Mine

Once I was crossing a bustling market and I saw a man selling bubble making machines. He was blowing the bubbles into the street to attract children. He was surrounded by kids, some of whom were awed by the bubbles and others who were jumping to catch them. Then I saw a little boy gleam at a rising bubble. He jumped and caught it in his hands. However, he stopped at that. He kept his hands shut and felt happy to have his bubble. “What are you doing?”, another kid asked him. “I am keeping the bubble safe from people. It is mine and I love it,” he answered proudly and continued to gleam at his closed hands. After a minute or so, he got curious to have a look at his possession. He peeped through the spaces in between his fingers but didn’t seem pleased. Then he separated the two thumbs bit by bit to have a look at his bubble. Eventually, he was staring at his cupped hands but there was no sign of the bubble. He began to cry. The man blowing the bubbles had observed the short incident as well. He looked at the boy and explained, “the bubble burst in your hands. It was meant to rise. It expands on meeting other bubbles.” 

The man continued entertaining the other children with the bubbles leaving the little boy disheartened. The man selling the bubble making machines did not realise that he had just imparted a very useful piece of knowledge. The little boy did not realise that it isn’t only bubbles that need to be freed for them to expand. He did not realise that it isn’t only bubbles that burst when entrapped. The little boy just wailed- “It was mine, I loved it.” 

As I stood contemplating upon the incident, my father came towards me, walking briskly with lines of anger on his face. He yelled, “How many times do I have to tell you not to go around on your own?”. I couldn’t help but smile at the worth of the lesson I had learnt from the short incident I had witnessed. My father’s words were a consequence of not knowing what happens to an entrapped bubble, you consider yours.