Street No. 5166

Life is strange and comical at its best! I told my mother that today I would be going to railway station. She asked me if I would visit the house. 

I was born in this part of the city almost half a century ago…. Seems like a lifetime but am still alive and kicking. Strange that I couldn't manage to come here in my youthful days when walking was easy breezy. I could have easily drive down on one of the shopping incursions but not. 

Today after 41 years am here, without any pretext but with expectation to

 relive a few moments of my childhood.

Standing at the threshold of the narrow lane No. 5166, that housed not more than twenty-twenty five house and only a few with more than a floor tall, now looks dinghy and dark which in the days of kindergarten and adolescence felt bright, broad and better than any place on the earth! The earth was only the places read in the school books and travelled with parents and grandparents.

 A very small earth with an expanse of never- ending bright sky that was filled with millions of stars at night.  

Just standing, inhaling the smell of burnt coal tar being sprayed on the road and trying to find that unforgettable smell of fresh fried fritters and the sound of ice cream vendor. No such smell nor any gay sound of bells tinkling and inciting the kids to come out with money to buy sugary, syrupy ice candy. 

There was a coal depot at the entrance of the lane. Now there is a glitzy general store.And, the general store where I used to buy my colours, has now shrunken in size with dimmed lights. But not all is lost! My general store has a kiddies Corner, which is bustling to the seams. Reminds me of days of yesteryears.  

My associate accompanied me to my place of birth, my childhood. I wanted show the ‘happening’ lane where people lived peacefully despite political differences and carried on with their lives happily. 

Gone were the days of earthen stoves and kids learning to cycle in the narrow lane.

So narrow that only two adults can walk without touching another!! Imagine walking in such space in the time of Corona!

Fourth house on the right was ours. Still the same only freshly painted and

 the exterior doors been replaced with modern iron studded with a fancy design. 

The staircase to the roof was from outside. They haven’t put a door to it. I smiled. The smile was big enough to be noted. I climbed the stairs.

 The ladies of the family still follow the old traditions of making goodies at home.

 The entire open roof was covered with white sheets on which potato slices and poppadum were left to dry. A few earthen and glass vats were there filled with raw pickle.

 The adjoining roof top now boast a boundary wall.

 The new comers seem to be vary of neighbours and protective about privacy. 

We used to run amok from one end of the rooftop to the other, jumping, shrieking and shouting with joy. 

Your mom was as good as mine and one television would cater to the entire lane!!

 That was 1970s.

The floor above was the long room with a narrow staircase. I have tons of

 memories of that room and the staircase. I wanted to step on to those stairs as well and allow myself to sit on the steps.

 I looked up and met with a stare from an elderly lady. Grey haired, wrinkled hands, sharp nose, medium height. Looked at me rather accusingly as if I would spoil the pickles!!

“Now, you found the time to visit us after so many years!” She said, looking 

at me directly. I was surprised and confused. I do not resemble any of the females of the family and could not imagine that lady to remember a girl of barely 9 years of age when left that house many years ago. “I am Dolly, I just came up to see the roof”. 

The elderly woman replied, “I know….. You are grand daughter of Partap Singh. You are like your grandfather and father. How is your mother?”

 “Your mother promised me that she would come and visit me. Now see who came instead… I miss her very much.”

 I kept staring that lady… listening her took me back to my childhood. 

The days when a neighbour would know the children of the vicinity

not only by their names but also the names of their parents and grandparents as well. 

She had many questions. She kept on asking and I kept staring her, trying to find a foothold. 

My associate nudged me as if to bring me around from a deep slumber.

“you came to see the house??” “Come down, let me show you the house.

Boys have added a lot but retained much of the older construction.”

She took hold of my hand and brought me downstairs.

 The courtyard was smaller than my memories.

 A row of plants alongside the eastern wall with a study table for a toddler. 

The kitchen was still the same but now with a cooking range and a microwave.

 The living room had a 42’ flatscreen, smart sitting arrangement with concealed lights. 

The doors were the same! Double panelled wooden doors with a coat of dark brown paint. 

I sat down and looked about. The wall that once adorn a painting made by my uncle now has an elaborate but neat bookshelf with as many as 100 books.

 The younger folks were staring at me with quizzical expressions.

 Their granny introduced me, “This is your Dolly Bua (Aunt). She used to live here before us. Her grandfather sold this house to your grandfather.”  

 Strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee and fritters reminded me of days when

 my grandmother along with her friends would sit in the courtyard 

and bake bread. The carefree laughter of children and ice cream vendor’s bell.   

41 years is a long time but not long enough to fade the memories and rob the joy revisit the house of one’s birth.