Today there
was a longing - a very sudden urge
deep within
me
To take a
walk – a nostalgic walk
On an avenue,
of the Railway quarters
In my hometown-
Allahabad.
Instantly I
was transported back home
And there I
was – a young boy again
Revisiting his
roots.
Those
narrow, enchanting, tree lined avenues
Predominantly
‘neem’, ‘gulmohar’ and the occasional ‘pepul’
Where I
played as a boy.
It was ‘121
Traffic Quarters- third avenue’
The address
has a nice ring to it, even now.
The home
where I was born and raised.
Those old
Railway houses – Colour washed, once a year
Double- storied, simple square blocks
with gardens
at the side, front and back.
Where flowers
bloomed & vegetables were grown
And chickens were often reared.
They laid
their eggs in the hedges around the house
And I went
and collected them every morning
A chore I
loved – often there were six!
There were
dogs too and we had one
some aggressive ones that bit-
others whose ferocious bark was sufficient to
scare you away.
The hedges
were low and stunted – if any at all
Usually
bushy and green with the occasional bougainvillea
Chameleons
and butterflies aplenty.
Barriers
and walls were a rarity back then
If it was
yours – it was mine too
The jamun,
plumb and guava trees
tempted all
and sundry- we picked and plucked at will.
We were
shouted at occasionally
if caught
in the act – but nothing serious or of any consequence
hence, we
did it repeatedly& with impunity.
I vividly
recall
Vegetable
and fruit sellers with their carts
Shouting
out the various prices while cutting through
the narrow
lanes.
Peanut vendors, ‘Fatty’ - the butcher, the old
man with his Ice cream cart,
‘Bushy’, the baker, with bread, tasty patties
and biscuits
In his tin
box on the carrier of his bicycle – and the bell!
The ‘box
man’ with trinkets and other knick-knacks for sale,
‘Kallu the kabari’ with his raucous laughter
Who knew
everyone by name- he loved to gossip.
Not to
forget ‘Smiler’, the toothy cloth merchant
With his
bag of fancy material for Christmas dresses and shirts.
These were
all regulars I can never forget.
All
residents had household helpers who cooked and cleaned
Everyone
was either ‘baba, baby, saheb or mem- saheb’
The older
adults were ‘Bara- Saheb and Bara Mem-saheb’
Many stayed
in small quarters at the back of the houses
Everyone sat out in winter
Lunch in
the shade of the moringa tree was so nice
Although I
detested the curry with drumsticks !
Eating peanuts and having tea at four!
It got chilly
by five – and the adults went in to freshen up
For the
evening – no TV back then – just chit- chatting!
Visitors
dropped in unannounced
Simple friendly
people and oh so many of us kids
Seemingly
more boys than girls whose only ambition in life
Was to play!
The avenues
were put to good use
by
rickshaws pullers, cyclists, pedestrians
a few scooterists,
motorcyclists and the rare car
Who took
this short cut to the Civil Lines.
We however
put it to greater use
And played
cricket, football, kings , seven tiles
And “gulli
danda’’ as well
Oh, those endlessly
long, fun filled afternoons
Where,
caste, colour, creed or religion
Had no bearing.
The burning
of the ‘holkar’, the playing of ‘Holi’
The Eid and
Christmas celebrations
We enjoyed
them all.
The avenue lights
came on at dusk
Thinking
back now – they were rather dim.
Many were covered
by creepers
that had crept up the long pole- they dimmed
the lights at times
“I spy”
rang out from various corners, in the late evening
And the shrieking
and shouting continued till around nine
With us charging
around in groups and having a blast
Before one
knew it, it was eight or somewhere around that time
When the
unwritten rule said- ‘get home’ for dinner.
Uncomplicated
pastimes, kindred spirits, simple pleasures, great friendships
“Those were
the days my friend”
