The Magic Of The Nostalgic Nineties- 4

 

While we are talking about the 90s, I have to mention the top-ruling serials of the time that made life much more entertaining, and sometimes spiritual too.

Every Sunday, I and my sister had Maggi for breakfast. How can I talk about 90s without mentioning my beloved Maggi! They might say it is not healthy today. I don't know what goes behind the process of making the noodles - lead, iron, calcium?? All I knew is that, it contributed immensely to my happiness all these years. It brought in spice and warmth on a cold, dreary day or a gloomy and rainy day. It warmed the stomach, heart and soul. Maggi, I will love you always!

To get back to the 90s, I and my sister would eat Maggi while watching the serial Chandrakanta. It was probably one of the first fantasy-centered serials of the time and everything about it fascinated me - right from the title song, to the characters, to the long, flowing and beautiful robes that the ladies wore in the serial. Not to mention the antagonist Kroor Singh! His eyebrows were the scariest part of his face. And when I grew up and needed to thread my eyebrows but dreaded visiting the parlour, all I needed was my friends to point out that my eyebrows are looking almost like those of Kroor. Not a single word was required after that to motivate me to visit the parlour!

Ramayana was another favourite and I developed a huge crush on Arun Govil (who played Lord Ram) and Sunil Lahiri (who played Lakshman). I hoped against hope that I would look like Dipika (who played Devi Sita) when I grew up. 

Mahabharata was something beyond my understanding at that time, though the characters fascinated me. After watching the serial, for me, Nitish Bharadwaj became the face of Lord Krishna. I remember being captivated by him the most! 

As I neared teenage, I discovered the Jeanie in the bottle. Yes, I am talking about I Dream of Jeanie, one of the best serials I have ever watched! It was instant love on seeing Anthony Nelson aka Larry Hagman (Duh, who wouldn't fall for a strapping, tall, handsome astronaut like him!). I adored Jeanie aka Barbara Eden and watched her outfits with fascination and envy. She was such a fashionista at that time! This was one serial that I got addicted to badly. I regret nothing!

And then came the serial to end all serials. Like the meme goes - Life was tough, but six friends made it easier. I discovered the magic of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I fell in love with all of them. I rejoiced in their little celebrations. I cried over their painful break-ups (Regardless of whether you were on a break or not, you both should never have broken up, Ross and Rachel! You are lobsters to each other!). I doubt any other serial has ever affected me the way this serial did. And here is a little secret - Teenage was especially difficult for me. I was a plain Jane, didn't have much of a social life and almost all my friends were in relationships while I was single and socially-awkward. I never felt beautiful. I never felt that people would accept me for what I am. But F.R.I.E.N.D.S helped me here. They showed that true friends are those who see our original selves and stick beside us, come what may. The six friends became friends to this loner!

There is another serial from the 90s that I just discovered recently and ended up watching all the seasons of the same. The serial is Golden Girls. It centers around a group of four senior ladies who live life with zest and enthusiasm. I think this serial started somewhere around the late 80s and ended up in 90s, few years after F.R.I.E.N.D.S began. If you haven't watched this yet, I highly recommend you do watch it! This serial gave me hope that old age need not be dreary or dull. Age is just a number and these ladies proved it!

90s was the time of good television, needless to add. I don't know what kind of serials are prevailing today. But I am thankful to YouTube that I can watch the episodes from the old serials whenever I want to and get transported back to what I feel was the best time of life!

The Magic Of The Nostalgic Nineties - 3

It is time to start preparing lunch. So, I take out my well-used earphones, plug them into my mobile and put on a playlist. No guesses that the playlist is Best Of 90s. 

It has become a habit to listen to songs while cooking. (Psst! It actually started as a defence against 'Amma! Amma!' that keeps on repeating for eternity, whenever my kid has to do his homework. But no one needs to know this!) I do admit that somedays I get bored of listening to the songs and put on some instrumental music. And when I get bored of the same, the songs return with a bang.

