Shorts III: Of Bluebells and Old Belles....

I am waiting, eagerly........The song is rising in crescendo, they'll be here any moment now!
The tiffin-time sun is warm on my blue-sweatered back, bits of errant hair escape my pigtails and tickle my cheek, my beige skirt is a little sun-faded, the elastic bands of my socks dig into my skin.......but my mind is on neither of these things...............
I can hear them drawing close...my heart is now fluttering in happy excitement.
They come and stop behind me. Tiny palms grasp my shoulder, one on each and then they tap, little taps..
'Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder, Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder,
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder....
She is the Leader.................'
And I'm off..!!!!!
Weaving in and out around the little girls standing in a raggedy circle, I sing along with the others............
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells.......'
As I belt out the song at the top of my six year old voice, I am vaguely aware that I'm supposed to be some kind of a train engine and that the whole line of little girls trailing me with their tiny hands on the shoulder of the girl in front, are the train's coaches. As for 'bluebells', I have not the faintest idea of what they are.........but then, it doesn't matter. At all!
There are more important things in life just at this moment. I catch Coco Chanel's eyes, sparkling with excitement, dancing with eagerness....calling out to me, 'Aibee, do stop at me. I'll be the next Leader.'
'Ok!' My eyes sparkle back.
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells...............!'
Our little blue and beige train, in pigtails and plaits, weaves through the meadow of invisible blue bells....and then stops behind Coco Chanel. My tiny fingers now tap on her shoulder:
'Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on her shoulder, Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on her shoulder, Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on her shoulder, She is the Leader!'
Now Coco Chanel takes off:
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells....'

I clutch at Other Half's arm excitedly.
'Stop, stop, bluebells!'
'What ?' he asks, braking. 'Bluebells...!' I answer, busily scrambling out of the car.
He follows me as I clamber up the grassy slope. I point them out to him, blabbering in excitement, 'See...... bluebells....!'
The blue sky frames his dark face, now smiling indulgently.
'They're very pretty!
Yes, they are. A pretty, purply blue, growing in happy clusters on this pristine mountain slope in Kashmir! And they do sparkle brightly, these blue flowers, under that deep blue sky.
I'm now humming,
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells........!'

It's cold, not bitterly but pleasantly, the old, familiar, nippy cold of my childhood. I'm waiting, heart beating in happy anticipation as I clap my hands and sing at the top of my forty four year old voice...
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells....!'
The train is coming closer but this time it's not the blue-beige one in pigtails and plaits. Instead it's quite a chic one, in designer winter wear of all kinds: tight denims, tall boots, fur jackets and bright lipsticks, a little bursting at the seams but agile as ever..........
The train reaches me-
'Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder, Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder, Rat-a-tat-tat-tat on my shoulder, She is the Leader........!
And I'm off, weaving through those old invisible blue-bell meadows once again..........!
I now know what blue bells are, but then, just like before, it doesn't matter. At all!
You see, Coco Chanel is waiting for me at the corner and she wants to be the Leader next..............!
I stomp off, a frothy pink engine with seventeen elegant forty-four year old coaches stomping behind me:
'In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells,
In and out the sparkling blue-bells.....................'

And for a tiny moment, four long decades after that warm tiffin-time afternoon, for eighteen forty-four year old school girls, tonight, on this cold day at the end of the year, its 'Yesterday Once More........'