It was 7 years ago but I distinctly remembered the thrill. 1 felt the dread and the conster-nation of my mummy as we were wading through the water of the sea. My mummy was repeatedly commanding me to come out of the water but neither my cousins nor I had even the slightest intention of foregoing the excitement of water-sports. Fortunately for Mummy, the tide ebbed and the sea water could not cover more than our knees. My mummy heaved a sigh of relief.
All the time my Papa looked the other way and did not interfere with our enjoyment. This pattern of response from mummy and papa has continued till date. While mummy has always treated me like a sugar-doll, my papa considers me a brave girl capable of facing the rough and tumble of life.
My curiosity was now aroused. I left the work in hand and started turning the pages of the album. As the pages turned, I drifted into the past. I was standing by my bicycle near the gate of my residence at Kanpur. I felt again the pride and excitement of owning first bicycle. It was not a routine possession of a child. I had brought down the whole house upside down for acquiring it before my 7th birthday.
My mummy was in no mood to let me have the bicycle as 1 was supposed to run wild with it and would ride the cycle on the busy road just in front of my residence. I sobbed and sulked and refused to take my meal unless I was given the bicycle. My friend and classmate Rita had brought one a month back. She used to tell me the excitement of riding a bicycle compared to the slow dull movements of the cycle with supports. Anyhow, my maternal uncle, who at that time resided in the same city, came to my rescue and presented the bicycle to me on my 7th birthday.
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Alas 1 the scene has not changed even after 7 years. I am desperate to own “Sunny”. My mummy is as protective as before. She wants that I should ride a mope which is safer in view of the heavy and unruly traffic on the road leading to my schoo I hope and pray that some one like my maternal uncle would come to my aid and expedite the purchase of a beautiful scooter like Sunny.
I envy my cousin, who is onq year, my junior. He owned a bicycle at the age of 6 and who, at 15, freely drives I father’s Maruti Car. While my maternal grand parents excitedly narrate my cousin’j skills at driving, they admonish me for desiring to ride a Scooter.
Another photograph taken on my younger brother’s birthday evokes mixed memories. My aunt is holding her son in her left arm and is cutting the cake with her righl hand, how vivacious and charming was she and how naughty was her son Rintoo. Buj Alas! Time has taken its toll. Rintoo was taken away by fate in a road accident twl years back. I no longer see my aunt smiling and laughing. Tears roll down my cheek| I do not know how my aunt will bear the shock and go through her life.
Some of the oldest photographs in the album show me as a tiny girl riding bicydl or sitting on an office jeep. I have hazy memories of that time. I remember visit to the river at the foot of the hills with servants for fetching water.
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We would linger therefore hours. While our servants would catch fish in the river, I would play with the pebblesl another photograph of this period taken against the background of our bungalow arc] garden evokes memories of a care-free life in a hill-town.
That year our garden was full of flowers. There were rows and rows of gladiole] and roses. There was a get-together in our house and the drawing room was decoj rated with gladiole. I never saw such abundance of flowers again.
Looking at the old-photo album is an emotionally charged experience. It provides relief from the strangle-hold of the present. The mechanical and inevitable routine of attending classes and writing examinations makes me afraid at this juncture whether life would be always so prosaic. A glance at my past, through the photo album, convinces me that times change and with that life also progresses. May bej youth has greater excitements in store for me. As Browning says:
“Grow old along with me
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The best is yet to be”.