That I know of. Like the time I tried to prove to this friend of mine that I was better in fisticuffs.
Result : One broken Incisor. His.
Yes I was a vicious person. Vindictive and vicious.
Its how childhood is. Whenever I talk of it, I draw the outlines and fill them up with pastel shades. Bright, primary colours. They tend to make the black borders stand out.
When I was a kid I hated black. I used to love the night because it was Navy-Blue and studded with silver stars. I remember being seven and going upstairs to the secluded roof and find a little ledge... at around twelve o'clock in the night. My father used to go there sometimes too. He was not afraid of the dark, either. We used to think up plans to scare Ma.... One day Dad climbed on the little ledge and sort of slithered his way to the kitchen window to scare Ma by knocking on it.
I still remember Ma screaming out loud.
He used to tell me stories.... One day he told me about Nishir Dak... there was a Tantric ( a person who practices tantra)who was given a lot of money by a rich man to save his son from sure death. The Tantric took a coconut and cut its top off. Then he enchanted it with powerful deadly tantra. Then, he went out to the village on a night when no moon rose to protect the villagers, and called out the name of one member of each house thrice. If any man answered, his soul was automatically pulled out of him to be enclosed within the little coconut. The tantric then sealed off and poured it in the body of the dying boy.
I remember someone once calling my father at around one o'clock in the morning... and a frightened me clamping a palm over his mouth because I was that afraid he would answer and then his soul will be captured.
Memories. How they sometimes come back to you...