Memories bring with it
a grinding pain. A pain so distraught, so pinching that it can drive away the
cheeriness from your soul. True, there are happy memories but they have a
feeble count as compared to the enormous count of bad memories. They do not
come on being summoned. They knock the hearts door without a notice and invade
the brain without warrant. Memories make you grope and make you vulnerable and
force you to stretch your visions wide to make yourselves calm. But the turbulence
it has caused in the heart, the memory it has formed in your mind, the way it has mixed up with
your soul causing a lump in the throat at the very instant you are reminded of
it is hard to go unnoticed. You feel like literally chopping yourselves to
atleast relieve yourself of this staggering pain but you are unable to do so.
They make a film of themselves and run a fast motion picture or rather an
animation to make you live every moment again that you struggle hard to forget.
Yes, time heals all wounds but the scar is hard to go, itching forever and
making you feel the pain of it no matter how little.
Looking before me, I
stare at a ruined, almost mixed with the soil, broken down house; A house which
used to be my home; A home where I have stacked so many memories that it would
fill an entire encyclopaedia. I stepped foot in that house just short of a few
days before my fifth birthday. I still not have found out the reason why the
fifth birthday in many households is celebrated with such glamour. I remember a
hundred over guests being there on my fifth birthday and I remember running all
over that big house every now and then just to get used to it. It’s not that I
was in a small house before but this once seems special. I was in my lower
kindergarten class then. I remember measuring my height by marking them against
the wall and checking each month. I had a bus stop in that shed belonging to
the colliery office. I was the youngest of the lot then and I vividly remember
the games we used to play every morning , the hideouts we used to discover, the
prank on the poor night-shift office workers and the flowers growing wild in
that office. I remember, visiting my neighbour’s house in the morning to find
out why that particular girl isn’t out of the house yet. It was an half an hour
ride from my house to the school and I remember my mother looking out of the
house to wave bye to me. Slowly, the years rolled by. My sister came by to keep
my company then and we had the first accidents. I remember spotting snake
thrice on my courtyard. Our house was very near to the forest and I used to
hear hyenas and foxes howl at the dead of night, see rabbits crossing our way
and a variety of owls perched now and then on our neem tree. I remember the diwalis spent lighting the
diyas on the roof, the durga puja held a few hundred feet away and I remember
the chatt puja being celebrated down the way towards where the stream
flowed. I remember the changes made in
the house since we have been living. I have heard it’s over 85 years old and
from a single room in the beginning it had expanded a lot and has been modified
a lot.
I am reminded of a countless other memories when suddenly i stumble over a big stone and come back to reality. I am now facing the debris of this house, this house which has witnessed my entire school life, has witnessed the lessons I learnt here, has tried to keep itself unaffected from the rains, suffered the mine explosions silently. I look for marks, for signs that I might have left but all I can see is our name scratched on the drawing room wall by my sister on the last day we left the house. I was at my college getting all the news from my family about the progress the mining project is making, of the other houses which have been brought down, of the numerous letters my father has been receiving with an immediate order to vacate this house and move elsewhere. The shovels are nearing, the explosions are causing much deeper cracks in the walls than before, the windows, doors and other objects are rattling more than ever now and we all shall be leaving that house forever. Soon, the stuff is packed, the memories on the walls of house abandoned and left to decay and fade away and we move into another house. This one is bigger, has a garden even: something which I always have wanted to have and in one word: good as a house.
 |
| East or west, Home is THE Best!!! |
But will it be as good
as the old house which is my home still in my subconscious mind, will it be able
to imprint upon me in a way, my home has been able to? Will it be able to give
me that secure feeling that I always had while at home? Mining away coal,
people have had to move from their homes to new places. They say the mining
business is some 200 year old. Have they not been able to find the kind of
machinery needed to dug deep down and get the coal that they say is lying
beneath us without parting us from my home? Since childhood, I have read of “rehabilitation
and resettlement” but having faced the torment it creates—I come to realise
that the effects are devastating than we can ever imagine it to be. I believe
myself to be lucky in that way but what about those who have lived all their
lives here and have made their livelihood out of here. What about the culture
we had here? Reading about these does cause a stir but as a wise man once put
it: you cannot feel the level of a pain unless you have experienced it.
You may have got new homes, got new means of earning your living, maybe in dire consequences your economic conditions might have been improved but you can never erase that pain of being detached from your home, you can never wash out that burning pain of seeing the house of memories before you all crumble to pieces. Today, as I stand before my house, looking all over and trying to fix as much as I can in my mind about how my home looked, I feel a sting of pain, an wave of nostalgia passing over my heart and tears starting to roll down my eyes as I finally spot the mark where I marked my height. I wish I could hug it one last time.
Through the years I
shall live, yes life will go on as it always went, I shall not forget thee. I
shall return to you and be grateful to you for having sheltered me all through
thick and thin.
