YESTERDAY ONCE MORE

My uncle introduced me and my brother to his wife saying "Molly meet Shachi and Sharad, they lived the most beautiful childhood one can imagine". I was surprised by such an introduction because until then I had never thought of my childhood to be anything special. This introduction made me think of those lovely years spent on a farm cottage surrounded by lush green fields on one side, a dried river bed on the other followed by a dense forest in a little village in Himachal Pradesh, where you could hear the cries of hyenas at night, where we would find our flower beds spoiled by wild boars and where snakes and scorpions were not an unusual sight.

We grew up in the lap of nature literally. My father being an animal lover we got an opportunity to keep different kinds of pets from time to time inspite of ma's cribbing. Apart from a dogs, we kept silk worms, three little chickens, a parrot, a kingfisher which I picked up from the roadside bleeding with a feather broken and even butterflies.

Evenings meant badminton, football even hockey at times with dad. We had a lovely badminton court, where we used to hold regular tournaments for our immediate neighbours. Neighbors being the families of resident scientists of a agriculture and horticulture university a few kilometres away from our house. Our School was 19 km away in a small town. We would go to the town every morning leaving ma behind. Then I never thought it was anything difficult, but now when I look back and think of ma spending time on her own, it scares me.

The village had a little market which was adequate for our daily needs plus the town being just 19 kms away we would go there on sundays to pick up things. And holidays would be spent in Dehradun at my granny's place. We didn't feel different or intimated by the city as we had lived there for a few years and studied there away from pa but after a while ma decided that it was more important for us to live together as a family than studying in 'good' schools in Dehradun. And that it how we came to live in that little cottage in a quiet village.

Coming back to the house, our weekend picnics were at the nearby not so dense jungle and lovely riversides. With the big boys leading the bunch with sticks to scare away the monkeys and stealing oranges from the nearby orchards. The big feast for us was the local Shivratri Mela, it was a sort of yearly get together where all the families had a gala time, what if it was only a village mela. We would pester our parents for buying those funny plastic toys and village sweets, which my mother never bought.

There are endless memories attached to that house. I can keep on writing about that house and those years. The memories are so well etched in my mind of the courtyard, where pa taught me badminton, hockey, football, gulli danda, cycling where my brother made catapults and dhanush baans inspired by Ramayana. Where our Sundays were spent in making vegetable beds, collecting fruits and fireplace wood, and evenings at the scientist’s club. Where Delhi was nothing but the capital city of the country and the place where badi mamma lived.

PS: I love this journey called life. I love the way it surprises you at every step, every moment. It takes you to different places, makes you meet different people and what you are left with are just memories, which make you the person you are.