Reminiscence

As I sit here, listening intently to the sound of the sheeting rain outside, I recall those interesting tales we used to hear during those pleasant rainy days, sitting around Naano...

When Abba was posted in Jehlum city, we were allotted a house opposite to the river. It was one beautiful place. The exterior of the house was made of sheesham (timber) with sloping roof. The house had a spacious garden stretched at its front. The garden had almost every sort of fruit and every kind of flower. Walking idly through the vast concrete road, every evening, with our tea cups in hand, we would go and sit by the river. The soft reflection of the sun shining at the river like a pearl, cool breeze teasing the branches of tall neem trees… Peace and tranquility. Life back then was so much simpler than it is now.

When it used to rain in Jehlum, a great number of tiny lady birds used to creep out of nowhere occupying the washed shrubs and grass, like little red beads scattered over dark green silk. Fluttering their colorful wings, would come the butterflies. Playing their mischievous games, flying from flower to flower, welcoming monsoon exactly in a manner like it deserves.
When it used to rain, I used to hear Ammi miss those early days when she was young and beautiful, and the priceless time she had spent in India. She used to tell us how gorgeous their gardens they had back in Naitor (one of the districts of India) used to look whenever it would rain; and I would always ask, “Even more gorgeous than our garden?” And she’d proudly reply, “Yes, even more gorgeous than this garden.” Naana Abba used to order the maids to install swings at the back garden for his daughters – “I have a question, Naano! Your Naana Abba? Or your mother’s Naana Abba?”
–“Ari larki! Hamaray Naana Abba. (Oh you silly girl! My grandfather). As Naana Abba would order the maids to install the swings for Ammi and my other Khala’s, he would also strictly instruct all the male servants to not enter the back garden. Where Ammi and Khaala’s would play around with the butterflies and fly high on the swings, Naani Amma would set about cooking the typical monsoon delights. Pakoray, Gulgulay, and Jalebi. Back then, there was no trend of getting food from the market. Almost everything was prepared at home, and the taste? It used to be unmatchable. Deliciously delicious. The kind seldom found today. –‘’Naah, you do have it in your hands, Naano! I love everything that you cook, even those vegetables!”  – (laughing) “Achhaa, larki! Naani ko itnaa makkhan nah lagaya karo. (Fine, young girl. Don’t you flatter your grandmother).
As Naani Amma would go about frying Pakoray and Gulgulay, the aroma would stir in the air spreading through the entire neighborhood. Maamu Saahab’s friends, as Ammi used to explain, were like family. No later would the whiff of the aromatic food reach them, they’d gather up at the mansion. The servants would then arrange for chairs and table at the front garden for them to sit, and together they’d sit and devour the appetizing cuisine, followed by a round of hookah.
Apiyaa Khaala, Ammi’s eldest sister, had a friend who lived blocks away from their mansion. Their father had a business of dying yarn and cotton. Here the clouds would gather up all ready to pour down, and there they would set about for the procedure of tie and dye at their backyard. Apiyaa Khaala would plead, as Ammi used to humorously recount, Maamu Saahab to escort them to her friend’s place. The request would eventually be fulfilled only after Apiyaa Khaala would make Maamu Saahab a cup of pink tea. Making pink tea for Maamu Saahab meant making pink tea for the entire family, including Maamu Saahab’s friends.

Naani Amma used to pack pakoray and gulgulay and jalebi for Apiyaa Khala’s friend’s family, considering that it is against etiquettes to go at somebody’s place empty handed.—“One question, Naano? Why would your mother and aunts be so desperate to be there? What was so special about it? I didn’t get it.” –“Tahammul rakho, baysabri. Hum woh hee batanay arahay thaay.” (Have patience, you impatient girl. I was just coming to that). Ammi would always reveal the reason of that desperation to be there at the tie and dye enthusiastically; because there they used to get to play with ‘rung’, lots and lots of rung. There used to be a whole lot of big copper dishes with powder rung mounted at them; all shades of blue and green and pink and red and orange and yellow. ”We would go at the front garden of their house, Baano would bring the rung in smaller dishes, and then the running would begin.” Ammi used to have that forlorn look at her face when telling the story and I could always pick that she missed her time. And so when it would rain, I would insist Abba to get us rung too, to which he’d say, “Rung se khelna hindu’aana rasam hai.” (Playing with colors is a practice of hindu culture/tradition). At this remark, Ammi would always take offense and there they’d both go in an argument that was but a gesture of their love for each other…

The forlorn look that Naano used to notice at her mother’s face, I would notice the same at her’s when she’d be too engrossed in telling the tales. Seeing her narrate,  I used to wonder; now that she has grown old, she tells us stories of her past. Perhaps, I’d be doing the same someday…