Anecdotes from The Past - VIII
Sitting by myself, a strong feeling of nostalgia overwhelms my senses.
Often without my even realizing it, nostalgia wraps around me like a warm auric embrace, bringing back mystical memories—of my early years spent living in one of Trishul Park's residential dormitories that, in those days, were nestled in pure and untouched greenery you won't find anywhere today, of songs I recognize irresistibly, of cap pistols, kite flying, and water guns, of long-forgotten melodies returning to my mind like a spellbinding revelation, of heart-melting smiles, of laughing that was met with laughter in return, binding us together as we clutched our tummies and heaved for breath, and of all childhood friends I've been close with for a long time.
Though it may seem strange, I while away long hours picturing the familiar faces of my earlier friends and enduring loves—as well as places, experiences, and events, especially Army ‘Court Day’, Parade Day, Bada Khana (Big feast), Parachute Jump, or watching countless movies at the Open Air Theatre—beholding it all in my mind like a string of words of a poem I haven't penned yet, rendering me unable to work or allow anything for me to do, leaving me feeling empty and heart-achingly lonely at times when the realization hits that we cannot meet ever. The fragrant memories of that wondrous place, Trishul Park, remain an integral part of who I am today, deeply rooted as the gravitational centre of all my vivid remembrances of those innocent days of the early '80s.
Despite their melancholy undertone—as sometimes stories and memories are wont to have—I cherish them dearly. I hold them in the highest regard and admire them to bits, often finding myself quietly easing into expressing words of longing for the past, those innocent times that will perhaps never come again. Having fond memories of boyhood and youth, and as you grow older, I've realized that you'll have even more to reflect on, and that's why this aching piece of nostalgia. Memories tumble down on you as you grow a little older, year after year.
[One of the most significant experiences in my life was my friendship with Rajveer, aka Raju, from Jammu in the 1980s. Raju wasn't just an ordinary friend; he was more of a kindred spirit who left a profound impression on all my childhood memories. After the early 1980s, he became my precious soulmate and close friend, without whom none of my boyhood days would have been bright or pleasant, and there'd be no memories at all. If it weren't for his company, I wouldn't have known the value of friendship: I don't know where I'd be without him in my daily life. I will forever cherish the times we spent together at Trishul Park; those were unforgettable times, precious memories fading to a golden tinge with age.]
The core of my nostalgia for the long-gone Edenic childhood at Trishul Park, where Raju and I grew up, is our profound friendship of many years. Those days, life was a force of nature, old world charm, heaven on earth, heartfelt, home-cooked meals, and uncluttered by things people fill their lives with these days, sacrificing space and mental peace. Life in the earlier eras played the tune of our lives like a lovely song, and there were lots to feast on that wafted from the music stall, kite shop, and grocery store to where we rushed to buy cork balls on the Alwal main road.
[I never stopped thinking about Raju, his siblings, their cousin Meena, my former early 1980s pals Poonam, Ruby, Susheela, and Sugna, and of the mid-'80s Murari and his sister Anita. They were always on my mind. Throughout the '90s, I was hot on the trail of early memories in my mind, and I still am, even today, cannot make room for anything other than nostalgic wonderings of the distant past.]
Both happiness and a little sadness would come flooding back to me as I thought about them, if not more so. I loved them more than life itself and cherished our warm friendship just as much as they did mine. We were the children of Trishul Park.
Poonam, Ruby, and the others had moved on to postings their fathers had proceeded to: Poonam went to Aligarh, Ruby probably to Bareilly, and Meena returned to her native Jammu. With Raju, however, the continuity of friendship turned out differently because he and I stayed at Trishul Park the longest from the mid to late 1980s, and, therefore, we became close pals on account of staying in the same dormitory: I stayed on the ground floor diagonally beneath to his first-floor dorm. Raju stayed till 1988, and I a little longer till 1995, often remembering about our old-time friends who had gone away a long time ago: sadly, never seen or heard from again.
And then, it was time for my dear Raju to move on. How can I forget the day when the sun shone brightly when Raju and his family came down the stairs to bid us farewell? He said goodbye in the summer of 1988 after finishing his school year: the year marked a turning point in our lives that left us both feeling helpless and a sense of loss for each other's altered lives brought on by circumstances beyond our control. With his parents, his brother Mintu, and his sister Sunita, aka Choti, Raju boarded the canvassed-topped 3-ton Army truck that came to pick them up and drop them off at the train station. Everybody came to see them off. Just as their pickup made its way out of Trishul Park through the main gate, Raju raised his hand and waved at me, and I waved back almost simultaneously, a downcast smile on my face, feeling uncertain if we'd ever see one other again in this lifetime. He left a void that just could not be filled or replaced. Trishul Park was never the same again.
With his going, simply an era had come to an end. It was an era that was the most wonderful of all eras that came later.
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick