The children were intent on play. It was 1970, kolkata. The sardar siblings and the bohra kids. Jumping off the steps, clad in the lightest of frocks, the girls often ganged up against the one boy, giggling over his efforts at girlie games. Hide and seek, endless games of hopscotch, skipping ropes whirling in myriad patterns as they competed against each other, who could forget the 'sent a letter to my mother ditties' the mock moharram battles waged against each other with paper swords and bows and arrows ? The parsi neighbours' dogs whose barks added to the general din in the evenings, petting them added thrill to their visits to these almost reclusive people's homes.
The weekend was welcomed heartily, dad would hurry home to be with his family. Sunday evening treats consisted of a visit to the Ghats, after which we would head for a sumptous dinner to a doting grandfathers home. The aroma of fat, succulent kebabs, the famous Allauddin halwas and laddus to die for.
The vacations were spent in Sidhpur, in the welcoming home of grandmother. No queen felt grander than we did in our new frocks as we sallied out amongst the hoi polloi of the mohalla which clustered together and looked on in awe at us as we sallied forth in all our finery, speaking in english amongst ourselves. Some days lonely alleys were sought, as surreptious fires were lit, and mango kernels roasted on them yielded the golden seed which was devoured as a delicacy. Mid afternoons, the roofs beckoned as, armed with books, and the odd foolhardy, chipmunk creeping up on us, we lay reading, obvlivious to the world around us. Then come nightfall, we would have a hurried dinner and run out to mingle with the same people playing night games of hide and seek. The cold winter nights, the eerily quiet mohallas, each night was an adventure, a thrill, as we darted around leaping nimbly from the stone steps of the houses alongside ours. In the mornings we would go with our grandfather to his clubhouse where we splashed around in the artificial pond and picked flowers and fruits. The treat unfailingly, was the ice lolly, 'Baraf golas' shich we shlurped down every evening. In the rains, the heady smell of the wet earth filling the senses, miles were walked, chasing the small red velvetty spiders that emerged. Wether wanderer or ragamuffins every role was played to the hilt and enjoyed.
Back in kolkata, school had to be attended. At 5 plus, the admission was secured for d nursery. No birth certs or vaccine schedules were neccessary. The students were chinese, christians, muslims, a mixed batch, with whom friendships were forged. We shot back home, the faithful Rickshaw walas waiting patiently to ferry us home. Basketball, throwball, badminton, were games played with gusto. For fun. Glorious were the holidays when one could drown in books, passionately reading every book one could lay ones hands on, begged borrowed,bought. Stamps were collected and exchanged with ardour.
Board exams were a cinch, our schools readmitting us for the pre university classes.
Looking back, the one thing lacking was the S word. Stress free is the word which can be used to describe that idyllic world. "No computers, refrigerators, malls, telephones even, no music systems except the radio, and idyllic? " asks my incredulous teen. " Yes, " i answer. " because there was no fear only a joie de ver, about our existence, an innocence in our worlds which got lost somewhere along the line, as the world strode into the computer age."
The weekend was welcomed heartily, dad would hurry home to be with his family. Sunday evening treats consisted of a visit to the Ghats, after which we would head for a sumptous dinner to a doting grandfathers home. The aroma of fat, succulent kebabs, the famous Allauddin halwas and laddus to die for.
The vacations were spent in Sidhpur, in the welcoming home of grandmother. No queen felt grander than we did in our new frocks as we sallied out amongst the hoi polloi of the mohalla which clustered together and looked on in awe at us as we sallied forth in all our finery, speaking in english amongst ourselves. Some days lonely alleys were sought, as surreptious fires were lit, and mango kernels roasted on them yielded the golden seed which was devoured as a delicacy. Mid afternoons, the roofs beckoned as, armed with books, and the odd foolhardy, chipmunk creeping up on us, we lay reading, obvlivious to the world around us. Then come nightfall, we would have a hurried dinner and run out to mingle with the same people playing night games of hide and seek. The cold winter nights, the eerily quiet mohallas, each night was an adventure, a thrill, as we darted around leaping nimbly from the stone steps of the houses alongside ours. In the mornings we would go with our grandfather to his clubhouse where we splashed around in the artificial pond and picked flowers and fruits. The treat unfailingly, was the ice lolly, 'Baraf golas' shich we shlurped down every evening. In the rains, the heady smell of the wet earth filling the senses, miles were walked, chasing the small red velvetty spiders that emerged. Wether wanderer or ragamuffins every role was played to the hilt and enjoyed.
Back in kolkata, school had to be attended. At 5 plus, the admission was secured for d nursery. No birth certs or vaccine schedules were neccessary. The students were chinese, christians, muslims, a mixed batch, with whom friendships were forged. We shot back home, the faithful Rickshaw walas waiting patiently to ferry us home. Basketball, throwball, badminton, were games played with gusto. For fun. Glorious were the holidays when one could drown in books, passionately reading every book one could lay ones hands on, begged borrowed,bought. Stamps were collected and exchanged with ardour.
Board exams were a cinch, our schools readmitting us for the pre university classes.
Looking back, the one thing lacking was the S word. Stress free is the word which can be used to describe that idyllic world. "No computers, refrigerators, malls, telephones even, no music systems except the radio, and idyllic? " asks my incredulous teen. " Yes, " i answer. " because there was no fear only a joie de ver, about our existence, an innocence in our worlds which got lost somewhere along the line, as the world strode into the computer age."
what powerful memories..love the way you weave them..
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