The nostalgic diversity of childhood

"The memories, the moments of happiness are what makes everything worth it.” She looked melancholic as she wrote these lines. It had been over a year since she had been home. “Home!” she sighed. Home to her was caressing love and kindred warmth. Home was where the giant mountains, the soft sand, the warm waters and the shady trees were.


She missed the bright sun. She missed the irresistible fragrance of the Earth as the subtle raindrops fell onto the ground. She missed her jasmine scented flowers. She longed for Anna’s ghee roasts and her mother’s coconut chutney.


Has it really been this long since her dear childhood? She wondered when it all slipped away into the past.


Her naani's matka of sweets and nana's enchanting stories. Dear old Ramu kaka who used to bring down the freshest of coconuts and specially choose meetha ‘nariyal paani’ and ‘malai’ for her. Swami ji from the temple who took her on scintillating journeys into the deep world of Sanskrit literature. Tai and Tatya who nurtured her with the gift of dance and song. These were the people who were the precious gems of her childhood.


For when she was sad, Lata and Shyam cheered her up. For when she was happy, they lay under the care of the banyan trees and the twinkling stars. Summers were meant for swims in the tough currents of the river and for the lovely aachar-paapad making.


She had tears in her eyes as she painted these memories in her mind. The grassy meadows that she played on were nothing but dry and arid areas now. The houses that she was once familiar with were now reduced to dust. The little village that once thrived with the voices of young children, drums and dancing, was now lifeless.


She imagined a little scene- Her parents, ajja and ajji, kunji and her; making a pookalam, eating their favourite 'nayi payasam' and enjoying their scrumptious sadya.


This was what her childhood was like. A dash of happiness, a bit of pain and sadness, colourful, innocent- diverse and unique in its own little way. She had a thousand memories to hold onto, many moments she could go back to.


She wished she could visit her poetic childhood one last time, one last time until she dies to become a child again.


Author: Amrita Pillai

Editor: Krisha Raut


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