Whenever I listen to songs, I get reminded about the one precious relic from my 90s that I miss very badly. The tape recorder!

This magnificent instrument has always enjoyed a place of honour in my family. Dad loves carnatic music, mom likes to hear devotional songs and I and my sister grew up adoring MS Subbalakshmi (MS, Thou are a Goddess to us, and will always be!)

I remember the first cassette that I had brought. It was during my SSC exams that the movie Rangeela had released. I brought the cassette ten days before my exam began. I still remember my mom glaring at me and saying, 'Write the lyrics of the songs as answers for the questions!'.

There used to be a shop in Dombivli, named Tinkle Stores and it sold cassettes and CDs. I just loved browsing through the shop and taking in awe, the wonderful collection of cassettes of movies that belonged to the yesteryears – of an era long gone by but which still enthralls people with its soulful melodies and wholesome stories. Most of the time I ended up buying songs of Kishore Da, Rafi Saab, Lata Di and Asha Di. (Irreplaceable legends, these majestic singers!) 

The main reason for my attachment to the tape recorder is my late uncle, my father's youngest brother. 

A brief introduction about him - when he was 7 years old, very high fever ended up damaging his brain. Although he grew up, he was still stuck up somewhere in his 7th year.

My uncle was extremely fond of tape-recorders. Most of my relatives knew that the best gift to him would be a cassette. It didn't matter which language it was, or whether it was filmy or spiritual. He would listen for a few minutes and then decide whether it was good or not. Till the end, we never understood what made him like or dislike the contents of the cassette.

Uncle firmly believed in the concept of early to rise and early to bed. So he went to sleep by 9.30 and would wake up sharp at 4, without any alarm. He would start playing the Suprabhatam by 4.30. Most of the times, he would play at a high volume. Somedays I would lose my sleep and would tread towards uncle's room, bleary eyed. If I found him seated there, I would simply walk back to my room and try to catch up some sleep. But some rare days, he would have gone to take bath, and I would lower the volume and run back to my room. Of course, after I woke up, he would wag a finger at me and say laughingly - 'You were the one who lowered the volume, isn't it?' 

Even before he reached 40, my uncle died, one year after I got married. He had worked that day, came home in the afternoon, had his lunch and was watching TV when his head rolled back and he breathed his last. The doctor said it was a stroke. I believe that he was a Karmayogi who had come to the earth for a very little while and attained liberation. Till the last day, he worked in the same factory that he had been working since years.

For many years, my mother played the tape-recorder in fond memory of her brother-in-law who had been more of a brother to her. After the advent of the mobile and the various apps and musical gadgets that slowly took over, the saga of the tape-recorder faded away into oblivion. 

There are 9-hours worth of songs in one of the playlists in YouTube, I find. But something is missing! It doesn't have the beauty of the tape-recorder or the excitement of buying a new cassette. Most importantly, I don't find my uncle sitting beside it and listening to songs. At high volume. He could not attend school and hence could not read or write. He learnt to write his name at the most. YouTube would have been of no use to him!

Dear Uncle, wherever you are, I hope there is a tape-recorder with you, and many, many, many cassettes!

The Magic Of Nostalgic Nineties - 2

 

When was the last time I posted a letter?

In 2020, but frankly, it was more of a note than a letter. You see, it was my son's thread-ceremony (Janeu/Poonal/Munjan/Upanayanam). While sending out invitations, I decided to add a personal note to every recipient. It was just a note containing two to three sentences, but it felt like writing a letter.

"Has any letter arrived?" my father would ask everyday over the phone whenever he called from his office. Dad’s office was in CSTM. He would call home twice every day – once when he reached office and later during the afternoon while having lunch. Every afternoon, he would ask whether any letter has arrived. This question became a defining factor for my dad and my uncles would often tease whenever they called over the phone, mimicking my dad's voice and asking me the said question. This question still runs in the family, but as a joke. It feels like a long time since we wrote a letter or got one.

