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The Big Five

By Nickunj Malik - Jan 14,2015 - Last updated at Jan 14,2015

Anyone who has lived in Africa knows what the Big Five are. But how did these five animals — the lion, elephant, buffalo, rhinoceros and leopard — come to be called the Big Five?

Let me tell you. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, professional hunters used this term while bagging trophies in the dense jungles. It was actually considered a rite of passage for seasoned travellers like American presidents, European and Indian royalty and heads of state to visit the Dark Continent in order to shoot a large and dangerous animal.

The Big Five quickly became known as the most treacherous animals to hunt on foot, and the name stuck. Even though now all the “shooting” that’s done is not through a double-barrelled gun, but via a camera lens.

These thoughts reverberated in my head as I prepared myself to face a brand new milestone in my life. I was going to become a half-centurion and all the previous fifty years of my existence on Earth were playing in front of my eyes — like the scenes in a movie, that is. 

I remember myself aged four, fourteen, twenty-four, thirty-four and forty-four. Every decade apart, I was doing certain things differently, while the other stuff, in exactly the same manner. 

My earliest memory is of being allowed to sit unsupervised on a chair around a dining table. I was very stressed because if I sat up straight, my feet would dangle in the air and if I slid down to place them on the floor, my head would slip right off the seat too. I was extremely perturbed with this bit of injustice and kept repeating the action hoping that my limbs would grow with each repetition and fit me proportionately in the highchair. 

Ten years later, I learned to slouch whenever I wanted to avoid confrontation during mealtimes. Ironically, I would be asked to sit up straight, on the same chair! My mum would have a fit whenever she saw me in such a state. “Look at me when I’m talking to you and don’t droop like that,” she would scold. 

Another decade went by and I found myself sitting with my infant child on my lap. After my marriage whenever I visited my parents along with my husband, the dining table was set very formally. A crisp tablecloth would adorn it and the crockery, which was earlier saved for special occasions, would be laid out. My dad insisted that when we have our meals, our daughter should be made to taste a bit of everything. So, I would be seated, once again, on the same old chair, with my baby’s feet in the air. 

The next twenty years sped so fast that I have trouble in recollecting them individually. I thought turning thirty was a life-changing experience but when I turned forty was when my entire perception changed. I lost both my parents so I was forced to grow up in a hurry. 

However old you might be, even when you are seventy, if your mother or father are alive, you can continue to be childish. The unconditional love that they have for you overlooks all your shortcomings. But once they are gone, you have to learn to take accountability, which is a challenging experience.

On my fiftieth birthday, with my feet planted firmly on the ground, all I wish for is some divine blessings from my parents. I know they are listening. 

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