Of Time Gone By

Today just happened to be a lazy Saturday, like the countless ones already gone by. One of those weekend days that through is supped to a off day, somehow turns out be a hectic one, what with pending shores and errands to be run that have been cumulating from the week gone by and maybe some leftover from the last couple of weekends. But somehow today turned out to be slightly different.

In spite of waking up late, something made me pause at my backyard. I filled up a bucket a couple of times and watered the plants, soaking in the late morning sun filtering through the leaves of the mango and wood apple (bel) tree. I haven’t done that in years, nor did I pause to have a second look at the plants and trees in my backyard some which were planted by my grandfather and are as old as this house.

Well, another thing that I don’t usually, is pick up a book to read and curl up in bed, right after breakfast and barely after a couple of hours after waking up. And did I tell you I was lazing till late, very late. The book I happened to pick up, among the heap of mostly technical, managerial and self help books in my book rack, was ‘Collected Fiction’ of Ruskin Bond. Turning through a few pages, brought about a sea of nostalgia, as I travelled back to my school days where among our English Literature curriculum were such short stories as Ruskin Bond’s “A Face in the Dark”, Saki’s “Mrs. Packletide’s Tiger”, George Orwell’s “Shooting an Elephant” to poems as Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening” and “Leisure” by William Henry Davies.

English prose, poems and fictions had carved most of my childhood and schooldays, not to mention my father’s huge collection of books which he used to painstakingly buy, restore and maintain. I still remember the thin book of collected poems he had given me, which had become my favorite book when in school – I even picked out Robert Frost‘s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening” and practiced with my Father for a elocution contest in my school. Spending hours day dreaming and escaping into the imaginary world of literature was how many a afternoon I had spend. Those days seem so far, far away.

This house had stood it’s test of time, getting over half a century old. I remember spending my summer vacations here with my grandparents, running around the backyard, having raw unripe mangoes and guavas. I still remember the bougainvillea plants around the corner street from where I used to pluck flowers for my sister while returning home from kindergarten school escorted by my grandfather.

A lot has changed since then. I am no longer in school. There is no Guava tree in our backyard now, but the mango and wood apple tree still are. We had three coconut trees, now only two remains – the third was chopped down and the driveway extended to make space for me to park my new car (well, it was new when I got it and had the coconut tree felled). The house on the corner with the bougainvillea plants was torn down years ago, and swanky apartment complex built, sadly the entire plot was paved and now is an impersonal building with no yard or bougainvillea flowers – not that I care for plucking any flowers now.

A lot has changed, indeed. The lazy bungalows, with huge back and front yards around our house have all been ‘Developed’ – there are no wide spaces around. The street in front has become noisy and dusty with increased traffic. What used to be rice fields when my Grandfather had bought this place and settled here, has now become the heart of the city and the small town that it once was now a thriving metropolis.

Glancing at the clock, it’s almost quarter to five. I have spend most of my day till late afternoon musing and daydreaming, I now need to return to back to the present to the current materialistic world, where I have a job and errands to be run – for “We have no time to stand and stare”, as “I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep”, to quote William H Davies and Robert Frost.
As I get ready to leave, I see my grandmother walk slowly across the room with the same smile on her face I realized there are always a few moments to reflect on fond memories. My Grandfather and father are no more, but their memories are.

- Ani
Saturday, February 27, 2010

Written for “The 13th Thought”