Nostalgia overwhelms

Just one month is left for that much awaited trip to india.Though this time it would be a short one,comprising of only two weeks but it's the same usual 'butterflies in the stomach' type excitement I am going through which occurs before my every visit to India.

This is the time when nostalgia engulfs me completely.The heart pines for those serene streets of Jamshedpur,that vibrant school life,the fun-filled evenings with Rolly( a bosom friend),the summer train journeys to nani ghar and dadi ghar, my scooty rides,the fleeting crushes,aimless strolls in the Bistupur market and so many more things that space would fall short.'why the hell I came here'is the frequently asked question to my conscience whenever i think about those eighteen years spent in india and immediately it bounces back with the reply-'you wouldn't have felt that life's importance otherwise'.

How true!I remember those rainy evenings when maa would cook the mouth-watering pakodas (fritters in hindi) and then shout from the window to summon the neighbourhood aunties for a 'pakoda plus chai' imbued gossipy evening.Here it rains too and maa also never forgets to make her signature pakodas but for reasons unknown, we never get the same taste unlike earlier.Perhaps, the pakoda's taste sprang out from the lively chit-chats of the aunties,the smell of the wet earth from the garden,the pitter-patter sound of the rain drops,the water clogged gallis, none of which are available here.Here aunties are in surplus but not the ones who you find knitting from a big ball of urn or wringing water from a wet cloth in their verandahs or hollering about their mother-in -laws.Send a party invitation via mail or a formal phone call will also suffice and there they would turn up -attired in the latest brands,flaunting the glossiest lipstick and getting down from a mercedes or a limousine. Now, frankly speaking, my mother will prefer to sit alone in the balcony with her cup of tea pondering about her Mrs sharma, Mrs Sinha et al than feeling completely out of place among these stylish peers.

And speaking about those water-clogged gallis, I seriously feel like thanking our municipal department for turning a deaf ear to all our curses and complaints for the immense joy ,I used to feel splashing and jumping in watery roads, is sheer unparallel.Then, there were those mind-boggling street side food-stalls. No Five star or any elite hotel can compete with the golgappas and the bhel puris. Actually, the missing-hygene factor is their trump card. The gushing vehicular smoke combined with the golgappa walla's perspiration becomes the inevitable ingredient for that special tangy taste(did i hear a 'yuck!'?).And here,hygene is the only ingredient stuffed into the pani-puris for chemically treated gloves knead the stuffing mixture instead of the bare palms of the golgappa walla and for five or six bland morsels we end up paying triple the amount.And the ambience we are treated with are - cozy sofas,a soothing music and a pleasant waitress- compared to the loitering stray dogs and cows,the littered trash at some corner and the incessant noise of the passer-bys.

How come i didn't mention about the incredible train journeys during the vacations yet? I must admit that the massive Howrah Railway station, buzzing with non-stop chaos, is an amazing thing. The howling crowd can drive you insane. If u are not an expert in jostling and nudging then be prepared to miss your train.From there we used to board a local train to reach our village and it was mostly over-crowded with villagers and semi-town inhabitants.I and my sister were the spoilt rich kids among them, munching and grabbing on every item the hawkers would lure us with their fascinating selling tactics. Our favourites were the jaggery-infused-nuts(gur-badam) and jhaal-muri(spiced puffed-rice, a speciality of Bengal).

Coming back to my town-Jamshedpur, I am reminded of my scooty rides around the town.An evening scooty ride with Rolly around the outskirts of the city meant exchanging side-long glances with the guys on the bikes passing by.First,I would accelerate a little then he would
speed up.I would try to overtake and he would purposefully slow down.Then some cheesy remarks from the male side would be replied by fluttering of eye-lashes from our side.These encounters always ended with our rides and every evening a new story would evolve.

So,if you are lucky enough to still remain a RI, then instead of asking a NRI about his/her life abroad, do fill his yearning soul with ur desi experiences.And believe me,that person will heartily thank you when back to exile.