Walking down what my dad calls the maharashtra bank lane yesterday which for me is the first lane i ever recognised in seven bungalows left me with bittersweet memories. As a kid that lane took me to aai's house, badimaa's house, ruby nursery, roman stores to have ice-candy and thakkar's to ogle at the samosas being freshly taken off the flame.
As i walked past the naaka I'd always look at my reflection moving from the video game parlour's shiny photochromatic glass and breaking into that of the frame-wala's slightly trasparent shutters. I never visited these shops, just that they were always there, i remembered being horrified looking at the meat hanging at A1 and fascinated by the mosambi torans at the juice stall.
The paan-beedi wala at the corner always checked me out when i passed, each and every time, so much that I looked out for him from at least 10 meters away. The only real association i had with those shops was with the watch repair wala's tiny shop, Dad used to give his watches there for repair and i remember being amazed at the magnifying glasses and tiny forcep-like equipment the man used to detect the problem with the watch, like a watch doctor of some kind. The subzi-wala who sold ready packages of vegetables for avial was the only other shop we actually visited.
Thakkar sweets and hot chips were later additions, the smell of oil and sweat and constant heat filling the air, always clogged my head with the image of shiny yellow lights burning the already over-fried jalebis in the handi below.
Anyway the man who owned the property won the case after 14 years of stuggle and they've all left taking with them a part of me that wishes i remembered more and fears that they will fade out of memory. My childhood seemed like it were a long time ago, not a good thing at all.
PS: Eisenstaedt's V-J day in times square is quite arresting, its a wonder how i never saw it before.
3 comments:
Ah we all have these locations that somehow stay glued in our memories, smells, tastes, sounds that stay with us years after we originally experience them. I had this little Irani Cafe I used to frequent, now reduced to rubble as a part of some road widening venture, everytime I go past the gully, something happens to me, the odd whiff of mutton samosas, the residual, lingering smell of the millions of cigaretes smoked there, the insane old man who stands by the rubble even now during the afternoons. Its weird, time goes on, but the memory almost makes the place actually be there, even when it isnt. Anyways great blog you have! Keep Posting!
Hmmm yeah, thing is that now i look really hard at the stuff around me hoping to photograph it as an experience, in its wholeness because you never really know what gets wiped off next.
On the other hand its also a good thing to be able to let go sometimes, highly funny, the irony between what you should do v/s what you can do.
yeah seriously..i didnt know there was a case and all....I was shocked to see all of those memories broken down..Guess that's life for us
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