I recall the time when I coveted all those super heroes to come and save me from the clutches of grief of going to school and fulfilling my homework and when I was late to school, firmly believed that they would come rescue me or at least offer me a flight.
The passion of being an avenger, rests within me even now.
I might have checked the clock at least a dozen times in an hour. The time seemed to be at this extra- irritable mode that triggers whenever something amusing is going to happen.
Finally, it was time. My attire was not a matter to be concerned about during such a crucial time. I instead re-checked the reviews posted by the people at google. I glowered at the screen as I read through the critic’s assessment.
I grabbed the glasses from the man who was standing beside the door and whizzed past the people into my assigned seat. Instinctive shouts emanated through my mouth as the Avengers came onto the screen.
My mom stared me down as if I had gone nuts, and pointed to the super heroes on the screen and said, “who’s that, that and that?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I told her, exasperated.
The movie took me through regret, relief, happiness, joking and unbearable grief. By the end, I was fretting at the loss of a super hero who I had been an all-time fan of.
Fiction did not seem so anymore, it was so realistic to even take me to the point of tears.
Later, as I calmed down after the movie and contrasted the real story with what my mom had concluded, I sat down and thought about it all over again.
I desperately wanted all those avengers to be real. The same trail of childhood thoughts washed over me.
But then again, it is clear that it’s impossible. “Nothing is impossible.” My mom said gracefully when I told her about this. Then I realized what she had meant.
You don’t need a superhero’s costume or powers to be one. Little acts you do define you. No matter how small it be, you’ll be the hero for someone on end.
Still draped in the excitement of the movie, I had a good night’s sleep.