One wish at a Time

Every child is fascinated by gas balloons and how they go up in the air. So was I. Back in the 90s, at every fair, there used to be this one old man with a bag full of balloons in all colours and a big machine to blow the gas in. The smell was really bad, yet we flocked there just to get one each. He tied the string to our wrists so that the balloon wouldn't escape. One day, as I saw my grandma deep in prayer, I looked up at the sky, trying to locate where exactly these prayers are addressed. She laughed and said, "Up there lives God in heaven. He hears all our prayers." My eyes lit up. "He does? Does he grant wishes?" "Only if you are pure at heart." She had walked away. Throughout the afternoon, in the lonely terrace, I had frowned at the sky.

All I could see was clouds and the sun. Some birds flew by. Where was this heaven? And what was the address?

Every time I received a letter from my cousins, they always wrote my address. I had frowned. "The whole sky is heaven." My mother smiled, chopping the vegetables. " He needs no address."

The sudden wail of a child had grabbed my attention at the fair that year. Her balloon flew away up in the sky, away from the grip of her hand. An idea came to me. "I want a balloon." My father was too happy to oblige. The next afternoon, I wrote down all my wishes and stuck them with a chewing gum on the balloon. Then, going up to the terrace, I let it go. It flew away up and towards where the wind took it, until it was out of sight. Every time I got a balloon, I used to write a paper full of wishes to god. It's been two decades. I have realised wishes aren't like shopping lists. They are more precious. But every time I see a balloon, I want to write to Him once again, one wish at a time.