Every time I visit this small quaint town I feel like I’m reliving my childhood. It’s as if time forgot to touch Allahabad when it passed by. Everything from the buildings, the neighbourhood, the old playground, the local people, the old school building, the shopkeeper, the rickshaw puller, and even the old guard seem unchanged.
Although all these almost unvarying circumstances seem
strange because it’s been decades since I left Allahabad, but what makes me most happy and rejuvenated is that my feelings, emotions and sentiments towards the place and the people remain unchanged. My degree of emotional connection with the city makes me want to return again and again. It adds to my zest of life, and removes the boring and challenging routine which I face everyday in the big city where I live and work. The place always reminds of me of my Mother, the naughty days of school, the happy festivals, the scolding of parents, the fighting and laughing with pals etc. All these memories refresh me and give me strength to live life once again. They never fail to bring a smile to my face and brighten my day.
And now, sitting alone in my room, reminiscing about my old home, I recall some instances which make me feel passionate and urge me to return to the therapeutic little town.
Allahabad is the place where I spent the initial nine years of my life with my parents. Although I was born in Kolkata, I grew up in Allahabad. Today, at 35, I live alone in New Delhi and work here.
I spent a happy and colourful childhood with parents and friends in Allahabad. The house I grew up in is located in a remote part of the city and is big with a garden full of fruit and flower trees and plants. My father’s passion for flora and fauna always kept the greenery around the house. I was very content with climbing trees, playing all boyish games, running about, being mischievous and hurting myself. Parental scolding and beating was part of the game and was never thought of as an ordeal.
Usually, my mother had to deal with my troublesome nature since my father used to be away for work most of the time. She was my constant companion teaching me every important thing of life. My father’s return meant several complaints and some angry and disciplinary moments, but that was always short-lived. Their love was the integral part of my life.
I studied in St. Mary’s Convent and was good in studies. I agree I was careless and my teachers always complained that I was the most talkative girl in school. But when my report card showed my good results every year, I eagerly looked forward to my prize of the biggest bar of chocolate. Perhaps that’s why chocolates are still my favourite. Birthdays were always special with an early morning gift and usually a dinner treat. I remember my parents threw a grand party once inviting all and sundry. The food was yummy and the gifts were to die for. I must’ve been seven years old then.
I remember the first time I rode on my father’s Lambretta scooter sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his hip. My mother feared I would fall off, since my usual place was to stand in front holding the handle. But my father took the gamble and taught me to be brave. Although all the rides are not as vivid, but I do remember some when he dropped me to school, or we went to see the Ganga river, or some monuments etc. I always looked forward to the times when the three of us went to visit his friends. I recall, we had met with an accident once and my father hurt his finger badly. Mother and I were not much hurt. In an after thought, perhaps, I might have distracted him somehow, I can’t quite remember that.
We moved to another city called Indore in 1984 when I had completed Class III, since my father changed jobs. I could sense both my parents were very upset, especially my mother. I suppose I had mixed feelings. Sad to go away from this beautiful place and friends, yet excited to see a new place, make new friends, study in a new school, and meet new people.
It’s been many years since then. We finally moved to Kolkata at the end of that year and my mother passed away the year after that, to cancer. My father has moved back to Allahabad ever since and still lives there.
I visit him as frequently as I can.
We often reminisce the wonderful moments that have passed and feel both happy and sad about them. So although physically time has stopped in Allahabad, the poignant bond beckons me to visit time and again.
Although all these almost unvarying circumstances seem
And now, sitting alone in my room, reminiscing about my old home, I recall some instances which make me feel passionate and urge me to return to the therapeutic little town.
Allahabad is the place where I spent the initial nine years of my life with my parents. Although I was born in Kolkata, I grew up in Allahabad. Today, at 35, I live alone in New Delhi and work here.
I spent a happy and colourful childhood with parents and friends in Allahabad. The house I grew up in is located in a remote part of the city and is big with a garden full of fruit and flower trees and plants. My father’s passion for flora and fauna always kept the greenery around the house. I was very content with climbing trees, playing all boyish games, running about, being mischievous and hurting myself. Parental scolding and beating was part of the game and was never thought of as an ordeal.
Usually, my mother had to deal with my troublesome nature since my father used to be away for work most of the time. She was my constant companion teaching me every important thing of life. My father’s return meant several complaints and some angry and disciplinary moments, but that was always short-lived. Their love was the integral part of my life.
I studied in St. Mary’s Convent and was good in studies. I agree I was careless and my teachers always complained that I was the most talkative girl in school. But when my report card showed my good results every year, I eagerly looked forward to my prize of the biggest bar of chocolate. Perhaps that’s why chocolates are still my favourite. Birthdays were always special with an early morning gift and usually a dinner treat. I remember my parents threw a grand party once inviting all and sundry. The food was yummy and the gifts were to die for. I must’ve been seven years old then.
I remember the first time I rode on my father’s Lambretta scooter sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his hip. My mother feared I would fall off, since my usual place was to stand in front holding the handle. But my father took the gamble and taught me to be brave. Although all the rides are not as vivid, but I do remember some when he dropped me to school, or we went to see the Ganga river, or some monuments etc. I always looked forward to the times when the three of us went to visit his friends. I recall, we had met with an accident once and my father hurt his finger badly. Mother and I were not much hurt. In an after thought, perhaps, I might have distracted him somehow, I can’t quite remember that.
We moved to another city called Indore in 1984 when I had completed Class III, since my father changed jobs. I could sense both my parents were very upset, especially my mother. I suppose I had mixed feelings. Sad to go away from this beautiful place and friends, yet excited to see a new place, make new friends, study in a new school, and meet new people.
It’s been many years since then. We finally moved to Kolkata at the end of that year and my mother passed away the year after that, to cancer. My father has moved back to Allahabad ever since and still lives there.
I visit him as frequently as I can.
We often reminisce the wonderful moments that have passed and feel both happy and sad about them. So although physically time has stopped in Allahabad, the poignant bond beckons me to visit time and again.
No comments:
Post a Comment