As a child, I believed in fairies. A light green patch of grass in the midst of dark green, meant a fairy had been visiting that spot. I believed my dolls to be real people till I was about sixteen and carried them, by turns, in my coat pockets for outings. In fact, one of them had accompanied me to my college hostel, was given baths and was made much of by the girls. And then, I began losing this gift of imagination. I had to live in the 'real' world and 'grow up'. But now, in my fifth decade, I find myself reclaiming this inherent power, this important faculty. I create worlds in my mind and who can say they are not 'real'? What is 'reality' by the way? Just a matter of perception. Your reality is not the same as mine, can never be. I can see a forest in a tree, leaf or flower.A mountain in a stone. I can go anywhere, meet anyone, whenever, wherever. I have found the lost key to the magical kingdom of childhood.
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