The few months I spent at my grandmother’s house will always be one of my favorite memory. Some years ago, I would have hated going back there. I used to make excuses not to actually go there because it’s in a rural area, and I liked the city more, but now as I look back to those days, I realize I’m never going to get back to those days with the same people. Now I realize why people living abroad still like returning to their hometown. Hometown is the most essential part of your life. A person should always remember where they had come from. One should never forget its roots. Nothing will be left if you forget where you’ve come from.
In our zeal to ‘grow up,’ we often forget our native roots and become shoots without any identity. If one wishes to have an identity and a source of strength, one needs to return to one’s roots which could be anywhere, but it is imperative that the memories associated with the growing process be revisited.
Returning back to your childhood home makes you understand the concept of time. You realize how far you have come.
My days usually used to start with playing in Mouni Di’s basement room, playing carom board with all bhaiyas and didis. There used to be so many fights and drama because Mouni Di’s brother was favored by their parents even when he was wrong due to running patriarchy in the Indian household about how a boy child is more important than a girl. Mouni Di would get so angry and leave in the middle of the game, but bhaiya would try and make up with her, only to annoy her again.
I would cross the barrier between Shreya’s house corridor and jump to _ didi’s house to play Pretend Teacher’s Play. I would usually get paired up with Saloni Di. I loved her so much cause she would teach me social studies (my fav project to date), names of the oceans, historical facts about some things, and about our government. I actually remember all those things he used to teach me in play, but I still know it.
There was a time when I wouldn’t even come home in the afternoon for lunch, and my mum would get so angry. Well, she’s still that same angry woman, but I’m used to her anger now. I used to get so freaked out because if she had to yell in the neighborhood for me, she wouldn’t let me go to play again. However, I would still push her limits and annoy her more while eating lunch. I never liked veggies, so my mum had to force me to eat them, but sometimes my grandmother would make me small riceballs with salt and mixed butter so I would at least have my tummy full when I was playing till sundown.
As it got evening, everyone would go out on the terrace or on the road to play badminton, hide-n-seek, or i-spy. I sucked at sports, but I loved playing with them because there were so many of us, and the thrill and adrenaline I used to get, I just loved it. Also, I was the most pampered among them, so I wouldn’t get yelled at or in trouble much. However, when we were playing on the ground, I would usually fall and scar my knee, and my grandfather would literally drag me home to band-aid it and wouldn’t let me play afterward. It was kind of more embarrassing than how I was being yelled at in front of my friends, but now I know that he was only looking out for me.
Even birthdays used to be so much fun. We would all dress up and gather around at one’s place to play board games, sing songs, and dance. Partying in every once in a while was the best thing that happened to us all summer. But besides my friends there, my cousins also used to live there then. Kukki Di, Megha Di, and Rishi were really fun to be around. They would always bring me snacks and sweets.
There’s something in the local air in that area, like in the evening air. The evening was full of town people, and the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own fascinates me. Everyone is populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries, and inherited craziness.
The best time of my days was when I would go to markets with Grandpa. I shouldn’t say this, but I know I am his favorite Grand Child. He adores me the most and constantly showers me with gifts and sweets. I still remember he would go to buy dresses with me for occasions. I loved dressing up as a kid, but I was also picky, so he would sit for hours while I would try on a hundred dresses and pick the best for me. I can not imagine him not being in my childhood. The time around Dussehra, when I wore my favorite blue ethnic dress with matching jewelry, grandpa took me out to the fair, and I witnessed the best Dussehra of my life. Grandpa made sure I got to experience there was, from going on game rides to riding in rikshaws to watching the Ravana Dehen.
Oh, how I miss going back to my childhood just to enjoy those moments a little longer. How it feels to not feel the world’s weight on your shoulders when you’re growing. How it feels to be around people who genuinely love you, no matter what you do in life. The older I get, the more I realize how important it is to speak out about things. To share your experiences. Because by doing so, other people may share their experiences, something they didn’t think they were allowed to talk about or would be judged for. You never know what someone else is going through, and sometimes it can be so reassuring to meet someone who has been through something similar. For them to say, I’ve got through this, and I know that you will too.
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