that day, I got a vague idea that nature can perform magic, much beyond the understanding and capabilities of human beings. The idea only strengthened as I grew up. It also has an uncanny way of teaching life’s lessons. The good always comes after the bad, the beautiful after the ugly, just like “rani” had come after that ugly pupa. But, “rani” looked so miserable in that jar, its graceful wings struggling against the walls of the jar. I wanted to set it free immediately. Bur, Maa reminded me that I had to show it to Mam to get my marks. So, I rushed to school and showed it to her. She too became captivated by the beauty of “rani” and said that I was one of the few students whose caterpillar had survived the full metamorphosis. I became really happy and came with the jar outside to set it free. As “rani” flickered out of the jar and flew into the vast expanse of the sky catching the sun in its wings, I thought that she looked more beautiful flying freely, one with nature. When I reached home, I missed “rani” (or lotlota), but I was glad too. Freedom is the best gift you can give anyone.
One experience that suddenly came to mind now was of a science experiment that I had to do in Std: II. We had to grow a butterfly from a caterpillar and witness all the stages of metamorphosis. The idea, no doubt, excited me very much and compelled me to have some friendly feelings towards studies for a while. The pictures in the science text book were wonderful enough; the idea of actually doing it fascinated me. So, I borrowed a clean “Nilon’s” pickle jar from my mother (promising not to break it and ask for another one) and began my hunt for a caterpillar. It was easier said than done. I hunted through all the nooks and corners of our neighborhood, climbed trees, got bitten by unidentified living objects as I came across many specimens of the slimy/creepy kingdom, but not any caterpillar. The whole experiment was losing its sheen for me and I wondered if I should also directly catch a butterfly and show it to Mam (as some of my friends were doing). But, my friend came as an angel at that time and told me that caterpillars could be found on the lemon shrub of a neighbor who lived on the further end and whose house I had not checked then. The news brought me back on the hunting track and I made a rush for that house. I stood before the lemon shrub and examined every branch, but to my dismay, I could not spot any caterpillar. I felt really frustrated as the hot May afternoon sun shone on my head. Reluctantly, I went and pressed the calling bell of that house and Dadu (grandfather) opened the door. I was always a bit afraid of that Dadu. He had bushy eyebrows and always carried a stick and I wondered if he would use it on me for disturbing his afternoon siesta. But, when I told him my purpose of visit, he smiled at me and told me that there were indeed many caterpillars on that lemon shrub. I shook my head stubbornly and said that I did not see any. Dadu went inside to get his specs and chappals and then came along with me. He bent down and peered into the shrub through his thick glasses and stood up with a triumphant smile after sometime. He guided my head to look at something under a particular leaf and told me to be careful of the thorns. First, I could not make out anything, but when I looked close enough on dadu’s insistence, I could make an outline of a green-something with faint brownish-black markings. My caterpillar!!! I thanked Dadu profusely and showed him one of my favorite dances as he put it on a stick and transferred it to my jar. He advised a strict diet of lemon leaves for it and told me to cover the jar with perforated polythene so that it could allow air for the caterpillar to breathe. I took in every word and ran outside to show everyone my prized possession. My friends were very appreciative and promised to visit it everyday. I thanked them for their kindness on my caterpillar’s behalf and ran to home. Though my mother was not that excited, my father said that it was beautiful (He finds all things about me beautiful). I set it on my study table and named it “Lotlota” (translated from Bengali, it would mean something soft, mushy, and shapeless). Lotlota became my obsession over the next few days and I looked after it like my baby. Under my love and care, lotlota was growing into a healthy, very green and handsome caterpillar. But, to my horror one morning, I discovered that lotlota was gone. Vanished into thin air. Though there was no way through which it could have crawled out of the jar, it was not there. I started crying and everyone in the house tried to find it in the jar (even my maid). But, it was not there. Mother told me take the jar to the school and show it to my teacher for she could know something. I agreed tearfully and took it to my teacher and told her how lotlota was absconding. She looked into the bottle carefully and removed the polythene covering and started to take out the lemon leaves that I had left for lotlota one by one. The sight of the leaves made me feel like crying again. She examined each leaf carefully and smiled suddenly. She called me to her side and told me, “Here is your caterpillar, kakoli, see, it has been transformed into a pupa, congrats!! It underwent the first stage of metamorphosis”. She beamed at me. But, I looked at it with horror struck eyes. How had my healthy, green lotlota changed into a blackish-brown, shrunk piece of dry something hanging from the stalk of a leaf? I would have easily taken it for a dry leaf and thrown it away. My teacher assured me that I was on the right path and I went home a bit pacified. But, I missed lotlota and sulked around for the next few days. And then, one morning, I witnessed the first miracle in my life-A beautiful black butterfly dotted with black spots and with red and yellow ones on the under wings was hopping impatiently inside the jar, the jar being too small let it fly. I remember I stared it awe-struck for a long time, surprised by how this so alive, so beautiful creature had sprung up from that dead looking, ugly pupa. Also, it was so unlike the clumsy lotlota too. I no longer wanted to call it lotlota. I wanted to call it “rani” or “sundori” (pretty lady). And that day, I got a vague idea that nature can perform magic, much beyond the understanding and capabilities of human beings. The idea only strengthened as I grew up. It also has an uncanny way of teaching life’s lessons. The good always comes after the bad, the beautiful after the ugly, just like “rani” had come after that ugly pupa. But, “rani” looked so miserable in that jar, its graceful wings struggling against the walls of the jar. I wanted to set it free immediately. Bur, Maa reminded me that I had to show it to Mam to get my marks. So, I rushed to school and showed it to her. She too became captivated by the beauty of “rani” and said that I was one of the few students whose caterpillar had survived the full metamorphosis. I became really happy and came with the jar outside to set it free. As “rani” flickered out of the jar and flew into the vast expanse of the sky catching the sun in its wings, I thought that she looked more beautiful flying freely, one with nature. When I reached home, I missed “rani” (or lotlota), but I was glad too. Freedom is the best gift you can give anyone.
