The memory train: A trip to my childhood

The memory train: A trip to my childhood


I wished I could relive my childhood days,
and then I sat in a memory train to see it all again!

Ah, how much we long to go back to our tender years! Why not? Those carefree cackles of laughter while the hair kissed the wild breeze. Even a small toffee could bring truckloads of joy. Just a toffee, you see!

I was at my mommy’s home that day, exhausted—or perhaps, like always, my blood pressure had dropped. I abhor feeling that weary without even plucking a flower. Anyway, we shifted to this house some twenty winters ago, and my old house is just a stone’s throw away—the place where I spent my childhood. But as the clock ticks, we become busier and ignore the urge to revisit the places that still might harbour our giggles.

I was on the verge of falling asleep just when my bhabi(sister-in-law), Neha, nudged me. “Let’s go shopping.” “Can we go tomorrow?” my worn-out self was begging. But my stay was limited, so we marched to Kamla Nagar—my growing-up and growing-old shopping place.

Tired, I was unable to pull a step, but still, I picked some coffee mugs, oversized T-shirts, and fiction books—my solace. And then we headed for our every-visit ritual: coffee at the Mini Shop. But to my dismay, the shop was gone. I peeped inside a sleek opening—there was some construction underway.

“Is it getting renovated?” Not believing my fears, I inquired at the adjacent shop. The shopkeeper was almost covered by the frills of the long, colourful dresses that hung from the ceiling.

“No, it’s closed,” he said, registering my fears.

Oh, Mini Shop! You were more than that cloudy, frothy coffee and the sweetest cream rolls!

Feeling low, we took a rickshaw to go back home (not knowing it was about to take me on a ride to my childhood). After a few minutes, we reached the opening of a narrow alley.“Is he going to take us through this way?” I asked Neha.

“Yes, since the metro construction is going on the other side,” she said, noticing the shift in my tone.

Hundreds of butterflies bounced and pounced in my tummy, reminding me of my first ride on the toy train—a colourful coach with a blue elephant face. Today it had three tyres and a steering handle instead of a floppy trunk and big eyes.

We were at the entrance of the alley now. The place might have looked dull and lonely due to the ravages of time, but my ecstatic eyes saw everything as lively and illuminated— like years ago.

First, we glided past Romi Uncle’s stationery shop; a new house was built in its place now. A few steps and there I was, carrying the hardbound books in green and blue with tiny polka dots. The refreshing fragrance of those books just brushed past in my mind!

As we moved deeper, I came across a silent and slow side alley branching off to the right. In a heartbeat, my mind flashed back to those ten days of Ramleela. My neighbours dressed up as gods with bows and arrows. Once again, I found myself sitting with my friends amongst the audience, silently hoping for the organiser to call me if they needed a filler dance. I was his saviour in case any performer ditched. But I had one rule—I would always dance to that Sridevi Nagin song with a snake bindi on my forehead. Heehee. Oh, how I loved to dance—I still do!

The rickshaw pedaled further, and time just stopped—it was my ‘home.’ Take me back! I was born there. I was feeling my days, even though everything had transformed.

My mommy—I remember this from the photograph: a chubby five-year-old me with a blunt haircut, lying in my mother’s lap.And my papa, with those jasmine flowers from his morning walks. The warmth of his smile filled my heart with soothing calm.

And then I was standing outside my home, gazing at the entrance of the alley every day around eight in the evening—waiting for my Tauji(paternal uncle) to come and meet my grandpa—my Baba. A toffee—my daily treat—was my reward from him.

At the end of the alley, we rode past someone who looked old now—grey hair and a lean body—but I recognised him instantly: Ved Chacha, our neighbour (neighbours in those days were like family.)

“Namaste, Chacha,” I called out, turning back as he looked at me in surprise, still trying to recognise me.“Main Anjali!” I shouted, full of excitement.

He laughed and waved.“Achha, tu chai peeke jaa, beta,” he said with that same old affection.

“I’ll come next time!” I called out, as the rickshaw rolled speedily.

Finally, my toy train ride ended as we moved out of the alley. Yes, I was happy—so deeply, quietly happy!

Sparrow’s note: How I wished I could pull the little me in my arms, look into those innocent eyes, and have a heart-to-heart!



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Disclaimer

Views expressed above are the author’s own.



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