Children growing up in the 90's, grew up listening to the fables of a boy raised by animals in the wilderness of a massive jungle.
In this jungle, the leopards were sages, elephants mighty as God and a pack of wolves had the tenderness to raise a human infant. The vast forest was a tiny universe in itself. You could hear a hungry bear singing, a small child swinging from trees and the bulls racing home. In this world, the children of India found the fertile land where they sowed and reaped creatures of imagination.
This jungle is etched in our memories. We built tree houses on terraces, befriended street dogs and ate mangoes like Baloo. Just to live, at least for a day, the life of Mowgli.
Now we overdose on travelogues and refresh booking pages to find a spark of inspiration within us.
But not many realise that 'The Jungle Book' was our first ever encounter with a world that could be reached by stepping out, moving inches and kilometres from the comfort zone.
With the trials, treasures and tribulations of Mowgli, the 90's kids grew up. And somewhere along that way, we lost the fascination for that jungle where animals dance, sing and live happily ever after.