Although the post-office fascinated me in my childhood, I always dreaded going there. Mainly because there would be a long line to get the post stamped. If it was just a letter to be dropped in the post-box, I would do it happily. Given my luck, more often, it would be the former. I would stand in the line for hours and submit the envelope for stamping and postage. Somedays, by the time my chance came, it would be lunch break for the staff and they would tell me to come later. I felt like screaming those times!

Once my childhood bestie went to her native place during a particular school-vacation. And she wrote me a letter from there. It was the first and only time I got a letter addressed to me and I was super excited about it. Of course, the letter was first perused by my mom and my aunt to check the contents and by the time I received, it was well-read and well-used. I have still retained the letter with me after all these years. It is a precious reminder of wonderful times. My friend had described everything that happened with her on a daily basis (including a funny incident, where, she was trying to board a bus in Kerala but since she was wearing jeans, the conductor, without looking closely, advised her to board from the gents’ side. I laughed till my tummy hurt). Looking back, I cannot help feel that it was an innocent gesture by her filled with much affection and longing for friends and home.

The postmen who used to come regularly to my building knew very well, the homes to which I and my friends belonged. So, whenever they found us loitering beside the gate of the building, they would hand over the letters to us instead of dropping the letters in the letter-box. It felt like a very important task to deliver the letters to our home safely and we always took pride after a 'safe delivery'.

I remember an incident that happened after my marriage. I had shifted to a new home. There used to be a letter-box near the stairs of the building and I never checked it for some reason. One of the neighbours, an elderly man, gently reprimanded me that I should check every day otherwise I would miss out important notification. By that time, the mobile was in full swing and Messages were the new trend. I gulped a lump in my throat and nodded to the neighbor, not bothering to correct him that the only letter we would receive then was probably from the bank or the insurance company. With the advent of mobile phones and messaging apps, a glorious era of writing letters came to an end.

When my uncles call me today, they ask the familiar question - Has any letter arrived? And then they add laughingly - who will write today, when you have got sms, email, whatsapp and other apps to stay connected!?

Looking back now, writing a letter and posting it, required lot of effort. Writing it, crossing out the mistakes, maintaining a diary of contacts and their addresses, ensuring that the correct address is entered and then going to the post office to stamp and post it... as I said, a lot of efforts. But that is what makes a letter all the more precious today. That someone invested so much of their time and efforts in staying connected, shows the value of the relationship.

What is remarkable is that, the address and phone numbers of the sender and the recipient were displayed outside the inland letter for many to see. But I don't think there was ever, any issue of misuse of the information. Indeed, simpler and better days of life they were.

In 2020, when I went to the post office in Hyderabad to send out invitations for my son’s janeu, there was no line there. I wouldn't have minded one, I think. I looked around at the empty post-office in awe and wonder, feeling the aura of a lost time of life.

Sure, there are many quicker and better apps to stay in touch today. But the beauty of a letter is solely missing.

The Magic Of The Nostalgic Nineties - 1

Born in the 80s, and growing up in the 90s, I can't help feeling that I and all the people from this generation could enjoy some of the best times of life.

When I think about the 90s, what prominently features in my mind, is the time I spent with friends. Friends in my building, friends at school, friends in classes... I believe they were a good influence on me in my childhood and teenage.

Today, my kid and his team of friends often complain that they are 'bored'. I look at the cycles in the basement, I think about the zillion board-games that each of these kids has in their home, I think about YouTube Kids (That doesn't matter, actually. I end up being the one watching YouTube Kids while my kid and his friends want to watch reviews of Minecraft and other such complicated games by Youtubers who look like kids themselves!). I think about the many things that they have at their disposal and wonder how can they be 'bored'!?

As a kid, I don't remember feeling bored ever. Now that I look back, I find that there was always some friend or sibling with me, most of the times. If there were only two of us any day, we would sit on the bench at the entrance of our building and spend time either in conversation or in silence. Both were productive!  Sometimes I would find myself alone, and I would sit on the bench and count the number of autos passing by. Or I would read. There were too many things to do and never an excuse to feel 'bored'.

