Revisiting the home of my childhood

I was two years old when we moved to our new home. I remember the mustard field stretched wide towards the mountain, which always felt like the end of the earth to my little mind back then. Our new home was quite secluded from the other residential colonies, we had only four households with vast acres of land all to ourselves to play, plant fruit trees, rear animals and so on. Since my parent’s jobs required a lot of transferring, we got to stay in this new place only for five years. But those five years were one of the most vivid memories I have of my childhood.

       The early mornings and evening sunsets were my favorite highlights of the day. There was something about early mornings—the crowing of the rooster, the smell of fresh dew, birds chirping, the aroma of chai coming from the kitchen, feeling the fresh air and watching the clear blue skies—that made me want to live for the rest of the day. And then there were the nostalgic evenings with the most beautiful sunsets, whose color changed almost every day. Sometimes the sunsets were purplish pink, at other times they were golden orange. And sometimes they turned into a single scarlet hue. Watching those sunsets were magical, yet they also brought a wistful feeling that made you long for something you cannot understand or explain.

I remember Paul, the quiet gentleman who took care of the cows and brought milk to us every day. Somehow he is engraved in my memory as a kind hearted man with a humble smile. And there was Aunty Kaini, a thin frail lady with a funny accent and whose lips were always red with Paan stains. She pampered me a lot. We also had a dog called Rollie, the most beautiful and faithful dog I know, who was later killed by a cobra after we left. I remember the narrow yet deep well which was always a fascination to me. Mom always warned me never to go too near to the well but whenever she was not around I would stare at the deep well and look at my own reflection. Or shout echoes just for fun. Also every morning we drew water from the well and would bath ourselves with Lux soap. And even today every time I smell the fragrance of Lux, it always brings a nostalgic feeling of my happy childhood.

There was a brick factory some blocks away from our house. The brick factory was for me an ancient fort then. After dinner, we would often take a stroll to the brick factory. On the way to the brick factory we passed by the lemon trees that produced lasting fresh fragrance. That fresh fragrance is also another reminder of my childhood. On some nights, the men would gather dry twigs and leaves and burn them in the compound. We would gather round the fire, sing nursery rhymes and hop and dance at times. The burning twigs would ignite tiny sparkles which would often remind me of Christmas even in the summer. In summer time, the guavas, sour oranges and lemons were in abundance. However, orange popsicles were my favorite treats.

But most of all, our home--the house, the huge compound, the people, the brick factory, the sounds and smells—gave me a happy carefree childhood I would ever remember and never again have in my later years. I could run wild and not care about anything else in the world. My childhood home gave me the chance to relish every pleasure that nature gave. And now as I sit by my window in a city, where all I can see is blocks and blocks of buildings, the memory of my childhood home gives me a sense of satisfaction of something precious and beautiful that I once have yet would never have again- a childhood that is gone, yet is still a part of me.