The Garden near my house.
Mine is a Refugee colony in the heart of south Delhi, built n habited in the early 1950s.
Small houses big families large hearts.
I remember we could go to any house freely and never left empty handed.
We formed relationships, I had buaji, chachaji, bhaiya, didis, ammaji, beejis, baujis and mochi bhaiya, presswala bhaiya, kirane ki dukkan ka puttha bhaiya. We would just run and pick up heavy tokaris from aunties and would sit late nights on the nukkad and laugh at ourselves or play pranks on others.
It was the time when elders of the muhalla took responsibility of women, children and youth of the colony and bhaiyas’ friends were bhaiyas who were concerned who we befriended.
I used to enjoy being the carrier of love letters for my brother and his friends and their girl friends. And believe me, I was paid in cash and earned well during vacations.
We had a big garden of fountains in the centre of our colony, where we would run play and bathe too during rains.
Times changed, kids became youth and youngmen.
The fountains disappeared and we loved the empty place where younger generation enjoyed.
The government would regularly put grass but kids playing made it barren again.
Some old men shouted at kids to spoil the grass. Kids would vanish for a day and again reappeared.
I found myself arguing with chahajis and my father many times.
I wondered if grass became more important than kids’ free land.
The kids are kids, they need to play jump run laugh and fight.
When they are inside homes we want them out, when they are out we want to protect our grass, when they are glued to TV or phone we want to stop them.
Are they spoiled or we confused?
Are they disrespectful or we dissatisfied? Are they wrong or we hiding away from our shortcomings?
Are they free or we fearful of freedom?
I love the patches of grass here and there and kids playing shouting fighting laughing with responsibility to own up the environment and relationships alike.
I enjoy when oldies laugh off the little naughtiness and ignoring small mistakes of growing up.
I simply savour the moments when kids be just kids and live alive thriving and kicking with joy.
I miss my time, so at times I take a walk around my muhalla and the nukkad ki market, meet the old and young, crack a joke, grab a drink, indulge in gossip, motivate the beaten and live the moments of childhood of sheer love and warmth.
So , that was my childhood well lived and this is my midage living well
