It was when I was in grade 4. One winter morning, on my way to school, I encountered a group of boys in front of me. From the yellow covers on their school bags, I knew that they were first graders.
They were throwing snowballs at each other. To my eyes, the way they played looked quite aggressive. They were making hard snowballs and hitting each other with their full strength. Though the scene didn’t appeal to my peaceful nature, it reminded me of my classmates three years back and I felt nostalgic.
Then I noticed one boy walking in the back of the group. His jacket was half fallen from his shoulders and his schoolbag was angled on his back. As far as I could see, nobody in the group was paying attention to this boy. They were all too busy with their game.
But this boy was participating in his own way. Instead of making snowballs, he was calling out each of his friends’ name and telling everybody, “hey, you can throw at me! Feel free to throw at me!”
Walking slowly and smiling, he kept telling everybody to throw the snowballs at him. Nobody was responding to him, but he was happy participating. It warmed my heart that morning.