'Bits of Crushed Crayon' by Maria A Munaff

Surely, I had seen this picture before.....two hills with the sun rising between them, birds flying in the bright blue sky, a river curving down the hill, and at the top of the hill, a house. Was I asleep and dreaming or awake and gone back in time, through the pages of the drawing book I had when I was seven?

The house was yellow with a blue door, and the walls were slightly crooked. The roof was covered with red tiles and green creepers. Flowers of every hue studded the grass - red, crimson, magenta, yellow, golden, blue, purple, and white. A lazy dog lay at the bamboo gate and watched as schoolgirls passed, chattering and licking sour fruit out of leaf cones.

Three of them push open the gate, and it creaks. The dog wags its tail and follows them into the house. At a rickety table, they sit down to have their tea. It smells of wood-smoke and is served in enamel mugs as they munch on crusty bread and margarine. The table has the marks of the wood grain on it, like ripples and waves. Two red shoe flowers in a green bottle rest on its centre. An old ceiling fan whirrs overhead. Wooden shelves and cabinets are full of glass dishes and silver cutlery. Kettles and ladles, pots and pans line the kitchen. Onions and spices are frying for the evening meal. Women are laughing at the well as they rub and scrub with frothy yellow soap. The well is cool and deep and has green ferns growing in the cracks inside, and the bucket goes down with a loud splash. In between the banana trees around the well, ducks waddle in the mud.

As darkness falls, golden lights begin to shine here and there in the darkness, and fireflies flit about. The smell of the jasmine bush blows through the verandah. Burly uncles stop by on the way back from work, demanding tea and telling jokes. The men sit down to talk as the women scurry about. Little children gaze adoringly as the adults talk, waiting to be noticed or chasing the beetles on the floor. Their eyes light up as the conversation shifts in their direction. Aunts and uncles ask how they are doing at school and sometimes hand out coins.

From the house next door, the sound of hymns being sung; from the verandah, the buzz of the transistor as grandfather listens to the news - things happening far away; and a drunken man pedals by on his bicycle, singing sad songs to his long-lost love. The smell of steaming rice from the kitchen and of wax candles being lit for family prayers; the feeling of the scratchy jute carpet where you can rub your feet when red ants bite and the maroon velvet cushion under your cheek as you fall asleep; the touch of your mother's fingers as she runs them through your hair.

Was the world ever really like this? Were people ever this contented? Did single mothers always have to struggle alone and young children give up on life because they felt that nobody cared? Wasn't your brother supposed to live next door so you could pass hot bowls of chicken curry over the fence? And your sister sleep next to you at night so you could always see that she was warm enough? Didn't grandfathers sit in easy chairs wearing blue drill shorts, sipping Horlicks and telling you stories?

What happened to that picture? When did bonds become about investment and support what we provide at call centers? When did caring become about customer service and attachments about our e-mails? Where are the days when messages were sent by two children and a dog, with a slice of yesterday's birthday cake and bits of news to share?

Wish I could pick up my box of twelve crayons again to change the picture of this world we have made by our indifference and greed!