Nostalgia is the aching realisation that you can’t go back, but we, the romantic-at-heart human beings, enjoy suffering the pangs of past remembrance.
Come summers and the old memories of childhood knock at the mind’s window, opening multiple doors of long-lost vistas of a life well-lived. Through my nostalgic eye, I recall the summers of the 1960s and 70s. The child in me yearns to relive the days when life was uncomplicated, and when familial togetherness was the mainstay of a blissful life.
Those were the days when the first light of the day descended with the birds serenading and stirring the dream-filled eyes; when the day sky was a canopy of deep blue, and the nights displayed a tapestry of a star-studded dome. Summer came with a bonanza of exciting experiences. We, the children, were not wary of the windstorm covering us with dust from head to toe, and letting the shimmer of a hot sunny day scorch our face was something brave. The petrichor of the first drizzle intoxicated the spirit with an overpowering exhilaration and playing outdoors till late evening under the streetlights was an added privilege.
The languorous summer days came alive with family activities, and our most looked-forward-to event was making ice cream at home. While our mother prepared the creamy batter, my siblings and I sat surrounding the wooden bucket with a metallic jug affixed inside, as if it were a magic pot. We vied with each other to rotate the machine manually, with ice and salt chunks spread in the wooden bucket, around the jug. Soon, drenched of all energy, we girls gave up, huffing and puffing, and it fell on our father and brothers to finish the task. That humble ice cream, a result of the labour of love, could beat all the modern versions of softies, choco bars, cassata, and sundaes. But what disappointed us was the fact that after working so hard for hours, the ice cream was gobbled up within minutes.
Sleeping on the bare floor in the afternoon was not taboo. I remember the coolest afternoons we enjoyed at our maternal aunt’s place in Amritsar during summer vacations. There was a round, tub-like depression created on the cemented floor. After lunch, it was filled with water and the ceiling fan above made the room so cool that could put the most powerful A/Cs of today to shade. Sleeping on that cold floor was a blissful privilege that multiplied our forty winks umpteen times. In the evening, we presented an amusing scene to the elders, when some of us were found snoring under the dining table, and some under the divan. That was heaven for us.
{{/usCountry}}Sleeping on the bare floor in the afternoon was not taboo. I remember the coolest afternoons we enjoyed at our maternal aunt’s place in Amritsar during summer vacations. There was a round, tub-like depression created on the cemented floor. After lunch, it was filled with water and the ceiling fan above made the room so cool that could put the most powerful A/Cs of today to shade. Sleeping on that cold floor was a blissful privilege that multiplied our forty winks umpteen times. In the evening, we presented an amusing scene to the elders, when some of us were found snoring under the dining table, and some under the divan. That was heaven for us.
{{/usCountry}}Even if life is rich and luxurious today, the heart cannot help but peep into the past, now and then.
The writer is an associate professor of English in Patiala and can be reached at njkaur1953@gmail.com.