A visit to your roots always leaves you with mixed feelings. The nostalgia of a happy childhood, seeing the homes of friends you are hardly in touch with, and imagining the face you remember, staring at you from the balcony, saying “nillu da, will be there in 5 minutes”, the memories of the ground now all fenced in, and hosting a school in its place, the temple where you listened to the first funny prayer you can remember “lord, give me a beautiful wife”, Pallavi stores, the shop where you remember stealing chocolates, the road that leads to the kelavarpalli dam – you can almost see yourselves cycling again, so many fine memories of a fine time.

Then you see the building’s skin, ravaged, like an old man’s 90 years and ticking, and you are glad your father sold the flat, you look at the neighbour whose memory you held so far – that of a young man who could hit a cricket ball a fair distance, suddenly now aged, better than the building maybe, but older nevertheless, faces you can’t quite recall, “remember ravi?” “Oh, hi ravi”, wish I could remember, an old couple, your parents’ oldest friends, now alone at home, seemingly happy, while their children build a life in UK, your dad’s factory, still bearing the name, the new owner maybe smart enough to milk the name for what it is still worth, the factory’s missing trees, cut down mercilessly, so the ground can be raised to improve the land’s vasthu, so many memories you wish you had not changed for the worse. Drat. Sometimes one should never return.

Posted on May 8, 2006, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Lovely post 🙂


  2. yes! sad how things that loomed large on nostalgia front are really dwarfed by reality…

  3. Just been on one such trip myself and completely relate. The tallest building no longer seems tall, the longest road seems like just round the corner and you can actually sense the characher of the place change ….. Really mixed feelings, ‘cos you are not sure if it’s for the better!

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