There weren't many 'complexes' in those days. There were just buildings with or without compounds. If there was a compound, it didn't matter whether it was big or small; we played, no matter what. We rode cycles in the narrow compound, managed to play catch-n-run, hide-n-seek, hopscotch, dog-n-the-bone and many such games. Many of our friends belonged to other buildings in the lane that didn't have compounds. Everyone was welcome and everyone was wholeheartedly accepted.

During vacations, we would play a lot in the morning and afternoon and would get really tired in the evening. So evening became a time of quiet contemplation with friends at the terrace. The best memories are of those breezy evenings spent lying on the terrace with friends and watching a starry sky. The constellation Great Bear quickly turned into a favourite.

My friends dominate most of my childhood memories. But the times spent with my family are precious. Going to the native place in every vacation was mandatory. It always made me and my siblings happy to see a relaxed and lighter side of my dad who would otherwise be strict and reserved usually. During the train journeys, my parents turned from people with huge family and responsibilities to just people having some fun.

It was in the 90s that my first and only tryst with a library began. The library was named Friends Library and I found heaven there. Very near to the library, there was a bakery from which the delicious aroma of baking often wafted whenever I was browsing through the books. This experience is something that I cannot express in words! The library had a wonderful collection of books and I took my own time to pick one for the day.

Little did the librarian know what he had signed up for when he enrolled my name. I would take a book in the morning and return it in the evening on the same day and then the book which I took in the evening, I would return it next morning! The librarian once asked jokingly whether I actually read the books. I hope my blank stare gave him the right answer. I continued my membership for two years during which I read most of the books in the library, excepting for the ones with the horror genre. I still cannot read or watch this genre! I had to discontinue the membership when my sessions for 12^th standard began. That was my only tryst with the library. Once I started working, I started my own mini-library in my home, much to the chagrin of my parents who had to empty an entire cupboard to make room for my books!

Ah, Nostalgic Nineties, you were the time when we all lived life to the fullest! We studied, we played, we spent time equally with friends and family, and we always had the time and the chance to stop and smell the roses. There was time to do a lot and there was also time to do nothing and just be in the moment, without feeling ‘bored’.

A beautiful time of life went by with the passage of the 90s and has left only precious memories in its wake!

A Lost Piece Of Childhood!

 

It was a broken piece of a tile, jagged and sharp at the edges. We named it as Chappi (meaning tile). 

And so we called the game as Chappi too! Of course, it goes by the name of Hopscotch, but we didn't know it those days. We just called it as Chappi. 

I think it all started when the terrace of our building was being renovated. The floor of the terrace was eroded, and required some cement and plastering. The workers forbid us from coming to the terrace while they were working. But we would promise them that we won't disturb them and would walk on the other side of the terrace which was fine and where work had not started yet.  As we were walking, we came across a piece of tile, blue in colour with some white patches. It was pretty! And we decided to use it for our Chappi game. 

And the game... what can I say! Some of the best moments of life happened during the game. There was one budding artist who was allotted the responsibility of drawing the boxes. And another friend, the Athlete, would always want to start first. We vehemently argued. Well, it is difficult when almost all boxes have been marked by the Athlete as hers! Where would we jump then? So we took turns in being first to start the game. 

I remember the feeling of exhilaration whenever I could attempt a long jump. I remember feeling happy when I would mark one of the boxes as mine. But mostly, I remember my friends cheering whenever I stood in a box and complained that may be I cannot jump to the box at the other end! They would encourage me, motivate me and celebrate with me whenever I could attempt it. Simple joys of true and innocent friendship!

We started taking turns in 'guarding' the chappi. One day it would be with me, the other day with Artist, then one day with Athlete and so on... And one day, we almost lost the chappi! One of the girls couldn't find it at her home. Oh, the despair! After hours of searching, we finally could find it. But this brought a revelation that the chappi was no longer 'safe' at anyone's home.

