<p class="bodytext">Whenever someone compliments me on having a creative streak, I know exactly whom to thank—my mom. She always had a way of turning the ordinary into something magical. From school projects to fancy dress competitions, her ideas were always brimming. I distinctly remember her choice when I was in fourth grade: I was to be Captain Hook, J M Barrie’s infamous pirate, whose sole mission was to kill Peter Pan and capture Neverland. Captain Hook, as we know, has one hand severed by Peter Pan and fed to a crocodile, which has also swallowed a ticking clock. As a result, Hook wears a hook on his hand, which he uses to terrorise his victims.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Since my mom had to leave for work early, I dressed myself—donning a long red coat and black tights, covering my right hand with a sock, and attaching a cardboard hook to my “severed hand.” Lacking a cavalier hat, I tied a bandana over my shoulder-length curly hair. I drew a moustache, stuck a beard on my chin, and blackened one of my teeth, just as my mom had instructed. The crutch that I used because of my mobility challenges went very naturally with the role I depicted. When I stepped on stage, I transformed into an evil pirate, grinning wickedly and flashing my “decayed” tooth. That evening, when my mom returned home, I shared the good news—her idea had won me first prize.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My mom’s creativity reached its pinnacle when she decided I should be a shuttlecock. For the next few days, she threw herself into the task—fashioning the cork from a large chunk of thermocol, using thick red insulating tape for the band, and cutting white chart paper into feather shapes. The result was nothing short of stupendous; she had perfectly replicated an enormous shuttlecock. On the day of the competition, she suggested I wear a pair of white shorts and a T-shirt. When it was time to go on stage, the huge shuttlecock was placed over me, and I crawled to the centre as instructed, moving to and fro. Though I couldn’t see a thing through the layers of cardboard, my ears delighted in the thunderous applause echoing through the auditorium. Once again, my mom had worked her magic—I won first prize effortlessly.</p>.<p class="bodytext">As adulthood crept in with its responsibilities and routine, my mom and I often discussed throwing a costume party for adults. Yet, living within the conservative confines of South Bangalore, our plans never materialized. Clubs in Koramangala hosted Halloween costume parties, and my mom and I toyed with the idea of going as Morticia Addams (The Addams Family) and Bella Swan (Twilight). But like many of our other plans, this one too faded away. Recently, we heard about a Cosplay event in Bangalore. Before we could decide between dressing as Catwoman or Harley Quinn, we learned the event was being held in Whitefield, on the opposite end of the city. That’s when my mom and I had to admit, with a sigh, that fancy dress as an adult might just not be in the cards for us.</p>
<p class="bodytext">Whenever someone compliments me on having a creative streak, I know exactly whom to thank—my mom. She always had a way of turning the ordinary into something magical. From school projects to fancy dress competitions, her ideas were always brimming. I distinctly remember her choice when I was in fourth grade: I was to be Captain Hook, J M Barrie’s infamous pirate, whose sole mission was to kill Peter Pan and capture Neverland. Captain Hook, as we know, has one hand severed by Peter Pan and fed to a crocodile, which has also swallowed a ticking clock. As a result, Hook wears a hook on his hand, which he uses to terrorise his victims.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Since my mom had to leave for work early, I dressed myself—donning a long red coat and black tights, covering my right hand with a sock, and attaching a cardboard hook to my “severed hand.” Lacking a cavalier hat, I tied a bandana over my shoulder-length curly hair. I drew a moustache, stuck a beard on my chin, and blackened one of my teeth, just as my mom had instructed. The crutch that I used because of my mobility challenges went very naturally with the role I depicted. When I stepped on stage, I transformed into an evil pirate, grinning wickedly and flashing my “decayed” tooth. That evening, when my mom returned home, I shared the good news—her idea had won me first prize.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My mom’s creativity reached its pinnacle when she decided I should be a shuttlecock. For the next few days, she threw herself into the task—fashioning the cork from a large chunk of thermocol, using thick red insulating tape for the band, and cutting white chart paper into feather shapes. The result was nothing short of stupendous; she had perfectly replicated an enormous shuttlecock. On the day of the competition, she suggested I wear a pair of white shorts and a T-shirt. When it was time to go on stage, the huge shuttlecock was placed over me, and I crawled to the centre as instructed, moving to and fro. Though I couldn’t see a thing through the layers of cardboard, my ears delighted in the thunderous applause echoing through the auditorium. Once again, my mom had worked her magic—I won first prize effortlessly.</p>.<p class="bodytext">As adulthood crept in with its responsibilities and routine, my mom and I often discussed throwing a costume party for adults. Yet, living within the conservative confines of South Bangalore, our plans never materialized. Clubs in Koramangala hosted Halloween costume parties, and my mom and I toyed with the idea of going as Morticia Addams (The Addams Family) and Bella Swan (Twilight). But like many of our other plans, this one too faded away. Recently, we heard about a Cosplay event in Bangalore. Before we could decide between dressing as Catwoman or Harley Quinn, we learned the event was being held in Whitefield, on the opposite end of the city. That’s when my mom and I had to admit, with a sigh, that fancy dress as an adult might just not be in the cards for us.</p>
