‘Shutting down’ sign blinked on the screen as I swung my
handbag on my shoulder. I ran down from the stairs of my office building, straight
to the Embankment station ignoring the lovely gardens in full bloom. ‘Not today’,
I waved off to the mighty Thames. I managed my way dodging people on the
escalators in the underground. A right, a left, a squeeze, manoeuvring my way
between stations. I laughed at my silly three year old Londoner self. Travelling
through the massive network seemed so daunting then and here I was ticking off
the boxes. London is slowly becoming home.
I have two homes. Well, rather three. It was almost two
years since I visited Mera Bharat Mahan and four since I witnessed the Monsoon.
So, we packed our bags for some family time.
Yes, the travel bug had almost caught us until reality of
adult world said, "Slow down, you need to certain aspects of your life sorted.
Well, that’s what saner responsible people do.’’ So began our search for a new
beginning, a place of our own in London which drained us physically and
mentally. (I will narrate the drama over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, whichever
you prefer). We were proud London home owners finally and then began the next phase
of settling in (and we are still at it).
The chaotic traffic, the aroma filled streets, the ugly
buildings grabbing every inch of the city.
Ah! Mumbai. Pune and Mumbai are special places. They are
your siblings with whom you have a fight with and yet return.
But there are certain places which are close to your heart. You may
not frequent them anymore but something about them makes you smile whichever
corner of the world you may reside. There is no 'natak' or an 'air' but you are
guaranteed only affection whenever your eyes meet.
We set off together to that special place - Konshi which perhaps doesn’t mean anything on
the global map but has made my childhood memorable. My maternal grandmother’s
ancestral village. I had made my last visit 7-8 years ago.
When, I first visited it as a twelve year old on a red dirt
road, the place seemed mystical, perfect for a little adventure. The palm and
betel nut tree orchard encloses the family home on one side and the hilly
terrain of cashew nut orchards to the other. So how do reach ‘Janaki Niwas’ you
ask? One has to cross a sluggish stream
full of boulders and then make a way through the tall palms. Few little hops and
you are then greeted by gentle brook and all the warm, lovely people of ‘Janaki
Niwas’.
This is where one learned that rubbing coconut oil on one’s
feet was an excellent insect repellent for that walk in the ‘Kaji’ (Cashew nut
orchards). Not to forget the remedies for chasing away all the ghouls if you
found one on your way in the forest beyond. Porcupine needles and old snake
skins were treasured. One ate a ripe juicy guava by jumping a little high to
fetch it and bathed all afternoons in the brook. Twitching your nose to the cow
dung cleansing ritual you could scoot of to admire all different varieties of ‘Jaswand’
in the garden. One could spend the day helping around making ‘kokum’ or perhaps
bugging your older cousins (actually, uncles) to take you for a swim. One never
cared if one was best dressed in the summer as you proudly wore the dirt marks
on your chest (a soiled shirt).
Evenings were a trek to the waterfall in the woods or
climbing on the slippery black boulder. One could eat all the ‘Gare’ in the
world and slurp the ‘Shevaya and Ras’ to the hearts content. A place where you
witnessed the birth of a calf and climbed up the attic when you were upto some
mischief.
So much and more.
As the rain poured, I once again realised what it meant to
have wet muddy feet. A new place always holds promises and brings out a thirst
for adventure. The people, the food, the exciting sights, you can’t have enough
of it at all. But Konshi never failed and don’t think it ever will as I looked
at my nephew (actually, a cousin…lol) with admiration. He is the one who led us
through the narrow path to his home this time. Just aged four. Time does stop
at Konshi.
