Nostalgia

The city I grew up in. Was such a pleasure to grow up in the city. Wide tree lined avenues.The leisurely walk to school in light blue skirt and cream shirt. Listening to Ponniyin Selvan narrated by a master story teller en route . Ponni, Vandiattevan and Azhwar kadiayaan, all, so fresh in the mind's eye. After 40 years! Unbelievable.

The even more leisurely ambling walk back. The Sunday morning stroll in the Lodi Garden next to school. The blue bells on the compound walls. The huge lawns of the Lodi Estate houses. The mali shooing the children away from jamun trees.

What joy!

The white washed rows of houses in solid Russian design. The huge arches. The dark galis. Especially no fear of walking alone any time. The punjaabis, the gadwalis, the bengalis and of course the madrasis. Anyone beyond the Vindhyas were called so.

We happily fit into the category.

The languorous summer afternoons. Not a soul in sight. Even the crows and sparrows disappeared. 4' O clock in the afternoon and the city would come to life lazily as if it was the second morning of the day. The 'chanachoor garmagaram' wala selling his ware in paper cones would appear magically from nowhere. His sonorous song still playing back in memory. That was the indication that it is time for the much restrained kids to go out to play. The ganderriyan - neatly chopped, mouth sized, ready to chew sugarcane pieces - seller with iced sugarcane pieces flavoured with rosewater on his cart. His mound of chopped sugar cane pieces laced with pink rose petals, smelling heavenly. The lawns watered using hosepipes smelling of wet earth on a summer day.

Nothing to compensate for such sights and sound.

The Summer nights. Rows and rows of charpais spread with white spotless bedsheets. Surais-the mud pots with narrow necks- filled with water.The common open dormitory on the terrace. Tales of partition told - Oh ! so dramatically in an alien tongue- multani, listened to with rapt attention inter spread with translations for us madrasis' benefit. With, 'The news read by Surjit Sen...' playing on the radio somewhere in the background indicating that it was 9 'O clock and time to go to bed.To lie supine and watch the twinkling of the stars in the darkened sky.

Can't think of anything compensating this day at the end of the first decade of the 21st century.

Winters! The early morning chill of October, making way from half sweaters to full sleeved ones. The clicking of the knitting needles in every other woman's hand. Such bright colors ! Such patterns! The charpais under the winter Sun. The revdis and moongphalis and bers. Such treats to munch listening to cricket commentary.


All mornings and afternoons spent under the Sun in the full glare of the neighbourhood. The transistor playing vividhbharati, celebrating Lata and Rafi's resplendent voices. The 'Behnon ka karikram' at 1 O' clock that would talk on benefits of small family in a very kosher manner. :)

The 26th January Republic Day Parade. Nothing as dramatic as Mani Ratnam's version. But glorious all the same. With no barricades and only a small VIP enclosure. Any one could walk in anywhere and take the pleasure of watching from the front row with national pride brimming in
you.

One actually faintly remembers President Radhakrishnan and Panditji from those days.

Such simple pleasures.

A visit four decades later. The less said the better.