I saw my life of 40 years and more tumble out of closets and cupboards. I began to discover things and knick-knacks which I never knew existed and could be termed “lost and found”. Files with my daughters’ haphazard drawings and scribbles, preserved carefully over the years, were uncovered with not only surprise but with the revival of echoes from their childhood days.
The storehouse of memories opened up, flooding the moment with the activities of the past and each scribble came alive. Black-and-white photographs loosely tied together were found in a folder, which had been stored with a sincere intention of being put in the album some day. Of course, there were albums with neatly inserted family pictures.
They were the registers of my life lived mostly from the day of my arrival in this world. So many co-travellers had been lost in my journey of life, the photographs standing testimony of the same. I was packing house, moving to another city or rather relocating at almost the fag end of my life.
I had come to Varanasi to study, after my schooling, in Banaras Hindu University. Those were the golden days of making new friends, excitement of doing away with the school uniform for more colourful dresses, being part of the academic atmosphere on the campus, and thrill of exploring new pastures. Days slipped into months and years flew by, with me doing well in my studies, winning accolades and landing a coveted position on the teaching faculty of my alma mater.
I discovered my passion for learning and imparting knowledge. Each year brought in fresh batch of students, enthusiastically eager to learn: thus teaching never became mundane or boring. Old age and retirement appeared aeons away; but all things have to come to an end.
I superannuated after reaching the highest position in my career. A decision had to be taken to relocate and as fate would have it, I was destined to move to the National Capital Region. As I prepared to wind up my life in bags and cartons, relocation did not appear tempting, as it had been when I was younger.
It was more of getting uprooted, leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds and even the distinctive aroma which every city has as its characteristics trait. Each tree planted years ago in my garden had to be left behind. Each flower that bloomed was no more to be seen.
In this case “ familiarity did not breed contempt”, rather familiarity brought peace , a comfort level in my existence. I saw my home getting transformed into a house as bags, furniture, and books were getting packed and stacked. The kitchen was emptied and most of the utensils were distributed: it had been the hub of activity from morning till late evening, sometimes at night also when the children had some urgency to eat, drink.
Or those early mornings of my fasting days of “ Karva Chauth”, the kitchen was a witness to being used much before dawn for that morning cup of tea. It now bore a deserted look as did my whole house. A feeling of emptiness pervaded my being as I bid a tearful farewell to my life on the campus, my home and my friends.
Moving to my new abode lacked the excitement, which I had hoped for; I desperately tried to make an apartment my home in a high-rise building and give it a semblance of the place I had left behind. I am often told that it’s beautiful, but I feel like an alien in my own ‘ home’ - as if I am seeing life pass you through a rear view mirror and. I desperately try to acclimatise myself to my new surroundings, my new home.
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