Cakes and Kites of the Past!
It used to be a ritual you
looked forward to, going to your grandparents’ place in the village during
summer vacations. Now you are there after many years; you still feel the house
is welcoming you with a smile. Soon the memories come in a flash, like a pack
of cards disregarding the order of time!
There you are with uncles
and aunts celebrating your 8th birthday and mom next to you beaming
with pride. You never noticed how beautiful she looked. You sit on a stool and
relatives come to put a tilak on your forehead and hand some cash. Through the
corner of your eyes you look at it and total the cash. A local sweet hastily
arranged in the form of cake is something you bargained as a boy from town.
From being a shy child,
you turn into a performer next year. You had crammed some jokes form a children’s
magazine and at any request, you recite them to bemused aunts. Today you wonder
why they always laughed at the same jokes. Maybe you were their mirror to a
different world, maybe they just loved you with all their heart.
Your father has bought
you a kite but you do not know how to make it fly. An elder boy is given this
task by your mom and you are jumping with joy when the kite kisses the sky. He
hands it over to you and you pull the string suavely as if you are an
accomplished kites’ man.
This year your
grandfather has turned this into a pukka house. He is energetically giving all
of you tour of this house and there is a twinkle in his eyes. He has made this
house and you can sense his pride. Something tells you he left us years back.
The new pukka stairs,
made of stone were pointed and steep and you had to be careful when you climbed;
mom kept repeating watch your steps. You loved to be there when roof was washed
with water after hot summer afternoons. All slept on the open roof and often
there were stories of spirits and shadows. Many vouched to have seen them and
shared their experience. With each story your interest grew and you held tightly
to your mom.
Once there was a
thunderstorm and it rained all night. All were squeezed in a small room and elders
hardly slept. They talked about their lives and when you woke up, they were
still discussing something. Your mom gently caressed your forehead.
Now everyone is playing Holi,
and faces are hard to recognise. You are eleven this time. Everyone is smiling
and there are happy faces all around, you could sense a warmth that existed in middle
class extended families. You led a gang of children, hiding in the corners and surprise
people with your fish shaped water gun.
You now remember some of
them have left this world. Your aunt who was the most active one that day, gave
in to cancer. The family got six months to bid goodbye. A boy who was just
becoming a man would die before entering thirties. Wherever you looked at that
house, people smiled at you saying hello from the time passed by. It is an
eerie feeling, to realise so many people who are part of your memories are not around.
You are jolted out from your dreams.
Now you feel house is not
same anymore. There are odd extensions everywhere, an extra room carved out
here, the open area behind covered to a great extent. Unknown tenants stay in
parts and they look at you curiously. You try to find a familiar face but you
cannot.
You look at your
grandmother, she has wrinkled skin and every time your meet her, she grows even
older. She puts a hand on your forehead and mumbles something which you find
hard to decipher. She asks about an ailment that you had as a child and you
wonder if like your memories, she has also lost sense of time. Your son is
excited to meet her and asks her zillion questions. She hardly answers but is
happy at his exuberance.
She came in pair with
your grandfather and after he left, you find it difficult to accept her
individual existence. She needs support for everything, to sit, to walk. She
cries when you leave and so does your mom; you feel a growing lump in your
throat and avoid looking at her for long. Every time you see her, there is an unsaid
thought that this meeting might be the last. She is a gateway to your childhood;
she is your gateway to a time gone by and you want her to carry on and on!
