My next destination (from Puri) was my native town, Chandannagore. The best time to visit my home town is the winter. Its pretty cold there during that time of the year. And since I have come for vacation, I can wake up very late in the morning, spend the lazy afternoons on the terrace or the balcony and quietly slip under the quilt early at night (as compared to the timings in Bangalore). I can stay relaxed in the morning, sipping the tea and not bother about getting late to work. I can indulge my sweet tooth into those awesome delicacies which the town is famous for.I am so much a part of this place. Or am I?
I was too tempted to shoot the wonderful life of the town, especially in the foggy morning when the town wakes up. This temptation was not a good sign. As soon as I start clicking photos of my own town it tacitly means that I have become a stranger here. Because, only to a stranger will these sights be uncommon and unseen and hence he will like to capture these moments in his camera.
Actually, as days passed in Chandannagore I realised that indeed, I have become a stranger in my native town. My friends and contemporaries have been away in other cities or busy with their work and family. The ones who are elders, especially those of my grandfather/grandmother generation have mostly died. My previous generation have become old. Grey or no hair, toothless, walking with a slight lean...they don't look that gracious. I feel sad. But this is life's cycle. The thought that haunts me is whether next time when I am around, will all these people be around? It sends shiver down my spine. There are many people "missing" since my last visit. Its a terrible thought. I don't have the answer, nobody has. Death is such a strange phenomenon. It is the most certain thing in every one's life and yet people react to it in disbelief, they prefer to look the other way, round pretend not to know about it, behave as if it does not exist. When you approach that age, you know you can get the call any day. You live your entire life as if you are here to live for ever and then in that one final moment you realise that everything was so temporary. Death is nothing but the truth, the reality - the inevitable.
Our childhood dies, our dreams die, relationships die...we die!
I know I will , at most, visit my native once a year for 4-5 days. That's it. And perhaps there will come days when I will not visit it for long and it will only stay in my memories. The playgrounds that we used to play as a child now has an apartment build over it. The old house round the corner of the road now has been be demolished to give way to another apartment. Sometimes I wonder had it not been for these few known people, would I have said this is my native town? So many things have changed. And change they will. In his lifetime, my grandfather has seen so many changes to the town. He used to say us those old stories when we were small. My father has seen the change. The world has changed, let alone the small town. The pond in front of our house, the big area beside our house has remained the same. And that's because they are disputed property.
Then, one morning I sadly admitted to myself that yes, I am a stranger here. I knew this town; I knew the people over here like the back of my hand. But today I don't have the confidence to say so without my voice trembling. Twenty years ago I spoke their language, read their mind. Now I don't think I do. Last time when I came here I could relate to these people more than I can this time. The gap is growing. When our cricket ball fell into those drains twenty years ago, I used to casually pick it up, wash it in tap water and start playing with it. Now I would , perhaps, hesitate to pick up that ball from the filthy drain. My town has changed. And so did I.
I picked up my camera and went to the most celebrated part of the town - the Strand road. The road is adjacent to the river Ganga that flows through our town. It has now been beautified.
Lone cyclists ride through the foggy roads. The fishermen were already out in the Ganges, fishing. The other bank of the river was barely visible. The ferry service has just started. The newspaperman was busy distributing newspaper to homes and shops. Old men , all covered in monkey caps, sweaters, shawls and socks, were seen doing their morning walks on the river bank. Some gathered in groups in some tea stalls and gossiped about the "bone-chilling cold" weather while sipping the hot cup of tea. Sweepers were cleaning the pavements, something I did not expect to see. I walked by my first school, the St. Joseph's Convent. The winter vacation was on. The bells from the school chapel reminded me of my school days and my winter vacation. As far as the school is concerned, nothing changed from outside...the same yellow colour huge walls with the green gate. But, no doubt, everything inside changed - the teachers, the students, the staffs. I hope the teaching methodology is as good as it was when we were studying. Birds, in pairs and in flocks, flew across the clear blue sky. The dogs were seen curled near the roots of the big tall banyan and peepal trees. Some hanging roots of the banyan trees kissed the earth and some were affectionately bathed by the stealthily-flowing waters of the Ganges. An old widow wearing a soiled white saree sat alone on a bench by the river side and stared aimlessly at the rising sun...Some people took a holy dip and offered their prayers to the Sun God, Surya.
The sun rays slowly found its ways through the fog. Number of people in the road gradually increased. But still there was no visible sign of people in a hurry to go for work. It seemed everybody, like me, was enjoying his vacation. They loved the winter and yet "complained" about the chillness in the air.
Thanks to the age of digital camera, I kept on clicking pictures of the river, the boatsman, the sunrise, the morning birds, the people around, the ferry boats, the distant smog. I knew I would edit when I return. I saw people looking strangely at me, may be, thinking that I was a stranger to the land and hence clicking some pictures that are so obvious and so routine.
While clicking the photos in the of the river and the activities surrounding her this strange thought crossed my mind. Till Class 10, the schools where I studied were on the strand road. This means almost every day while going to school, I had a passed across the river. And yet, I did not pay attention to it. I remember from some classrooms we even could see the Ganges flow. This should be a very prized location to anybody. But because we had it without asking for it, we failed to appreciate it. Today I would love to stay in a place where I can catch a glimpse of the river by just peeping outside the window.
Overall, days in Chandannagore were fun. My daughter loved the huge area in front of our house. True, the initial days were cold and cloudy....it was drizzling. Then, we were more confined to the four walls our our rooms and I was getting bored. After a couple of days the sun began to smile upon us. The chillness of the atmosphere increased. Mornings were foggy. Afternoons were pleasant and nights were cold again. Our garden was illuminated with dahlia, rose and many other seasonal flowers. In the evening I cycled to the Strand road to get some street-food. I found a person who used to sell one such item in front of our primary school St. Joseph's Convent. His item remains one of my favourites till date.
Chandannagore is a place of vacation for me. It is place where I can reminiscence about all that I used to do, which now seems ages ago. There, different objects and different places remind me of my childhood days and old memories. There I have the time to brood, look back and reflect.
And so Chandannagore has become just a place vacation for me. Just like any other vacation I stayed there a shade below a week. I had a small craving of staying there for some more time, meeting more people there...but then I already had planned for my next and final leg of journey - the picturesque Doars and the magnificent Himalayas. (to be continued)
PS: When I flipped through the photos I had taken in Chandannagore, it seemed like a place from the fairyland. It is indeed a small and beautiful town, blessed by the river Ganges. The life of the people there are like that of the Ganges that flows through it - a bit laid back and a bit lazy. But thats the way it has been for the 300 plus year town and its wonderful people!
