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”
