Go higher and higher, until it becomes impossible to bring you down― Michael Bassey Johnson
As the daily news rolled in, I recognized beautiful flying kites, some godly, some beastly, but all filled with life, and it slid me back into my childhood days. It also brought back memories of my golden yellow kite.
Those were the good old days when technology hadn’t made an impact. In fact, television was rare then. It was an era when e-commerce didn’t exist, and one had to walk to the market for small and less important items as well. In one such walk with my mother, I stood admiring the bundled flying kites spread out on a white canvas. Although my mother tried to usher me, my attention was drawn to the tiny square kites. The kites were tiny, but I was not older than seven years old. The first kite was white with a blue tail…and the next one was pink…and the third one was golden yellow with a short blue tail.
It is unclear when kites were invented. In 200 BC, Chinese General Han Hsin of the Han Dynasty flew his kite over the walls of a city he was attacking to estimate how far his forces would have to tunnel. Kites were made from natural materials like leaves and reeds and were used by people in Malaysia, Indonesia, and the South Pacific. It is believed that kite flying in India is an ancient tradition brought into the country by Chinese travellers Huin Tsang and F Hien. Every Indian has fond memories of Kite flying.
The white kite was beautiful, but my intuition told me that it would slide down shortly after takeoff. It was not as if I were a magician, but my brother, who flew kites to perfection, taught me a few basics. Even though my brother was only four years older than me, he was an experienced kite flyer. During the kite flying battles, he knew how to fly the kite and tug its string. Those windy days would be dotted with swerving kites that swooped and darted. The kites would tangle with each other until my brother tactfully severed the strings of the kites to liberate them. It was even possible for him to predict where the floating kite would land once it was released. He would hand over the ‘Charkhi’(a string winding machine) to any one of us near him and ask us to lower our Kite while he reached the spot to get the Kite. He was a legend in fetching these liberated kites and people called him ‘Eagle Kite’, Cheel Patang’. The kite battles in the sky often continued on earth and many a time bruises and black eyes were collected with the liberated kites and the glass polished strings ‘Manja’.
The loot of the kites were the largest ones that I had ever seen. Our house had a huge loft and a ladder to hop on the loft. He stored his loot in the loft. We would often sit and admire the intricacies of the beautiful kites. I was not interested in the large kites as we would need another friend to raise the kite and gently transport it in the direction of the wind. We would often admire my brother for these tedious tasks. He taught us how to make an ordinary string stronger. We would tie the strings around the Guava tree and the hibiscus tree at the other end and begin polishing it with crushed glass, eggshells mixed with glue, to strengthen the strings into sharp strong Manja. The strong strings could help us cut off rival kites.
The Golden yellow kite that I kept looking at had a beautiful light frame. My mother bought it for me. It was just 5 paise then, the twentieth part of a rupee. After bringing it home, I carefully drilled holes near the keel with the match stick and ran the Bridle lines through the eyes and carefully tied the flying lines. This was a skill I had learned from my brother, but my mother was also an expert. She helped me measure the bridle string well before tying the knot so that the kite could soar high. I then tied a long string to the bridle string and rolled it on a stick.
Since the Golden yellow kite was so light and small, it could fly easily. I would place it squarely on the ground, pull a metre of the thread tight, and then pull the string vigorously to help the kite rise. The kite would rise then fall down accompanied by a thud. As the kite rose in the air, I would change its position until an uproar of wind took it higher. After the kite flew a little higher, it would remain in the sky for a while. The kite and the string would dart crazily sometimes and I would have to unroll all the string until I reached the knotted end.
I would fix it between my fingers and continue to fly the kite. As I tugged it between my fingers, I would either run a bit, walk a little or just sit and watch it fly. I was carried away into the skies with it, sometimes there would be puffs of clouds, and sometimes there would be deep blue skies. I pasted the kite with coloured paper many times when it fell repeatedly or when it was torn. The Kite would then become awkwardly heavy. Seeing my futile attempts to fly the heavy kite, my mother would hold the kite away with both her hands and give it a push. The kite would then gain momentum and fly high in the air. The Golden yellow kite was my favourite toy during the kite season. Likewise, one may stagger countless times, but when the wave of wind takes us ahead we become unstoppable.
“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.”- Leonardo Da Vinci.
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