Hometowns

Visiting a hometown is always a bittersweet thing. We went to Ranikhet after a very long time. The house has changed completely and now belongs to my uncle. It was changed, and yet that sense of familiarity. The charming drawing room, with its wooden windows is gone. It was my favorite place in the house, like a time machine transporting you into a lost world. It was mostly inhabited by my grandfather back then. With neighbors modernizing and making changes to their houses, the drawing room had given way and had to be changed. So many things in that house had once been handcrafted by the residents of that house, all of those things seemed to be missing, the chairs, the candlesticks, the paintings, the wood carvings. The tin roof we slid down, and I once tore my dress on is gone. The small planks from which one could climb into the houses of the neighbors through the window, no longer viable. I remember feeling both fascinated and scared as we performed a tricky maneuver to get into the neighbor's house, the plank preventing a steep fall. Houses in hills can be scary and charming. I remember the wooden steps, with gaps that a small child could easily slip through, the trap door that led down to a "tehkhana" of sorts filled with strange items from a bygone era. My brother had once found some documents related to a business that my great-grand father or his brother or some ancestor had tried to start. 

The house now isn't the same house, it just inhabits the same space. The same lanes, the same neighborhood, the same breathtaking view of the Himalayas, many of which my grandfather would paint, sitting in the terrace. Mom spoke to a neighbor through the window- they were school friends from Nainital, both married into the same neighborhood. She recalled how as a new bride, her friend had spoken shyly to her through the same window, and mom through the same space, but a new window. Now her friend was a grandmother, confident in her own house. 

The traffic situation has become bad too, so many people own cars and multiple ones at that, the once empty road has now turned into a parking lot of sorts. The trees are slowly receding, and forest fires are on the rise. Thankfully a large part of Ranikhet is the cantonment and that has stayed quite the same, the mall road is still as peaceful. The temperature had hit 30s which is unusual for the place. 

We were taken to the dream - Chesterfield. The story goes that my great grandfather, or maybe his father bought the house (though I think it was the former). It was supposedly an unlucky house and lead to the downfall of whoever lived in it. My grandfather's younger brother died from a fall from a horse's back soon after and the family fortunes dwindled, somewhere along the way the house had to be sold. I'm not sure anyone from the family who still remains ever lived in the house. Possibly my father as a baby. But it's become like a pilgrimage to go see the house and hope someday to buy it again. It is a beautiful house no doubt, with an oak, magnolia and kafal tree in its front yard. 

History is so dubious it changes based on who tells it. My cousin and my uncle seem to have forgotten the stories of a supposedly cursed house, they look at the house with unveiled desire, someday it will come back to us. They seem to have a different version of why the house was sold, perhaps retelling changes stories over time. But somehow, I feel the ghosts of the past should be allowed to lay still. Plus, we no longer belong there, no matter my uncle has struck a friendship with the current owner and visits the premises sometimes with the knowledge of the caretaker. Let go, is what I think silently, don't try and hold onto something which doesn't belong to you. 

I spent a lot more time of my life in my mother's hometown - Nainital, but some inherited memory ties me to Ranikhet. I was surprised at how much of it I remember and as clear as daylight. I wonder why nostalgia always has a tinge of sorrow has attached to it. Why there's always a pang and a longing for the days gone by, for those lost to these lanes forever. Uncles, my father, grandfather, a grandmother I never knew and yet somehow knew. 

Somebody that I used to know

Sea, sand and the beach. Just the four of them had stayed back - Ravi, Sandhya, Meera and Arif. Meera was on the wheel, driving at top speed, but given she was already a few drinks drive, she stopped to ask if anyone else could take over. Arif volunteered - " I don't drink, let me do it."

Ravi and Sandhya had been glad to get away from their crowded two-bedroom house, filled with relatives to make some time for each other. In the hustle bustle of the city, the two hardly spent any time alone together as a couple. Meera liked Sandhya, she had an honest and open way of putting things across, nothing hidden behind sweet words. 

They let Ravi and Sandhya occupy the back seat and geared up for the adventure. There was a cool sea-breeze coming their way and the air smelt moist and salty. 

Arif liked the way Meera smiled, her smile spreading to her eyes, but today there was more to it. Her usual reserved self was absent, she was carefree and laughing with abandon. Perhaps the drinks had worked their magic, he wouldn't know, he didn't drink, but he felt a warm glow in his heart. 

Meera settled down next to him, feeling slightly flustered for the first time through the night. He as always was quiet and looked at her with the same gentle look she remembered from their first meeting. It was so easy to speak to him. "So where are we going?" she asked. 

"Morjim, it's a relatively quieter beach. It should be close by somewhere."

"Do you know your way about?"

"Yes, I've been there before"

After an hour of trying to locate the beach, the felt they were still running around in circles. So, they flagged down the first set of people they saw, some Russians, to ask for directions and were then amused at the irony of asking foreigners for directions in their own country. 

