Fragrance of my childhood memories - Raj Bahadur Yadav

  Fragrance of my childhood memories

                                                                  - Raj Bahadur Yadav

 

I feel quite happy and hopeful while going through  William Shakespeare's sensible advice,"With mirth and laughter/ Let old wrinkles come".  I happen to be on the wrong side of my middle age and my body has lost the bounce and vigour of my youthful days.  When some friend or acquaintance asks me", What are you doing these days?" I answer in the lighter vein,"likely to complete the last unit of the bulky syllabus of my life !" They burst  into peals of laughter. They tease me further," What is that, Sir?" Having retired from government service, now I have to reconstruct my old house and marry off my grown up children. I am in the last queue of my life,waiting for a call from God to join the heavenly choir! " They take my leave saying," You crack good jokes!" I cannot deny that the  child in me still lives.

                                                            My face perks up when I go  down the memory lane. Childhood memories still inspire me to dream  and take keen interest in real life. Graham Greene has very perceptively observed," There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in".Here is a vivid account of a small incident of late sixties. During the summer vacation of 1969, I visited our native village alongwith my father in Pratapgarh district of Uttar Pradesh. On return journey to Hisar, while boarding  a bus, my foot slipped and I had suffered several cuts and bruises on my  ribs and right knee. As the fate would have it, my father had had to leave me behind in the village, requesting my grandmother,"Let him study in the village primary school here once his wounds heal up. I have to go back  to Haryana to rejoin my duty. Mother ,please take care of your prattling grandson. He is the "birva"[ a small plant  ] of your family garden".  I had nobody in the world to care for me except my father and grandmother as my own mother had passed away a couple of years ago.

                                                     In those days, the school teachers were full of missionary zeal. As a student of class four, I was expected to wear "Gandhi cap" of white colour, possess a "takli"[ spindle] to spin khadi .We had a few lessons on "krishi"[ agriculture] also and allowed to dig with spades, sow seeds and grow plants of wheat, .barley and mustard on the school land. One day, I spotted a tiny plant in our field. I took a" khurpi"[blacksmith made spud] from our house and dug it out very carefully so that its roots remained intact. We had a thatched roof over our "dalaan"[verandah], supported by thick mud walls. Grandma smiled at me," Kisan banega, beta?"[ Will you become a farmer,son?]. I dug a hole  into which I set the root ball very gently with my little trembling hands. I  filled the hole with  the same soil which had come out.  On getting up in the morning, out of sheer curiosity , the first thing I did, was to take a close look at the young plant. It was rainy reason so it grew rapidly. Every fresh leaf gave me immense pleasure. I had embedded a few thin bamboo sticks into the ground around it. Soon its tender , thread like green stems gripped them and the gourd vine aggressively climbed up the thatch-roof.  I made it a point to water it when there was no rain for several days. The entire thatch  was replete with broad green leaves and white flowers. I thrilled with great wonder when I could locate the first baby  gourds growing. Once, a vegetable farmer of our village, chanced upon the  bloom of this beautiful vine, and exclaimed in delight," Bahut hi sundar hai eh gol lauki ki bel?" My grandma told him with a sense of great pride," Mere potte ka kaam hai yeh bhai!"[ This is the handiwork of my grandson] My grandma tired plucking the "gol lauki" for cooking vegetable for home and preparing" raita". Then, she started giving it as a gift to villagers and relatives who would visit her. When they thanked grandma and admired me for  my keen interest in trees and plants, my joy knew no bounds.   In fact, I was myself  like a  young tree being looked after my grandma. She woke me up early in the morning, took me to the well for a fresh bath, baked fresh chapattis for me laced with  desi ghee. Then, she would very affectionately say, " Now go son, don't be late for your  school!" Having borne gourd fruits in abundance, the  vine wilted and withered away in course of time. But its splendid  image still lingers in my mind and heart . My grandma too left this world in 1974. Though I did not take to farming when I grew up as my grandma had guessed, yet I developed a strong passion for books and became a teacher of English language, and, in the end, retired as school principal. I  shall never forget two of these: that mesmerizing gourd  vine and my kind and loving grandmother.