Around the Pillar...

So finally after twenty one years, I visited the small, obscure village (by the name Gedama), whose name sounds alien to most people even within Odisha. I still wonder why it took me so long to visit the place which I longed to visit during every holiday that childhood had offered.

As the door opened, out rushed a flurry of the lost moments…the earliest life memories… which had got somewhere distanced into a dormant pool of untapped thoughts

….a lone little three year old….probably his earliest memories…listening stories from his Mama (maternal grandmother) and waiting for his Aja (maternal grandfather) to return back home with a packet of gems…And thirty five years in between

….a  four  year old wrapping his hands around the round pillar, which supported the roof above, and unsuccessfully trying desperately to make the tip of fingers of both hands touch….a two  year old closely observing the activity with big, bold eyes with a red color toy in his hands….. And thirty four years in between

…a six year old, a four year old and two new babies…all busy displaying their respective chores around the pillar…And thirty one years in between

…a ten year old, an eight year old and two four year olds...being fed their respective delicacies prepared so lovingly by their grandparents…And twenty eight years in between

…a fourteen year old, a twelve year old, two eight year olds and a new baby….but probably the magic of the village was beginning to wane for each one of us and the duration of our stays reduced from weeks to days...And twenty four years in between

..a seventeen year old, a fifteen year old, two eleven year olds and a three year old attended the last wedding of the generation for one day and one night and with that ended the magical journeys of childhood….And twenty one years in between

Flashes of a hundred such images…each trying to claim their respective dominant moods of childhood…the paddy fields where we muddled and danced and jumped…the train station where we were taken to by our Grandfather to enjoy the view of the coal powered trains, the Pooja room where we all were taken to recite the evening chants, the red suitcase which always made us wonder what secrets it stored within, the terrace where we all gathered to count the infinite stars and later identify the known constellations, the guava and chickoo trees who played with us as we all grew together…the people who once existed and whose voices took us to the land of fairies and angels….and the anguish and tears which reached out once again as I was not present around the pillar on the last journey of my Aja…

Moments metamorphose to memories….memories live within us….so in a way the moments live within us….only to be enlivened with age.

While I was lost within myself, I saw my four year old son trying to wrap his hands around the pillar. He tried hard but there was a good few inches gap between the reaches of the fingers. I tried to live the reflexive smile…A smile which was just a physical manifestation of the memories of moments which took place in and around the pillar….