Meet the seasonal maniac

Since childhood I have picked up many side-hobbies. And one fact has always been constant till now. Every hobby had its rise and fall as per the wish of the ever swinging mood of the entertainment-loving-cells of my brain. My every pass-time favourite reaches it's period of crescendo in my life which would have me obsessively hooked to it, making me behave like a buffoonish maniac. But the span of these crest and trough filled trend of manias have always been very short because soon I switch to some other element of interest, letting the previous one fall from its cresendo and so it goes on.

It all started with my love for kitchen-sets when I feigned the boss of my imaginary house-hold, cooking pebbles and sand in my mini wok, stirring mud-water in tiny cups and whispering sweet nothings to my doll-kids.Any interference of my mother or anyone would irk me like hell and I threw tantrums all over the house for not letting me play what I called 'kitchen-kitchen'

'Kitchen-kitchen' obsession was soon overtaken by my penchant for sketching and painting. And the penchant again transformed to another staunch obsession.From oil pastels of varying shades to painting brushes of all sizes to fabric colors in tubes and bottles would be strewn all over the floor and I'd lie amongst them, my hands and face patched with assorted colours that could convince any lay man that my parents were blessed with a sensational painter-child.

Then books entered my life and fortunately or unfortunately they are still into my life and my head and my mind and actually everything. But the contents of interest kept varying with my age. First were the fairy-tale stories where every princess had a charming prince to rescue her from her troubles followed by the animated hero,Tin-tin's detective stories where he dauntingly solved all mysteries.Soon, I became an avid reader of Agatha Christies', so much that I used to hide the novels within my course books and read them in order to escape from my parents' glaring stares. Then, as my senses matured, I developed as a reader( I believe). And I got into absorbing the life-altering-philosophies of the so called great philosophers and authors and started spending the whole day, squeezed under my quilt, devouring these books(not literally though) , oblivious of anything and everything going around me.

Even today, if I see a kid dressing her doll and feeding it with imaginary eatables, my childhood love springs out and I happily become a member of some-one else's 'kitchen-kitchen' world.Same holds good with my hobby of sketching. Though the intensity has reduced, but i still manage to portray a scenic beauty,if it appeases my senses, onto my canvas. But my attachment with books seems to grow more and more.Reading something and then contemplating over it brings an unaparallel satisfaction which challenges my perception-skills and broadens my imaginative boundaries.

Unlike my other favourites, my wont for reading refrains from sliding down the crest and it is just scaling up the ladder every day. If an obsession like this can alter one's existence so positively, then I dont mind being addressed as a maniac.