Travelling Back In Time To A Place Called Dombivli

 

I never imagined that I would turn into one of those who use words like “good old days’ or ‘our generation and the new generation’. But I have reached that point in life, it seems! Google tells me that I am a millennial, having been born in the 80s and grown up in the 90s. I like this term. And you know what, I am proud to be a millennial!

Of late, I find myself thinking about life in two contexts – the past and the present. But what are they, if not for a grand continuation of the entity called Time! When I reflect on the journey so far, I am surprised to see that the most memorable moments were those simple moments when we lived fully, when our expectations were low and life’s gifts, therefore, unasked and always abundant, when we knew not much suffering and heartbreak and it took only the presence of friends and family members to give immense joy. When we were kids, how little it took to make us happy!

Often my mind wanders to those days of innocent and blissful happiness.

I picture myself at my home with my friend, studying for the exams. The windows of the room are open. As I gaze outside, I feel a strange shift in the atmosphere. The song of the bird is louder and clearer. The very air around seems different – refreshing and sweet. A lone cloud temporarily casts a shadow, blocking the sun for a while as it passes through the sky to some unknown land. I gaze goofily at my friend and find her staring back at me with a smile. I tell her. ‘The air has the aroma of Vacations!’

Indeed, there was a time when we could feel the change of seasons heralding the approach of holidays, of bright mornings, hot afternoons, breezy evenings with spectacular twilights where the sky would be a mélange of hues of orange, yellow and fiery red as the sun would set majestically, in style and with a bang (what a way to go, right!) and late nights spent at the balcony of the house with all the family members sharing a light banter while munching on some fruit. Even as I think about these moments, I feel a wave of calm wash over me, reminding me of a beautiful time of life.

I picture a 10-year old me rushing out of my home towards the entrance of my building where all my friends have assembled. I can feel their barely-restrained excitement and glee. I can see all of us walking together towards the shop from where we all could rent cycles. I can still feel the excitement of choosing a cycle for myself and the happiness that came if the cycle turned out to be a brand-new one. I can feel the air caressing my face as I ride the cycle on the road in delightful abandon. At that moment, it always felt like everything was fine with the world. It was a sunny day, I had my best friends around and we all were happily riding cycles. What could be wrong in such a beautiful world!?

On a breezy evening, I find a teenaged-Me lying down beside my best friends Chitra and Meera on the terrace of our building and gazing at the sky in silent awe and wonder. Our mission is to trace the exact point of time at which the sky changes colour and turns darker. We fail spectacularly in our mission (who has ever managed to decode the mysteries of the Universe!?) but we procure something that would last with us forever. We fall in love with the activity of star-gazing. We learn to trace out the Great Bear constellation with the seven stars. We learn to celebrate when all the seven stars of the constellation are visible on rare and lucky nights. We learn the magic and beauty of lying in silence beside a best friend and take in the wonders that the evening sky has to offer for the astronomy-hungry soul.

As I travel back in time, I find myself at the entrance of my childhood home, drawing Rangoli. It is the festival of Diwali. I am not the only one drawing the Rangoli. All my neighbours are drawing Rangolis outside their homes, amidst chatter and gossip. I listen to them while adding colours to the drawing and wishing that my Rangoli was as good as my neighbour’s who was blessed with artistic and creative talent. While this is happening in the ground floor, I hear the ‘whispered’ conversations of my friends who are in the second floor, drawing Rangolis, exchanging colours and chatting about everything under the sun. I can feel the sense of bliss that this moment provided then, the feeling of belonging to a community, of celebrating together and knowing that my friends are around, even though they weren’t visible! In the evening, we all would dress up in new clothes, walk around in every floor of the building to gawk and gasp dutifully over the beautiful Rangoli drawings and lanterns adorning every flat in the building and at the end, assemble at the entrance of the building where we would burst crackers. There was no mobile to take a photo and capture the moment for eternity. There was just the feeling of absolute joy that never leaves the heart and appears years later, reminding of nights illuminated with crackers, lanterns, bright colours of Rangoli and the joy of being with wonderful friends and family at the most beautiful time of the year.

Oh, oh, as I time-travel, I find myself surrounded by darkness. What is happening?! But then, I feel the familiar and soothing touch of a friend’s hand in my own. Ah, I understand. I am back to the times when power-cuts were quite common in my town. The entire town would reel under darkness. At such times, as if by an unspoken understanding, all the people in my building would assemble at the entrance near the gate and have a sort of a mini get-together. There would be laughter, there would be Antakshari, there would be non-stop chatter and amidst all these, an aura of celebration and belongingness. As a child, while I dreaded the power-cuts, I started looking forward to these as I grew up. Sadly, the power-cuts were reduced and stopped completely, what with the arrival of generators and inventors, and a beautiful ritual of the community assembling together and making the best of the darkness, faded away.

Oh, now I am being pulled towards the terrace. What is happening here? Oh right, it is 31st December. It is the annual function of my building. I and my friends are performing on a song. There is no stage-fear or conscious feeling or hesitation. There is the simple joy of dancing to a good song with friends to true and heartfelt applause of the people with whom we grew up and the elders who watched us grow as the next generation of the community that they had created so lovingly.

For some reasons, all the happy moments of my past center around my childhood-home, friends and family. A lot has changed since then. I moved out of the town, my parents sold their home and moved to another city and a golden era came to an end. But the memories don’t end. They are always there, lurking in the background of my mind and reminding me always of that part of me that has frozen forever in this beautiful, wonderful and happy era, when life was all about simple joy and pleasures.