So, we thought of a brilliant plan. Our terrace had an office-room, a single room which contained a cupboard full of files pertaining to documents of the society. The room had a window too. So we decided to leave the chappi at the edge of the window every evening before going home. The plan worked. The chappi was in a safe-place, well-guarded and we could sleep peacefully at our homes.

But then, Time happened.

Soon the days of school turned into days of college. Teenage set in. Chappi, the game, was no longer 'cool' to play, we were 'grown-up' now to play such 'childish' games. And Chappi, the broken piece of tile, lay beside the window, forgotten and neglected. 

I wonder - when the last time that one of us placed the chappi at the window, did we know that we won't use it any more? And when did it happen? When did we grow 'too much' to not to play chappi? When did Chappi start feeling 'un-cool'? And did Chappi, the piece, ever forgive us for erasing it from our memories?

I went back to my terrace after my wedding for a get-together of our building. I and my friends walked around the office-room. While no one spoke about Chappi, I know we all searched for it in the window. There was no chance. Our terrace had undergone several repairs and renovations and there was no way that a piece of our childhood memory would have been allowed to linger there.

As I write this, I am wondering - where did the broken piece of tile end up finally? And I wish and hope from my heart, that it ended up with a group of kids, wanting to play a game, not too grown-up, still believing in childhood and innocence. And I hope that as one friend tethers on one foot, scared that she wouldn't make it to another box, her friends are cheering and encouraging her to move on. I hope a group of worthy friends found a missing piece of our childhood - The Chappi. 

A Ride Down Memory Lane!

 

It was during one particular vacation of my childhood that I and my friends came to know about cycles on hire.

There was a cycle repair shop near the lane where I and my friends lived. The shop rented out cycles at the rate of Rs.5 per hour. (Ah, simple and priceless days of life!). The moment we came to know about it, all of us decided to get the cycles and try them out. It didn't deter us that some of us didn't know how to ride! We tried out once and then never looked back. Every vacation, it became a mandatory routine to get the cycles.

I remember the anticipation and excitement whenever I and my friends would leave for the shop. There was a crossing involved, and it seemed to be really adventurous and dangerous for us. We would form a long horizontal line, with all of us holding hands and waiting till it was safe to cross the road. We must have made an interesting sight indeed!

We had good days and not-so-good days at the shop while renting the cycles. Good days would mean that the cycles would be brand new and polished. Bad days would mean clearly repaired cycles and some girls not getting the cycles meant for girls. Oh, there was a discriminating feature for the cycle, you know! The girls would take the one with two diagonal bars running parallel to each other. The boys would take the ones with the bars forming sort of a triangle. God forbid if a guy got the cycle meant for the girls or vice versa!

The crossing seemed all the more difficult with the cycles. Now that I look back, I remember some vehicles slowing down and gesturing us to cross safely while the vehicles waited patiently. I wonder whether this happens today!

We would start riding the cycles on the road itself. It used to be a busy road and we would ride on one side with utmost care and attention. In the middle of our lane, there used to be a steep drop. We would remind each other to not to pedal the cycle there as the slope's momentum took the cycle down on its own. It always used to give a strange kind of thrill! Some adventurous friends would pedal even faster at that slope, shouting with glee and exhilaration.

Our building had a very narrow compound and we rode our cycles around it. In the beginning I needed help. Some of my friends would help in balancing while I rode on blissfully. I appreciate them even more looking back now, for I was a hefty kid and must have weighed a lot. To balance me and the cycle must have required lot of effort from my friends! This went on until one day my friends decided that it was time for me to ride on my own. They didn't catch my cycle from behind and just pretended that they were assisting me in balancing. I rode on for a while until I realised that I was cycling on my own.

Someone from the group always kept an eye on the timing. We had to return the cycles to the shop within an hour exactly, else the shop owner would charge us extra. The journey back to the shop always felt tiring and difficult.

So much has changed now. I wonder whether the shop is still existing by the crossing. The friends are scattered in different cities. Only the memories bind us together now!

