Days at my home had a different flow. They used to start in hurry. I meant about weekdays, when my father had to leave for college and sister had to leave for her class. I used to get up seeing my sister studying in the corner of the room, father reading his books to prepare notes, and mother busily working at kitchen with her wet hair tied in towel. I can remember my mornings very clearly. From bed I used to find my place in my father’s lap. My father used to wrap me with his left hand reading the book which is in his right hand. I used to rest my head on his chest. I am not able to recollect any of the thoughts going through my mind at that moment, may be chasing some dreams which I couldn’t complete last night, or about the day, or might be looking at my father and feeling proud of myself to have him. I used to watch him and admire each and every thing done by him. He had his own way of doing things perfectly or I correlated ‘perfection’ and my father and thus found a definition for that word.
Days used to get busier till nine, which was when father had to leave with my sister. I have heard from my mother that I used to cry when they leave in the morning. But later it turned to be a habit for me to accompany mother till gate, wave hands at them and watch them till they move away from my vision. I can feel the heaviness of my heart getting back home from gate leaving my father and sister. There was a home opposite to our house. There was a plant in front of the house which had white flowers in the morning and turned pink in the evening. That was the time my father got transfer and we shifted to this house. We dint stay longer there because it was too far from my sister’s school. Other than the flower opposite to that house, I don’t remember many things there.
Not very late, we went to see the house to which we planned to shift. It was hardly ten minutes from beach and also near to sister’s school and father’s college. It dint take long for us to shift to that house. There were two houses in the same compound divided partially by compound wall. There stayed an uncle and aunt. He was a retired teacher and aunty was working. They had a son who was in hostel and used to only appear at home on weekends. We got used to new house and surroundings very easily.
I have a very clear picture of my life there. Uncle was very tall, lean, bald man who used to always appear in a loose shirt and dhoti. He turned out to be my best friend. Retired life is the second part of childhood, he proved it to me. After my father and sister leaving home, all I could do was listening to my mother or her stories which she would be repeating for the umpteenth time. But still lack of another option used to compel me for choosing mother’s stories. As we shifted to this home, my days also started turning busier. I had a small pink bag with white stripes in the front. By the time my sister leave for school, even I used to pack all story books in the bag and leave for my school which was uncle’s home. I used to feel the happiness of a student reaching class punctually. We both acted as a tool for each other to kill our boredom. Uncle used to accompany me in all sorts of games. I still remember us making a feast with sand and plants in the courtyard and act as if we are going to have it! But when aunty is there, she used to restrict us from playing with mud. I secretly told uncle a solution for this problem and that was sending aunty to her house and he nodded to me telling it’s a brilliant one. I thought he took my suggestion seriously and from the next day she wouldn’t be there. I used to ask uncle why dint he sent aunty to her home seeing her at home the next day. All used to laugh hearing it.
Seeing my interest in learning, uncle arranged a lady to come and teach me alphabets. Her name was mini. I got ready in the morning and sat for the class. What I thought was it would be just like the classes with uncle. But as the class started I could feel it was extremely different. She made me write and scolded me when I denied writing. All I could do is just look at her when she scolds. As the day’s class came to an end, my mother went to make tea for her. And when mom returned my teacher told my mom she will not come again for taking class. I can’t believe that the reason is true because she told my mom tat I told her she has a broken tooth in front and it looks so weird. I can’t either believe that I told something like that to her or such a reason can make a teacher stop her class for an INNOCENT kid like me.
I shifted to my old school where I had my best friend, uncle. But there was a slight change in the usual schedule. He started teaching me. I had no other choice than sitting with him when he is teaching. I started learning from him. I have a very clear picture of mine sitting opposite to him wit sand spread on a sheet. He knew very well to handle me and my tricks. He used to take sand from beach which was very nearby and used to make me write on it. i used to make uncle all letters on the sand and when my turn comes, I used to call my mom and say I was feeling hungry. This used to repeat whenever uncle asks me to write what he taught me. But still I used to listen to him more than anyone. We used to have a snack time when I used to go to their kitchen and get myself the sweet sugar cubes which was always kept for me.
I used to love the evenings when me my sister mother and father used to go to beach. If anyone asks me even now, where I would love to spend time at and my answer would be undoubtedly a beach, preferably a calm one. My sister would be done with her home works and eagerly waiting for father to take us to beach. Those are some of the moments I wish I could get again. I and my sister used to play on beach, used to love getting drenched and used to love making sculptures with sand on beach. I really miss those moments of my life. In my memories, I frame this part of life when I had my dearest uncle, aunty and the beach with a golden frame...
