Stuffed Toys, Shaitans and Syntacto

Well I do not remember being fond of stuffed toys as a child. Infact loved this toy dog which looked so very real. It was made out of very hard wood with a thin line of fur, just like a real dog with a pretty golden collar. That was the closest I got to furry things...
But then I was crazy about dolls, doll houses, experimenting with pigments from flowers and leaves like any other little girl.
But then the other side of me liked the spooky, weird unknowns. Remember my grandpa telling me those amazing ghost stories. And that little girl in school, guess I was in my second standard. She fed me stories about shaitans, the ones that would rise out of tombs in the form of black swallows, the glass eating tribe that she belonged to, she even ate a piece to prove her point. I was so fascinated, I remember trying it myself.
And then I was mean, I remember giving this horrid potion, the contents I cannot reveal to some girl as a welcome drink to my party. This was when I was maybe 5 years old.
I remember playing with ants, drowning and rescuing them all at once.
I was a rambunctious little punk, stealing mangoes from the trees of my neighbours, pulling away kites that touched my terrace walls, playing the fool with eunuchs on their begging juants if I may call it. You should see them, they would do anything for attention and money, even strip.
I remember going up to those tiny Hanuman temples where people would stick coins onto the sticky saffron colored walls only to be pulled off by the likes of me to buy Haajmola like candies.
And then there was the dancer in me, totally in love with Kathak and just about pleasing people with my half hearted efforts in Bharathnatyam
It was high school and pilching fruits from hawkers, jumping walls during inspections was in.
And college when I remember my friend and me chasing a guy during a loadshedding. It was funny because he tried to eve-tease the wrong girls. We whistled, cat-called and started following him till he started running for his dear life.
And today I stand, strangely sobered. Yet I cannot deny, there are moments still when that gayyali erupts like a volcano, dormant but very much alive!
I love you Syntacto.