My kid has his own cycle. And my husband has one, for fitness. At times, they both ride out and my kid's friends accompany them on the road with their own cycles. I see them and take a trip down memory lane, where a group of friends ride the cycles on the road and shout - 'Idhar pedal mat maar, apne aap hi cycle aage chala jaayega!'

A Season For The Soul - Spring In The Heart!

 

In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours. - Mark Twain.

Ironically, the memories associated with Spring are more of the times that I spent studying with my friend Chitra. 

My house had a large verandah, being at one corner of the building. That is where I and my friend studied during our board exams.

She would come to my house quite early in the morning. Even before she arrived, I would be out at the verandah with a book in my hand. We both would mutter a grumpy 'Good morning' to each other and would promptly get lost in our books. 

"I can smell vacation in the air." I would tell her. There was a marked difference in the morning when Spring made its presence felt. The day would seem brighter, the birds more active than ever and there would be an aura of happiness around, as if Nature herself was celebrating a new season. We would smile goofily at each other. She would say. "When you utter such sentences, I feel that you would become a writer." I would preen happily, for secretly I did want to be a writer. 

I would say we both enjoyed that spring the most even though it went by in studying. And we did study a lot. From 5 in the morning, we would read till 9. Then she would go to her home while I had my bath and breakfast. She would join me after breakfast and we both would study there till noon. Then a lunch-break, then again some studying and finally at 5, we would call it a day as far as studies were concerned. My verandah turned into our own personal haven during this beautiful season. There was no room for any regret as we were outdoors, enjoying Nature in all her beauty and glory. 

The verandah was separated from a neighbor’s bungalow by just a cement wall. The bungalow had an orchard of trees, which meant a lot of birds came there. Spring was party-time for the birds. By the end of March, and a week into April, the Koyal would start singing. Everyone who has heard the koyal's call knows that it is simply delightful. And yet I and my friend felt sorry for her, for sometimes, we could hear a tiredness in her voice. There was always one insensitive person somewhere who would mock the bird by responding to her call and stir her up. I still feel that's inhumane!

The highlight of our time in the verandah was a beautiful yet elusive bird which had the voice of an angel and sang such a melodious tune that we would simply pause and just gaze at the direction from where the tune came. The song lasted for about 5 to 6 seconds but those precious seconds were invaluable in the beauty and solace that they brought. The bird repeated this song many times. I still don't know the name of this bird. I did see it, years later, after the tryst with schools and colleges ended and I had started working. The bird graced me with its sight and song several times thereafter. I was happiest when years later, I was baby-sitting for Chitra’s kid, aged five then, and I heard the song of the bird. The kid must have thought that I am crazy when she saw me almost dance in happiness and shout out - 'Hey, I and your mom absolutely love this bird!' I don't know whether it was the same bird, but sharing the song with my friend's kid seemed like something that was intended by the Universe. 

Another place where we enjoyed spring to the best was the terrace of our building. After finishing off the studies for the day, I and my friend, joined by other friends, would head over to our terrace. We were now 'too grown-up' to play games. And the dread of upcoming board exams loomed large on our minds. At such times, the gentle breeze of the evening, the sky splashed with brilliant colors of a magnificent sunset and being together with friends, made us feel that we could handle any problem. Some days we would enjoy the evening in silence. Somedays there would be discussions and debates. But mostly, each and every one basked in the presence of friends on a beautiful spring-y evening.

Nights have never been welcome to me. I still don't know why. So it was mandatory to close the windows of the room of my house every night. The room looked out into the said verandah. But come spring, even the nights felt welcome. Dad would throw open the windows at night. There were some flowers that bloomed only at night. The perfume of those flowers, mixed with the intoxicating smell that some nights bring, lulled me into a sweet sleep. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and watch the trees beside the bungalow sway gently in the breeze. Those nights were simply priceless. 

Coincidentally, it was a spring-y day when I last saw the verandah of my home. By that time, I was married and had a kid. I was about to shift to Hyderabad. I was staying with my parents for few days. I remember looking at the verandah and feeling deeply emotional, thinking when I would get to see it again. I didn't get to see it. My parents sold the house while I was in Hyderabad and shifted to Kerala. It is still a deeply felt regret, having not been able to see the home where I spent almost three decades of my life.

