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| At my Alma mater with classmates. |
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| The house I called home. |
Reliving the childhood days is like eating comfort food. The
food that reminds us of home and one can never get over it in spite of eating it
every single day. This post is long due. More than a year back I visited my alma
mater in a town called Khurda Road, the place where I left a part of me two decades back.
For most, Khurda Road is a railway junction to board the
next train. However, for me and most of us who lived there and studied at
Kendriya Vidyalaya, Khurda Road, this was the only place where we felt
belonged. Even today I keep saying that I grew up in a small town unaware of
the hustle-bustle of the big cities. This was a place where everyone knew
everyone. Be it pandal hopping during Ganesh Chaturthi or Dussera, or at a
marriage reception or buying hot samosas or aloo chops at the street corner, it
was impossible not to bump into your teachers or school mates.
It became all the more difficult for me and my siblings as
my father enjoyed almost a rockstar status. A teacher by profession; loved and
respected by the students, colleagues and the people just because of his
persona. My house witnessed a continuous flow of visitors including students,
parents, teachers, my friends, my siblings’ friends, and mother’s friends. It
was a small house with a beautiful garden in the front and at the back. However,
it had enough space to accommodate everyone. We all had our own corners to
spend time with our groups.
Our lives were centered around the school. We played with
the same people at school and outside of it also. The only difference was at
school we played in school uniforms and outside, in civil dresses. But I must
confess we looked better in school uniforms. The roads on Sundays were deserted
just during Ramayan and Mahabharat serials. After that we used to invade the
playgrounds. The winter holidays were spent sitting on the portico basking in
the winter sun chatting with our neighbours or at times chasing the
butterflies. Our tanned bodies were further shone by the application of coconut
oil. There were days when the mist wouldn’t lift for a long time and I remember
riding into it on my bicycle singing a song or running gleefully with my
siblings on the road outside my house.
The junior and secondary sections of the school were located
at two different places. While we waited for the school bus, we used to embark
on little adventures – invade nearby houses for plucking guavas, Indian berries
and raw mangoes, most of the time without their permission. The days we missed
the school bus, we used to simply get back home walking either through ‘pahad
rasta’ or ‘jungle rasta’. Our parents never panicked as they knew we would get
back home in soiled uniforms and at times, barefoot with shoes in our hands. That
only showed we climbed trees while on our way home; especially jungle rasta which
had lot of mango trees. As if the days’ activities were not enough, whenever
there was a power cut in the evening, we used to run out of the house and play
‘All India Radio Cuttack’ or ‘anthakshari’ under the moonlit sky. Friends from
nearby streets used to join us within no time.
A decade passed in a jiffy between school and home. Days were
spent finishing projects, preparing for CCAs, practicing dance sequences for
annual functions and closing ceremonies of sports meets, and of course, the
exams. Life seemed like a never ending picnic as we busied ourselves shifting
from one activity to the other and yeah, in between studies happened too. Life
was simple and stress-free.
It was a surreal feeling when I got down at the Khurda Road
railway station a year back. Little seemed to have had changed from the inside
though the entrance got a facelift. I was received by Rauf, a quiet guy with
whom I interacted very little at school.
He took me through all the familiar places, asking me if I remembered
this building or that place. Most of it had changed, there were too many
houses, less of greenery, better roads and in between I saw few old buildings
still held their ground like a trooper. All the efforts of holding back my
tears failed when I stood in front of the house that witnessed my growing up
years. Eyes welled up as I stood outside not knowing how to react or what to think. The façade of the house was extended to build an extra room. Much of the
garden space where my mother spent years nurturing the plants was gone. It was a
far cry from the one it used to be. Yet, it didn’t matter. I resisted walking
past the iron gate of the fencing. Leena, my classmate from ‘B’ section
kept calling me to check how far I’ve reached. Her mother, checked with me what
would I like to have for breakfast and lunch. I never met her mother before but
Leena’s (Sasmita Mohanty) parents knew my dad very well. It was heartening to see Leena after so long
and absolutely loved the way her mother received me. A warm embrace and a peck on my cheek, a
quick enquiry about my parents and the best part, “go freshen up. I
made gogni (dry mutter) curry and poori.” Yeah, that’s how home feels like,
right?
Later in the morning I met many of my classmates at the
school. Contours of expanding midriffs,
a bit of flab here and there, grey sideburns, receding hairlines, spectacles –
we met amid laughs, warm embraces and tight handshakes. Now, the entire school
is housed at the same place. The erstwhile senior section had been converted to
the junior section. It was a working day and the school was assembled for
morning prayer; we had close to 15 minutes to ourselves when we walked from one
classroom to other trying to remember who was our neighbor and where we sat. The principal sir invited us to his chamber,
where we had a brief interaction over a cup of tea and biscuits before we bid
our goodbyes.
Traversing through our childhood in those forgotten alleys,
this unassuming place called Khurda Road, taught us a very important life-hack -
how to appreciate the simple things and light up a mundane life.
