Sunday, January 11, 2009

Holiday stories

So the very next day I landed at home, Mum dragged me all the way to my native place. I personally have no problem visiting that place, I love that place – it holds many fond memories of my childhood. But not when half the house is lying empty! In fact, the house has become a ghost of what it was when I was a kid. We used to visit every weekend when my Dad came back from Gaya (where he used to teach in a medical college) and had the best weekends that a child can possibly imagine. Now all those cousins who welcomed me with open arms into their tightly knit compartment are not there. They have moved out or settled down elsewhere, more closer to the city. I was always one of the youngest and not unexpectedly had a run for everything best and the most wonderful that was possibly on offer. I know… I confess I was one of those pampered ones. Now that those attractions are no more there, the urge has diminished (uttered with total selfishness). We rather keep in touch over emails, chat sessions, over the phone… long distance, they say.

Despite the tremendous unwillingness we eventually did manage to go… not much has changed from the last time I went. I missed those wonderful days when many an afternoons we had spent in the orchard and the barn planning and executing all the pickle expeditions while the entire household was busy catching their daily siesta. Now it is like a curtsy call to pay respects to the elders in the family… you never know whether you mean much of it or not. Now they give you exactly all the things that you loved when you were a kid. But that fascination is gone. And now, even if all the those delicious things for which you were even willing to risk getting smacked at by the elders - but you still tried it and never gave up, is lying right in front of you, laid out only for you, you miss the charm of procuring it when you are not allowed to take it.The miles and miles of open fields have now been dotted by concret houses and huts of settlers whose nests have been raked to ashes. The brown meandering road is now one straight strip of tar that slowly vanished into the horizon. The pond has become half the size of what it was and the fishes are no more there. The cowshed is now the storeroom and the barn has become home for some more destitutes whom the city did not accept into its wide open arms.The upper part of the house, towards the eastern side, the walls are crumbling as the tree roots make their way more and more into the cracks between the bricks and the cement.

1 comment:

Amu said...

in the name of development... sigh.

spoken like a true romantic.
nostalgic.