There are many memories associated with spring. For some reason, the times spent with friends come prominently to my mind. The friends are scattered now everywhere across the country. But I take solace in the memories that we all made. 

Of beautiful and bright days at a large verandah.

With songs of Koyals and beautiful-but-unnamed birds.

Of beautiful evenings at the terrace witnessing a majestic sunset.

Of breezy nights that made me feel safe and cozy!

A Season For The Soul - Summer-y Memories!

 

Oh when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And if I had the choice
Ya - I'd always wanna be there
Those were the best days of my life!

- Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams

Indeed summer seems to last forever now-a-days. The heat feels oppressive. The hot air around feels suffocating. 

But it was not always so. Some summers didn't last long enough! Some summers, I wish, would return.

Summers when the day would break out as soon as 5. I would wake up at daybreak. Freshen myself and would go to the building compound to pluck flowers from the numerous trees that adorned the building. Sometimes neighbours joined me too, and being the youngest one (I think I am writing about a time when I was about 10 years old), the elders would tell me to climb on the wall adjoining the tree and pluck flowers for them. It was exhilarating! It is strange how, as children, we were willing to take risks, to climb higher and to explore new avenues without any fear. 

By the time the flowers were plucked, it would be 6.30. My parents would scold me. "You are having vacation now. Why do you wake up so early? What are you going to do?" Oh, but there was always something to do. If my friends weren't up yet, then I would sit on a bench at the entrance of my building and watch over the road. I would see many people from my building leave for their offices. At other times, my entire team of friends would assemble at the gate and we would leave for a playground to play badminton. The ground was far. We had to walk for atleast 20 minutes, one way. It didn't matter. We ran on the road, teased each other, sometimes fought, did just about everything to make the walk feel comfortable and short. It is amazing how, being with friends, one never feels any tiredness!

You would feel that one would be tired after the above-said adventure. Nope. No tiredness when it comes to friends! On returning back, we would find our parents waiting at the building gate to drag us into our homes. A refreshing bath and delicious breakfast would follow. And then I would run out again to meet my friends.

Sometimes, we rented out cycles and rode them around the building compound. At other times, we played games. Kho-kho was a favourite. And the best part was, there were enough of us to play the game and the building had abundant space too. The noise and din we made! The people in the building banned us from playing in the afternoon. So noons were spent in my friends' house, playing cards or carrom. 

A short break would follow for tea and some snacks. And then we would meet at the terrace in the evening. Sometimes we all would walk around the terrace. Sometimes we played games, which we would stop when the people living in the floor beneath the terrace would start complaining about the noise that we were making. We would be together till it was time for dinner. Then all of us would return home with the unsaid promise of returning the next morning with renewed vigour.

Sometimes, fate worked in our favor. Power-cuts were very frequent then and when the power went off at night, all of us would again meet at the entrance of the building! In fact, many people would come out of their homes and assemble at the entrance, talking with each other, complaining about the 'system', teasing us about school re-openings and generally have fun. I actually used to look forward to power-cuts. 

The power-cuts don't happen frequently now. Even if they happen, there is the inventor. Except for the wi-fi, nothing changes. There is no need to leave the home, there is no one assembled at the entrance, waiting for a chance to catch up with friends and neighbours and talk to them. Most of all, the friends aren't here, neither are my parents, my sis and my cousins. 

So where are they? Physically, they all are scattered in different cities. In my memories, we are always together – the family as a whole assembled in one room during a power-cut, with just one candle lighting up the room and the kids huddled together; I and my friends are together too in memories, playing kho-kho and screaming our lungs out on a beautiful summer day! 

I am always conflicted about seasons. I do love the change that they bring. But then, they take me on a nostalgic journey.

To a time that I can visit only in my memories.

To a place that I have left far behind but where a part of me froze forever.

To people with whom I am now connected only through memories!