Down Memory Lane Part 3

(Here we go with the third part. It feels so very passionate to write about that place, that time and that life.)

So as I welcome you to Narayan Nagar 3, you are greeted with the smiling faces of women and old men greeting you like you have been here before. There as we start moving towards our house we see Vijaya-masi- the lady who thinks that my life has been an exact replica of his son's life (His son repairs computers and owns an Indica for taxi - I agree both of it has some resemblence to my life. He went to ITI, which she feels was the biggest of the coincidence when I joined IIT.). Vijaya-masi seems to be talking to Tara-ba, the only lady from the society who was present with my parents when I was born, she hence feels a special bond with me. As you go on, you see a 'couple' exchanging looks from their windows on the first floor rooms of houses on opposite sides of the lane, hiding away from their parents, pretending to study. They are one of the usual lovestories that every society has and that ends in fights and marriage of one, as the other drinks her marriage away.

And two houses down on the lane, we see Kaana-bhai. A small tin-board outside his house reads in large fonts "Krishna Classes - Best in Spoken English Teaching by Krishna Vyas (M.A in English)". Kaana-bhai insists that I talk to him in English, I feel a little embarassed doing that there though. He will happily come to you and say "How are doing friend?". And you would hear in his voice the distinct Katiyawadi (Kathiawad is a part of region in Saurashtra) accent like the ones you see of Gujarati caricatures in TV shows. Just opposite to the Krishna Classes, we have the old lady looking at us with all her love. She looks at us as if we are her sons that were never hers. This is the house I have spent half my childhood at - Pandyas. The 3 sisters, who first tied Rakhi on my hands when I was 5 months old, have been like my real sisters. We touch their feet, the old man sitting by her side, smiles and asks for your haealth as animatedly with his hands as with his voice which is calm but loud. He has a small machine in his ears, that is not working properly since last few days and you need to talk to him at the top of your voice. I wish I was a better son to them. My house is just a couple of houses ahead. It always takes atleast 10 min to cross the lane till my house which has a nice Gulmohar tree just in front of it from which the kids pluck the flower-buds to eat. Both the houses that we now have to cover to reach mine are owned by Ranas - an 'almost joint family' you might say. You might wonder what almost would have meant if you would not have visited this place. A family that had 2 sons and 2 daughters all of them married now. The two sons will fight due to difference in income and hence needs different houses, but parents dont like it and hence there are 2 houses adjacent to each others. The children of the two sons, play outside, you see the eldest son of the elder son of Ranas, trying to pull and twist the tail of a cow that is standing infront of their house. The younger one is throwing water at her for making it run away. But we need to move ahead.

And right opposite to a house where the Rojasras lived, is my house. That house would always be of Parimal, a dear childhood friend whose friendship was only limited to childhood. Last I heard of him, he was working as an attendant in some gold jewellery shop. The only non-Gujarati family of my society - Ahivarkars live there now. The Dadaji in that family is a writer and has many interesting pen-friends that he has had since his younger days. But we won't spend time with them, we will straight away head to this small house, painted creamish with Green border and black safety door in front of a peach door with fissures that I talked about, fissures that were the glimpse of my house after ringing the bell. This is my house- the house that I grew up in. And just as we enter we see "Mehrundidi" washing clothes in the open space within our house. We call the open space a "Fadiu", but its difficult to explain it in English, its not a garden space though it could have been, its not even parking, though it works partly so; it has a jhula and it has a small porche; bathrooms are not in the house like cities, bathrooms are in this fadiu. But wouldnot have known it but now you know it as you are here. Coming back to Mehrun didi, Mehrunnissa is what we call in cities, our Bai/ maid, but at my place she is a lot more than that, she is a didi. Her mother too worked at our house and she works since she was 10. She is a muslim and a follower of Amba mata. She happens to be neice of one of the most famous stage show artists in Gujarat. She is married to a man who pulls his hand cart to collect scrap. She is happy to see us.

Before we enter my house let us stop the time once again as we try and move around. See, papa is eating his favourite cashews, sitting on the jhula, and from teh window of the small kitchen that opens in the fadiu, you can see my mommy, making tea for daddy. She is sweating a lot, as the kitchen is too small to house a fan. I and my dad used to sit where the Refrigrator now stands short, while mom cooked rotis which we divided in half to eat in my childhood. There are two gates to the small house, its exact mirror reflection of house on both the sides, with one side having a kitchen that we are looking at. Both the sides have 2 small rooms (11ft X 12 ft). The one on our right is the one that we used to give on rent, while we lived on left. There is a long story of those two rooms and people who have lived in there. They are the closest relatives of my family now. The windows are made up of wood and grill, and has small translucent rectangular glass at the top of it. The windows dont open up on the road, they open up in the open space that we now call Fadiu. We havent build anything on the first floor, its open terrace, which is the best place to be at on Makar sankranti.

We dont give the house on rent anymore. The cieling has the flakes of colors which is now coming off, it happens with the best of paints here. On the left the room that we enter first is half occupied with the dining table and a small temple. On right we have all the storage equipments with a couple of big containers for water. We need to store water well in Surendranagar. There are lofts in both of these rooms, and the two rooms just after that are living room on left and bedroom on right. The living room once had a "Show case" where mommy kept crockeries on display, it was removed when it turned old-fashioned. This was the room that once housed my bed. It had a small monalisa painting which was then replaced by a folk art and then a watch. Nothing is there on that side of the wall anymore.The cupboards are inbuilt in the wall and are made of plywood with wooden 'sunmica'. The bedroom now has a AC and two big Almirahs - mine and mom's, one of which we bought when we were living in Ahmedabad., there are 2 small seetees in the bedroom now. There is a small bathroom, which has been converted into store room. The tenants of the house used it as bathroom earlier. If kids are running from one terrace of the row house to the other terrace then you will hear their footsteps like drum beats from the cieling. So the four rooms with the kitchen forms the main part of the house while the fadiu is divided in to a parking, jhula space, space for washing clothes, a bahroom, a wash basin, 2 water tanks and stairs leading to the terrace. All in all its a compact small place which is small in space and big in terms of the dreams, thoughts and principles that it bred, just like the hearts of the people in Surendranagar.

(Will like to talk about my parents if there comes a part-4)