GATE KEEPERS OF PAST
At one point or other in life we exclaim"This one moment will be part of me forever". Nostalgia, if one asks me is the most wide spread disease in the world. Mostly the key to these lanes of past years lay hidden in some place or object. The contact with these gatekeepers opens a chasm and we are sucked into the glory of past. Excavating the monuments of emotions and experiences we unearth a part of our self. Searching these lanes vigorously with the beams of present is the hobby of a writer. It wont be wrong to say that writers are citizens of there self-created Imaginary homelands[a book written by Salman rushdie]
But sadly our world is extremely dynamic. Very often in its race for new identity it destroys the gatekeepers of past............to a degree that the loss is irretrievable. The mangroves are buried for commercial interest of few builders. Ruins of historical significance are polluted by picnic mongers. Scribbling names and slogans here and there or by leaving behind tones of waste in historical monuments, we bury the glory of the past.......a past to which our future generations also have a right. Many monuments and artifacts that attest the uniqueness of our civilizations are in the process of becoming myths.
I too am a victim of the dynamics of time ..................if not a serious loss, it surely is a loss. Every summer in the holidays we visit our ancestral village. The huge Gulmohar shade opposite the entrance to the house is an essential part of my vacation memories. On that cement slab under the tree numerous catty afternoons were spent. Several mornings were wasted counting the people passing by that road. I would chose one direction and my sister would chose its opposite and the game will begin. Scores were counted like 10 points for pedestrians, rickshaws, bullock-carts and cycles,20 points for scooters and motorcycles, 30 for trucks and trolleys and 40 for cars and jeeps [the rare variety to be encountered on that road].
Very often as the finishing line of our running race, it was a witness to many competitions won and lost. With its wooden black fruits we have fought many imaginary battles, looted many kingdoms and rescued fairytale princesses. It was mostly under its shade that my grandfather used to find us while returning from school and instead of going inside the house and getting fresh, he would stand there watching us busy playing house-house. Usually I was the strict orthodox Sass[mother in law] and my sister became my Bahu[daughter in law]. Every threat that I used to give to my daughter in law made my grandfather laugh. Such and many other memories lie in the custody of the giant Gulmohar.
Last time however in its place I found the new yellow wall of B.D.O's residence. I felt that the government has intruded into my space .......interfered with my rights..........my claim over the custodian of my childhood memories. That innocent friend of mine had done no harm to any one yet it was brutally cut down by that very government machinery that annually spends huge amount of money during Vano-Utsav's to promote greenery. Now I am left with only a family photograph taken under its shade to bring back to me the reality of the past
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