As I am growing older, I find that my childhood memories are occupying my thoughts more and more and growing sweeter by the day. Is this the beginning of old age? Am I looking backward because I am beginning to feel somewhere deep down that there isn’t much to look forward to now?
Nostalgia really hit me a couple of days back as birthday wishes from family and friends flooded in. I was engulfed with an acute and intense longing for my childhood, the single storied house with a little gate quite disproportionate to the size of the house and rather inadequate for preventing any transgression. But it was locked every night religiously and in my mind separated the big bad evil ugly unknown from the safe familiar secure warmth inside.
The aangan where I learnt skipping (the rope), played a version of squash without a raquet, lazed on wintry afternoons but which became scary at night when it had to be crossed to reach the loo which was on the other side of the aangan. I would insist that my mother or brother accompany me and wait outside the loo. The chhat where I would go when I wanted peace and privacy (of thoughts), or just to watch the world go by on the roads below and let my imagination take flight, where many a secret was shared between me and friends, from where you could shout and talk to friends on their chhats or signal them to come if you had been forbidden to step out.
Babuji and Bhabhiji, old enough to be my grandparents and who loved me like that. No achar would be bottled till I had tasted it after mixing and approved it. How important I felt – namak aur dale, mirch theek hai, tel kam lag raha hai kya…Bhabhiji’s bhandaar – I knew all the items on all the shelves and often she would hand me the key to open the lock – she made me feel I was the mistress. In turn I taught her to play Chinese Checkers and Ludo and in no time she was playing better than me. But I couldn’t bear to lose so I would cheat. I am sure she knew and now I think she enjoyed the interaction with me more than the game. She was love personified and I wallowed in it.
The hateful trips to Katra with my mother for routine shopping which were so boring and the infrequent trips to Civil Lines which I died for - particularly if it was with Babuji in his sky blue Ambassador. I used to feel so important alighting from it and accompanying him to the toniest shops where my parents wouldn’t even peep into. The chaat wala thela with his signature bell which was enough to make my mouth water. I could have chaat only when my mother was not at home because she considered it unhygienic so I looked forward to Thursdays when she went for satsang.
Munnilal of Munnilal ki dukaan which stocked everything anyone could possibly want (in those times). I loved running errands to his shop especially with my friend Bhus because it was an “outing” for us. The day I was allowed to go to Munnilal’s dukaan (which was just a lane away) without the maid, I had felt so liberated, so grown up. The servants who were never referred to as such and had more authority than me, the dhobi, the mali and malin who were the storehouse of all the mohalla news (Breaking News of those times)
My friends Jaishu, Deepa, Nimmo, Bhus, the neighbourhood didis - Rani Munni, Choti Munni, Badi Munni, Cheena-Meena, Bibbo. Each one had some sterling qualities and my mother never tired of complaining that I did not have any. Till today, I can never eat the Hari ke samose and dalmoth from loknath in Chowk without remembering Raja Bhaiya who was the one who used to bring it.
Back then, however, I thought I had the most rotten childhood. I considered my parents strict, rigid, judgmental, un-understanding, and orthodox. I did not like the clothes or shoes they got for me, there were too few and not stylish. There were so many restrictions on my movements. I was embarrassed by the fact that I could not go unescorted anywhere (there was always a maid trailing behind me) and had to be back home before sundown. And so on and so forth. I knew they loved me more than life itself but I took that for granted – I had not known otherwise. I was in a hurry to grow up, spread my wings and fly away and do my own things.
I did all that and for many years did not turn and look back. I neither had the time nor the mind space. Today, I am longing for that love, that security, that simple life, simple pleasures, the company of my childhood friends, the neighbourhood chachas, chachis, mamas, mamis, babuji, bhabhiji, didis and bhaiyas. I want to hide in my mother’s lap. I want to be free of all cares, responsibilities, duties, obligations…
Duniya bhi ajeeb sarai faani dekhi, yahaan ki har cheez aani jaani dekhi,
Jo aakar na jaaye vo budhapa dekha, jo jaakar na aaye vo jawaani dekhi.
My mother’s favourite couplet
