Remembering the Present
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Sorry for being MIA for so long! My last week in India was insane! From my last night in Mumbai proper to the wedding back in Gujarat to my visit back to my mother's village Chanhi to trying to pack 3 months of shopping in India! There's so much i want to write about I'm not quite sure where to start.
The wedding I got to attend was of Sonu, my 'best friend' when i would visit our family in Chanhi. Our families went way back. I was extremely excited about the good fortune i had to be able to attend my first wedding in India in over 15 years and to see an old friend! It also meant a visit to Chanhi and stroll back down memory lane.
A few kilometers outside of Baroda City was the village of Chanhi, make a right at the dirt road near the small temple at the foot of the highway, where the wild pigs had as much traffic sense as the boys on bikes and the landlords in their ambassadors. On either side you found pan shops, vendors selling fresh groceries to the housewives and men incessantly spitting betel nut juice at the concrete wall next to the paan shop. A few hundred meters down the road you make a right onto another dirt road and as you drive, the road opens up to a massive archway with wooden doors, surrounded by a wall that seemed at least 20ft high. This was Amin ni Khadki (the Amin neighborhood). As you entered through the doors up a slight hill you could see all around you open spaces, in the distance on the left the open hall ways of what looked like a palace - inviting and mysterious, the echoes of children laughing and running through the hallways beckoning you to come and play. But first you had to see the family. Coming up on either side as the path came to an end were the largest homes in the village. The one on right HUGE, bleach white, and had a massive color tv! If you behaved you'd get invited over to watch Superman. On the left you had Sonu's home which was attached to your own. The front wall of the porch was solid metal to about eye level and then fence all the way up to keep out any unwanted guests and to protect the stacks of grain that were behind the massive wooden swing. You walk forward and come upon a set of wooden doors with two metal rings as door handles so commonly found in India. You push through and step in. The massive living room consisted of a small couch, a tv, telephone and a cot which was always occupied by bafoi, my grandfather's sister dressed in a black sari ( i never saw her in anything else) who seemed older in time. To the right was a small gate and a set of stairs which led you to the upstairs. Spanning the width of the house the upstairs room could have easily housed the whole village with its high ceilings and two balconies. Many a night you would bring your blankets out here to sleep under the stars. Back downstairs straight ahead you would find the kitchen, the bathroom and the small room which led to the back where your Umi bhen (our housekeeper) would do the dishes and call for you when it was time to come home for dinner. Lastly there was the door to the left. You never entered this room unless you were invited. This was grandfather's room. As soon as you would walk in, the temperature would change - it would feel cool and dry, not sticky and humid as it was outside. You'd tug a bit consciously at your dirt stained dress and try and untangle the jungle of pigtails on your head. You'd been summoned. The room was dim and your eyes strained as it tried to adjust and focus on the image at the far end of the room softly swinging back and forth. Most people would be scared, but you weren't (well not completely). Although people revered him, even feared him and his name was often used to get you to clean up, sit straight, do your homework, he wasn't scary. On the contrary he was just like a little kid. A little kid with a secret stash of valayari pipi (sugar coated aniseeds) who was willing to share with only those he deemed special.
This along with other images is what ran through my head last Saturday night as I returned to Chanhi for the first time in 15 years. As my uncle drove us i saw the familiar wild boars, the scene of children playing marbles and jacks. But something was different. As we turned the corner and approached the khadhki there it was, the Archway Entrance, barely wide enough to fit one car, the walls about as tall as me. Had someone damaged, it rebuilt it? We drove up and parked. I got out and looked around. Everything seemed familiar, yet somehow something was different, something was missing. Miles had changed into yards, mansions into small homes, the dark and mysterious into the plain and ordinary. I was anxious to see our old house. I walked in to find the large swing still intact, but it was no longer the massive spaceship i used to pretend it to be, i continued forward and entered the living room. I stepped in and sure enough there was the gate on the right leading upstairs and the entrance to the kitchen straight ahead. I turned to my left and took a deep breadth as i stepped into the doorway of my grandfather's private room. The swing was still there, but the room had shrunk, the air was musty and warm, the cupboards were gone and so was my grandfather. There was no life in the room, it was void of any of the character it had. My eyes started to well up with tears, my breathing quickened, i was shocked not sure why, but i couldn't stop myself from crying. Maybe it was for the grandfather i never really got to know. Maybe because the images i had were being shattered by the ones from the present. I was surprised by the impact they had on me, especially when i never spent more than 4 weeks in that house at a time (except for when i was born) and only visited every few years.
posted by Browngirl @ 4:59 AM
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Sadly I had to say goodbye to Dave and Whinonah on Friday as they were leaving on Sunday back to Australia, after a year of travelling the globe. Bumping into them a month back in Jaiselmer was one of the highlights of my trip. Thanks you guys for letting me be your third wheel, its been a blast
But ask any person on the street whats the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word 'Uttarayan' and 99.9% will say 'Patangs'. Patang (kite) flying is synonomous with this holiday. Similar to the way you see stores in October start stocking up on Christmas ornaments and trees, the streets of northern india are filled with Patang shops - small, big, massive ( bigger than me) in all different materials, colors, of course some sporting the faces of your favorite bollywood or cricket star, others have long flowing tails, while others sport new technology and have flashing lights for when the sun goes down.
On January 14th you'll find the streets eerily quiet, no kids playing cricket, no bikes, no ricks. As you slowly lift your head up to the sky you realize that everyone has taken to the skies. The rooftops are filled with families and friends from as early as 5 am to atleast midnight. Rooftop parties with food, music, and of course piles and piles of kites. Sounds like a lot of fun, but its also quite serious. 
Kite flying is no joke - if you're not careful someone will take advantage of your ameteur skills and cut your string. In the skies the kites take on personalities of their own and without knowing your opponent you are on a mission to bring down any kite that gets in your way and to prevent anyone else from cutting yours
