A few days ago, work required me to travel to my old city, my birthplace. At first I felt a strange lack of proclivity towards revisiting the city where I was born and raised. It felt indeed very odd, not to sense the quintessential joy, normally felt upon being offered an opportunity to walk down memory lane. I concealed that oddity and thought better than sharing it with anyone. Frankly, I was embarrassed deep down. I was feeling almost ashamed of myself for not feeling any longing for a place where I grew to become what I am. The whole night I kept loathing myself for the insensitive person that I have reduced into. Or may be a part of me had not forgotten what I had suffered at that place. When we had left the city almost five years ago, it was sort of an escape from perpetual humiliation and dejection. It had to be the only plausible explanation for such a startling erosion of affection. An ominous sensation, a looming fear that comes intertwined with its biggest symbol. The sadness and degradation comes to haunt me every time that place is mentioned to my ears. The greater sad part is that before the miseries began unfolding and also even for quite a substantial duration thereafter, while multiple distresses were being perpetrated by the powers that be, I had lived the most memorable moments of my life there.
A series of five speed breaking road humps jolted me out of my trance and I noticed that I was on the last bridge before the southern perimeter of the city. I pulled down the window panes despite past experience of headache and sinus attacks. The gusts of wind born of the river flanking the city unmistakably persuaded me to reminisce the good old days of my life. I forgot all the darkness which I feared would surround me under broad daylight. As we entered the city, the velocity of our vehicle was forced to drastic reduction by the debilitating traffic, and there I found my first memory. I recalled my father presaging me by saying that I would never truly learn driving as long as I don't drive in the thick traffic of our city during the peak hour of the day. What I saw from thereon opened a window of a long shut space within me. As I was guided through, softly held by the tip of my index finger.
When I saw my school I recalled how I managed to finish my schooling of twelve years in the same school but struggled miserably in my twelfth board exams. The playground area where we offered countless prayers in chorus and heard zillion sermons. Then I noticed the nearby medical college, whose best memories remain etched in the form of heart numbing glimpses of truly 'beautiful' doctors. During the age of raging hormones it could be a very difficult place to spend nearly eight hours of your day, since every other lady I saw coming out of it, appeared worthy of my heart. The tragedy was that some of them already had boyfriends and for the rest I could simply never summon the courage. My law school wasn't far away. I did my law just near the place where lived my high school sweetheart. Though by then we had broken up and she had discovered truer love elsewhere. I saw her house. I'd seen it so many times, under the scorching sun and blinding rain just to catch a glimpse of her vague moving silhouette beyond the curtains. The roads, the traffic islands, joints, the cinema halls where I fell in love, again and again. Not only with some unforgettable people but with places, moments & indulgences to the point of addiction. There was this place where we friends hung out. There is a colloquial term ascribed to it. It's called "
Khatti". I remember braving gales and torrents and chilly winters to make it in time to '
khatti'. I had made some wonderful friends here. Friends who would go far away later in life leaving only nostalgia in my custody . It was the city where I learnt to ride my grandfather's bicycle and my father's scooter. When I fell, people who I never knew came to pick me up and gave me smart tips to ride better. The best part was that the next time when we ran into each other, both of us would pause momentarily, thinking whether the other remembers the last meeting, before finally smiling away at each other's face.
The fast food vendor at my college gate did not think twice before letting me and my friends feast away on credit. We were showered with his elderly affection in shape of liberty to pay as and when we liked. When one of my friends made it big in college placement, he did not forget to touch the vendor's feet who reciprocated with his sincere blessings. It's the place where I have received unconditional love and deep hatred alike. I've been adored and whistled at by pals all along the street from home to my college in consistent display of camaraderie.I have also been in stupid, regretful fist fights and have been hounded by armed hooligans. I've had the fortunate company of friends who did not budge anywhere without me and others who got up and walked away at the very mention of my name. I have been adored & respected, looked down upon, betrayed and back stabbed in the days I spent in this city. I bagged my maiden professional engagement and earned my first income here. I've been called 'worthless' by my teachers and been given an "EXCELLENT - AA" remark by my the then boss upon drafting my first ever petition for a Court Case. In this city I wrote my first love letter, my first prize winning essay and my worst answer papers ever. In one of its oldest galleries I fought my fear of public speaking and indulged in my first ever overt oratory. I learnt to smoke and gulped my first mug of beer here. I ran every year to the
Mahanadi river barrage near my house to see it's brim and the crowd swelling together. I experienced my maiden kiss and the agonizing sweet numbness of first love in its serene winter.
When I finally drifted to my old house, I found that it had lost much of its familiar identity. But the moment I peeped into the backyard and saw the trees and the overgrown grass surrounding them, a rainbow of memories filled me with glorious images of my life's long departed days. I felt melancholy slowly creeping into my heart . Something snapped, but I held myself together. I didn't want to embarrass myself by being moist eyed and all, before strangers. Though I doubt that they missed my urge. So many afternoons of my childhood, I'd spent under the shade of those twin trees. They weren't just trees anymore. That had blended into human form looking at me through tears, fraught with age. As if to say that I betrayed them by abandoning them in their last days. All I could do was move my hands reassuringly over their weary trunks to convey how sincerely I wanted at that moment, to relinquish everything and play a game of hide and seek under their shades. The saplings that my father had made me plant then, had grown into handsome young trunks decorated with enviable branches and lush leaves. I felt content with what they looked like. Finally as tired birds returned to their abodes on their higher parts, I felt glad that my trees are not lonely after all. On the way back through the clustered lanes of my old residence I saw the temple from where penetrating conch shell sound used to wake me up early every morning, its purity demystifying the anxieties of the night and where God's deity alone knew my deepest yearnings all through out my adolescence.
I returned with dusk but not before having "
Dahi Vada Aloo Dum", the customary spicy Odia delicacy. (I've always considered it Odisha's answer to Chinese Fast Food for which it was my regular breakfast / brunch during college days.) And not before realizing that I've not gotten over and probably never will get over the love for my hometown. It's where I was born and became the person that I'm today.
As I toss & turn
on the cot
