Childhood memories come flooding back
It was another regular Sunday. It was a day to rewind, relax, read newspapers at leisure, bond with the children and indulge in an afternoon siesta, a rare luxury in today’s time and age. The monotony of the usual Sunday was broken by the news of the death of my childhood friend’s grandfather. He was over 90 and hadn’t been keeping well. This news, despite its inevitability, felt like a jolt.
We hadn’t met uncle in a long time. Under the garb of life’s customary responsibilities and with the moving of my friend abroad, I felt I didn’t have a reason solid enough to drop in unannounced like
old times.
Another reason lurked somewhere deep inside me. Uncle didn’t recognise me instantly anymore. I had to introduce myself through my grandfather, who had been his closest friend for years. He would then make a connection, and one could see the recognition in the twinkle of his eyes. “Jeonde reh, beta (May you have a long life, child),” he’d smile and say.
Uncle was a befitting patriarch of the family. He was a disciplinarian, firm in his ways, but would easily break into an infectious smile when children were around him. Uncle’s room was right at the entrance of the house, so there was no escaping his scrutiny any time we visited. This meant that we were expected to always be appropriately dressed, with our hair pulled back into tight braids, and generally be well prepared with general knowledge questions, because we could be hit with an unprecedented volley of questions on history and geography.
Over the years, we developed teenage confidence and he started settling into the nonchalance that comes with declining years. Relief it was that we could march right into my friend’s room without succumbing to uncle’s checkpoint, but something didn’t feel quite as right. I wanted to see uncle just the way I had always known him to be: Powerful, self-assured, strong and affectionate.
Over the years, we moved out. Life took its course and we saw less of him. However, whenever I crossed my friend’s house, I always felt a whiff of my childhood that comprised endless evenings at their home, with uncle sitting on a cane chair in the front garden, watching us every now and then, and breaking into a smile. There was a comfort in knowing that he is there, his room at the entrance is intact, my childhood is secure.
At times, unknowingly, one’s heart holds a reservoir of emotions for a person one doesn’t even meet for years. The floodgates opened this Sunday afternoon, when I got the news of uncle’s demise. It felt like a sizeable chunk of my childhood was gone.
As I hold on to those beautiful memories of uncle, his precious stories, his warm smile, I reflect. Even if it meant not recognising me, I should have dropped in to see him once. Childhood is a reason enough to revisit, unannounced.
I WANTED TO SEE UNCLE JUST THE WAY I HAD ALWAYS KNOWN HIM TO BE: POWERFUL, SELF-ASSURED AND AFFECTIONATE
seeratsandhu25@yahoo.com The writer is a Chandigarh-based freelance contributor