Fragrance of my childhood memories
- Raj Bahadur Yadav
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.
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.
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