What's your earliest memory?

The earliest memory I have of my childhood is one of identifying my fear, facing it- and getting on with the business of living.

It is also of holding your dear ones dear and helping them deal with their fear.

Fear is the only limit we place on our boundless flight...

I was barely one and a half years old. The memory is etched in my mind as if a tag that can start the play of a movie. We lived in an ordinary home. ( Notice... I call this a home- from the very beginning.) ( more about that later) . There were, however, focal points of the extraordinary here. One such focal point was the roof of the home. This roof also served as a small balcony for our small family to spend weekends and evenings of togetherness. Looking back, it appears foolish at worst and fool hardy at best to be using this risky balcony without railings and parapets for such a family activity.

I distinctly remember the rickety cross between a ladder and a stair that led up from the living space to this platform. What made this upward flight a stair was a flat board for each step to place our feet on. However, we had nothing to hold on to on the sides. It used to always make me feel a certain thrill going up. It was almost as if we were flying... and landing...

We used to land on the edge of the top of the world. This was the highest point of the neighbourhood. We could reach for the sky if we tried! Just a little stretch!

My father used to carry me up first. Leave me there. I used to sit- looking at him going back down. I used to sit at the edge of the roof of my world and watch with fascination. Even at that young age I used to wonder what made my father bring ME up foremost. It was almost a ritual. He would, then, descend and come up again with my baby brother... deposit the bundle close to me! I had to keep him safe. This was a huge responsibility for a tiny girl. My father trusted me from the very beginning! He never had to say it. And I am proud to know that I have never, till date, let him down.

Somehow, keeping a three month old baby safe took over the brain completely... freeing the mind from the fear or even the possibility of a fall!

Then last of all... he would very carefully, lead my mother up the rickety stair-ladder! My mother was mortally afraid of this ladder. When we were all up there-however- the towering presence and smiling face of my father made everything else fade into insignificance. His presence was, quite simply, a safety net around us. He never let fear figure on the radar of our consciousness. We would play, lounge and enjoy the evening breeze.

Then, quietly, we would all descend. Though the actual memories of descending the stair-ladder are not at all present, there must be some neuronal impression. To this day, I feel a sense of thrill climbing up and a hesitation, almost a fear that I will tumble and fall if I descend.

My father led from the front. Like he led his soldiers. And, he trusted.

When he left me up there with a little baby, he was leaving both his children on that roof top. He had a deep sense of faith that his children would stay safe. One looking after. The other, looked after. And God would always care for us. God did! We also did!

We learnt responsibility from an early age. We did what we were supposed to. And made fear irrelevant. Nonexistent, even.

We also learnt to take over and rally by the side of family when the fear was there. My mother felt the fear. It was her reality. We rallied around her till it became irrelevant for her, too.

Today, both my parents lead from the front. As they always have. They do not tell us. They show us. Infact, they simply follow their philosophy of life and love to the last letter. And... do not even care who is watching- if at all any one is watching!

Will I be able to give my children memories that teach, and instill a sense of wonder for life?

I do hope we, as a generation, could do this for our children.

I hope, we could.