In response to the Weekly Writing Challenge
He clutched tightly onto her kurta. The kurta was a slippery synthetic kind, the kind that dried fast, even in the monsoon; but the slippery material did not stop him from clasping it tightly with his tiny hands.
All he could see of her was her shiny, slippery kurta, and her long black hair. Her hair which pricked his face with every gust of wind that came their way. But he still loved her hair, it assured him that she was indeed her; who sang to him every night and played with him every day; who made him laugh, and also cry, but he forgave her for that. No, he just couldn’t risk letting go of her, lest he fell down and he never found her again!
He could see several big buildings whizzing by, and trees and other people too, but nothing or no one could make him let go of her kurta. Once he had a great temptation, to touch the cow standing just beside them, but he heard her voice in his head asking him to not leave her even when they were still. And he controlled the urge. He knew holding on tightly was much more important.
Then a little further on, something strange happened, he saw something which made him throw away all his caution to the wind. With both hands pointing in the same direction, he yelled, ” Mamma ice cream!”.