Suddenly the sound of the sea seemed to be close by. They stopped the car near a tree and got off to explore. Walking down a small pathway lined with palm trees, they could hear the sea roaring and calling to them and finally they were confronted by the vast void, which was the sea and an unending stretch of the beach.

Somewhere she understood what was so special about Morjim. In a place which is by now littered with tourists, this was a quite haven.

The married couple quietly made their way off enjoying the solitude their overcrowded house in Badlapur, just outside of Mumbai never afforded them.

"So you seem to know Goa quite well."

"Have you seen Dil Chahta Hai?"

"Of course"

"Well, so it was like that growing up in Mumbai, Goa every weekend."

Really?"

"Nah, just that most Mumbaikars end up in Goa very often when they’re in college."

"Did you come with family or friends?"

There was a pause and then he whispered

"I lost my father during the riots in the early 90s, we didn't really go on holidays with family for a long time after that."

There was an awkward silence after this, she felt accused of something she hadn't done, she wasn't sure why he shared this with her. 

He smiled to diffuse the tension and said - "Somethings are beyond our control but become a defining point of our lives. For me it's always been life pre and post what happened then. One learns to cope and come to terms over time. Don't look so distressed, you have a beautiful smile. "

And then quickly added - "Do you want to go to Baga? You’ll really appreciate Morjim then."

"I’m up for anything, but hope you know the way and we won’t get lost"

"Nah Baga is easier to find, just follow the bright lights."

They had to break up the happy couple who were again making the most of solitude this vast stretch of land had to offer.

"Should we head to Baga?"

"Yeah, why not!"

So, the four set off again. And it did prove to be easier to find. There were bright lights stretching out to the skies from what seemed like discos by the sea. The beach was lined with bamboo shacks and there was loud music coming out of all of them.

The married couple didn’t like this place too much and decided to head back to the resort on their own. They took a cab and bid farewell. 

Meera and Arif sneaked into one of the shacks which seemed to be having a karaoke night. There was loud music, but the songs were good.

The Emcee spotted the two of them and called them over to sing along.

"No, I’m not really a singer, why don’t you go."

"I’ll sing only if you sing along."

She pulled a long faced and refused.

"Oh, come on both of you, come over."

Meera still refused and it was left up to Arif to take the mantle.

The music started to play slowly

"So, what’s your name?" asked the Emcee

"Gaurav"

He looked straight at her and started to sing along

"Now and then I think of when we were together…"

 

Fire

Snow swirling like soft candy, falling headlong into the lap of the earth. He's alone as he breathes in the thin mountain air, or so he thinks. What's that sound in the background? Is he really alone? The sun is casting its last light, and he must hurry home. The storm is gathering, and he must cut through it and get to safety. 

All the stories he's heard of fairies and ghosts dancing on the sides of cliffs beckoning lost wanderers off the edge come flooding back to him. The sound seems stronger, that was definitely the snapping of a twig as though something or someone was falling.  But then shouldn't those unspeakable entities be able to move more noiselessly? Surely this isn't something otherworldly?

Suddenly he sees a glare in the distance, breaking through the mist that's begun to gather. Is it those fairy lights he mustn't follow, and then the sound again and a scream and some movement. 

"Hey get off me!"

There's a small child staring back at him, blinking and clinging to him. 

"Hello, I'm Shyam, I need to get back home soon, the storm is in full steam now. Who are you? What are you doing wandering about at a time like this?"

The child does not answer, but just stares back and then shyly takes Shyam's hand. Wordlessly, he stares leading him, it seemed towards the glare. 

Somehow miraculously the storm seems to ease around them, and they move as though protected by a blanket of snow. The glare comes from the remains of what seems to be a fire lit under an overhanging cliff. Someone, or perhaps some people had huddled there to keep warm before moving on. 

Shyam quickly moves towards the fire and feeds it a few more logs that are lying around. He turns around to get the child to safety, but he is gone. The storm has now gotten too strong and drives him back to the rock as he tries in vain to look for the child. 

He lies there troubled, but soon passes out. 

When dawn breaks, he finds himself sleeping under the same shelf of rock, safe and protected through the night. 

Back at the village his mother is relieved to have him back at home, then shaking her head mumbles. "Ramu's grandchild Nandu lost his way in the storm last night. He had gone with them out to the same rock shelf where you sheltered last night. On the way back he got lost, seems to have fallen or slipped into a ravine, no one has been able to find him. I am so glad they were out there looking for him and found you."  

"Nandu, tread carefully, keep your eyes on the fire, come back to it. Where are you? Come to where the fire is lit, it's safe there. Where are you?"

Thanks, Ruskin, for inspiring this, you bring my beloved hills to live.