The blue kite would fly very high. It was my father’s. Nearly on every holiday that he used to have, he would spend nearly half an hour flying it. It was 35 x 35 inches kite and was navy blue in colour. In those days there weren’t many skyscrapers, so when the kite used to go high up, it felt like that it had reached the sky. Many a times it got damaged, but dad managed to repair it with a patch of kite paper.
On the first day of the new year, he bought a small brown kite for me. But I didn’t fly it. I knew that it would get damaged. So I use to play with, never did I let it touch the warm air of the blue skies.
That blue kite was his favourite toy and still is, but as his responsibilities started growing, he stopped playing with it. That’s what happens when times change everything. Kites remain kites, but memories let them fly high, high and high, where they can’t be seen anymore and they land straight into Almighty’s hand, who then pulls the strings and it flies even more highest, beyond anybody’s reach.