happiness and food

Last week my parents made a quick day trip to my mum’s hometown. This was the city she grew up. From her memories of growing up to the place from where she got married, from the place my brother was born to the place she took us to during vacations, this city and house had a meaning like no other.

After my Nani (maternal grandmother) passed away, the concept of home changed for my mum. And I have heard her talk about this many times. The grand house surrounded by trees and a water body, around the hoots of jackals at night and the rattles of peacocks in the morning, has a new owner now. The city itself is not the same anymore. Like any other city in India, it is populous and has changed to say the least. But we have memories of our own to cherish.

During this visit of hers, she was able to get into the house and look at it one more time before the new owners convert it to their own home. She made videos of every room and area possible and sent it across to many of us.

As my mum moved from room to room making the video, I did not see the barren walls. I did not see a house in ruins or a dilapidated structure. My grandparents have long gone but I saw the memories they gave us and the vivid details of the house that we all once called ours.

My Nana was sitting at the porch. His book of Ramayana was open but he was looking at the labourers who were plucking jackfruits from the trees. He had a view of who was coming in and going out. Another labour was watering the lychee trees on his right and my cousins were around. Nana knew they would soil their clothes and shoes so he asked everyone to get in the house. It was also getting hot.

Behind him was his room full of interesting things. New tennis balls, decks of cards, gardening tools, a new switch, wire and what not. He always had a treasure of his own. I made a note to visit the room later and talk into getting taught how to play a game of bridge. All I had to do was show him that I was doing well in school, my mathematics was good and I spoke fluent English.

As I entered the house, I saw the curtains. The clean sofa and covers in the living room. My Nani’s book shelf had a collection of many books. From Reader’s Digests to novels in Hindi and English, I knew I would come back during the trip to pick a few books to read and take home a few. I walked into her room and saw the lamp lit infront of my Nani’s small temple. A whiff of talcum powder around the dressing table and many bangles near the mirror. I saw a cupboard full of snacks and too close to the bed so no kid could sneak in.

Mum and Papa were sitting on the dining table so I walked in and saw a loaf of bread and a box of butter. I saw the jalebi was getting cold and everyone at the table was chatting. There were times the bread would get ignored and burnt but elders would remove some of it, butter it and hand it over to the kids. No one was complaining. The conservation was about what would we eat for dinner and if there was a scope to eat out.

I walked to the kitchen and I saw the washing area. The number of utensils indicated that over ten of us were in the house and that summers had begun. Others would come late night from far away. Shyama Nani (the house help) was giving food to kids and making sure everyone gets to eat a hot meal. Chatting a bit in between checking in on us, she was warm and loved us all.

I wanted to go up the stairs and have a look at the terrace but that was not allowed. There were no railings and it was risky. So I walked back to the dining table and sat down to eat something.

There was so much to explore but a camera could only capture what it saw. The vibes, the warmth and the togetherness that existed could only be felt now.

After Mum and Papa came back from the trip, I felt I was with them on this one. I went around with my Mum showing her things and she was making videos for the rest of the family.

When people go, so much changes.

The memories stay.