Memories of another Life
As a child immigrant, I have memories of a place and a time that is quite different to the present I am living. I always wondered why I have a sense of nostalgia and mourning of a loss that I can not define. But I have begun to understand why and to accept that it may always be there and that it is okay. I remember the house where we all lived as a joint family, in one of the so called poorest and ‘failed state’ of India-Bihar. But I knew no lack, I knew no out-of-placeness or lack of love. Perhaps the memories of a child are simple, tends to romanticise situations; I am sure there were problems and challenges that the adults were enduring. I like to remember the happy moments and also to wonder at how simple life was and beautiful. My paternal grandparents house seems like dream-like state now. We had a big court yard, every evening my grandfather would play chess with his best friend and I would love watching the stars out bright. Because there was little electrification, I remember the stars were so so bright. We used to use kerosene lamps to put in each room at night.
My grandmother, although she was a doctor, she was a religious woman and she believed in keeping cows, so we had a cow shed and two cows most of the time. The Milkman was the man who used to come and milk the cows, so we had fresh milk, we never used to over-milk the cow, in order to leave milk for the calf. It is here that I witnessed the birth of a calf and how within hours it was standing on its feet. I used to play with the calf! The cow dung was accumulated and given to women who would make them into re-usable fuel, which could then be used for cooking. My grandfather kept bees at some point so we could have fresh honey! We had all sorts of trees, pomegranate, Lychee, Banana, Coconut, Lime and Mango. We also had lots of beautiful flowers. We had two handpumps for water, but we lived right next door to a freshwater pond-well it was almost like a lake. This pond had fish in it and sometimes they would have a live catch for a special occasion.
My grandmother and grandfather had worked very hard to build a home, they were not always materially well off, but she being such an ambitious lady for her time, did really well. My grandfather had studied English but as part of his college had been part of the Quit India movement, well I guess most college going students during the Pre-Independence phase were. He eventually became a professor of English in a local university. So of course they had very mainstream jobs and yet it seemed easier at that time to create a natural environment. In this day and age, how many professionals would be able to keep cows! So much of life has become compartmentalised.
And for a child it was such a loving environment to have your parents, grandparents, aunt and uncle under one roof. So many people to talk to, to learn from, to play games with. I felt safe and secure, I knew no lack-truly. When I came to England in the early ‘80s, it was just me and my parents and a culture so different and new. I still explored and made friends, but as I grew up, I think I felt more and more isolated. I mean of course I had and have a few friends. But I never knew why I was not able to create a loving environment as that I had been blessed with in my childhood. Try as I might friendships don’t seem to endure the test of time, everyone fades away. I wonder why that is, its not like I don’t make an effort. It’s become much harder these days when everyone moves about so much and hyper connected but unconnected in depth. I guess I am part of a generation that knew a very different way of being and as we move and live in bigger cities with less emotional safety nets, we have to learn to be everything for ourselves-we have only to rely on ourselves it seems. It can be a lonely trek. Maybe because I am an introvert but I think its the sign of the times, there is a flakiness to everything!
I would love to be able to create that sense of a loving community feeling again. But I guess I have moved around too much in life, in order to develop those ties that endure or even that role-a knowing of a sense of belonging, of a people who claim you. I am not wishing the past back, I am very grateful to my parents for giving me the opportunity to experience a ‘better’ life in the sense of better access to healthcare and education and so many other things that go in the quality of life basket, I do not regret anything. When I recall those memories, I am amazed that such a simple life gave so much fulfillment, because I guess it had love at the centre of everything.
