When I was 5, my father was posted in a tiny village in the middle of a jungle. Imagine no phones or cable. I stayed with my grandparents and visited him every summer. I had a summer gang there. Our main games involved venturing into the jungle, climbing trees, and playing catch with the monkeys. I remember things a little too vividly for a 5-year-old. There was a girl who taught me to make a purse out of paper, one who ate mud, and a boy who taught me to run faster so monkeys won’t catch me. I remember the day I was “too slow” and a monkey caught hold of the yellow-orange dress I was wearing.
When we left that place, we landed in a place called Gadchiroli. I was too little to understand Naxalism or the village-ness of the place. I remember very clearly though a million fireflies that surrounded our home every evening. We sat on the stairs or the swing on the lawn and watched them if we felt like it. We never waited or savored them like they were a big deal. We had bonfires we would roast potatoes and beans on WHILE the fireflies just be-d around us, unnoticed.
Cut scene to the present day: I saw 5 flies and ran behind them in a way that would make me look needy. My sister looked at them like…? and said “fireflies are real? I thought they were like fairies. Maybe they exist, maybe they don’t exist.”Is this how rare fireflies are? These things were so normal- regular when I had them, and now feel exotic. But if you are as lucky as I am, you will find yourself waking up to it every once in a while.