Spice of Life: Turning the clock back on our summer holidays
Watching the majestic Howrah Bridge from a close distance while travelling in a ferry with Mesho used to be another dreamlike experience for us. The water of the Ganga shimmered in the morning sun
Even a casual mention of Kolkata (then Calcutta) takes me back to my teenage days when the City of Joy meant so much to us. Growing up in the ’70s and the first half of the ’80s as a school student in Delhi, my visit to Calcutta, along with parents, elder sister and younger brothers during our summer vacations used to be charming interludes in an otherwise hectic school life, burdened with algebra formulas and chemical equations.
Our destination used to be our eldest maternal aunt’s house tucked away in one of the suburbs. It was a sprawling two-floor mansion with big rooms, a spacious courtyard, and a windswept terrace from where one could behold the majestic rows of tall coconut trees swaying in the gentle breeze.
Her house was like our second home. It used to be unalloyed bliss spending time with both Maasi and Mesho, who would smother us with affection and care. Moreover, the verdant ambience of the place made us temporarily forget the monotony of a mechanical Delhi life.
The beautiful pond with its unruffled waters in front of the house was our favourite haunt. In the soft-coloured glow of dawn, we would drink in the ethereal view of ducks swimming and creating ripples and reflections, while a gentle breeze caressed us. My younger brother and I would observe, with a rare interest, the absorbing adda sessions in tea shops near Mesho’s house right from the early morning.
Come evening, our Mesho would promptly go to the nearby market and ply us with tangy Bengali snacks, popularly known in Bengali as tele bhaja comprising begunis (aubergine fritters), peyajis (onion fritters) and the not-to-be-missed aloo chop. While our elder sister would lay claim to the spicy aloo chop, we three brothers would gorge on begunis and peyajis.
In those days, load shedding, especially at night, used to be a veritable nightmare. No sooner did we settle into bed after hanging the mosquito net, the house would plunge into darkness. The load-shedding would test our nerves, as we would grapple with mosquito bites late into the night while wiping away the beads of sweat trickling down our face.
Lunch used to be a gala affair almost every afternoon. We would relish the spicy rohu fish curry cooked in mustard by Maasi, accompanied by mishti doi (sweet curd) and rosogollas to our heart’s content. The rohu used to be freshly caught from the pond for the meal. Watching the majestic Howrah Bridge from a close distance while travelling in a ferry with Mesho used to be another dreamlike experience for us. The water of the Ganga shimmered in the morning sun. Those were the days!
After the death of Maasi and Mesho, the mansion is in a dilapidated state. No one lives there now. The pukur (pond) has long dried up and flats and buildings have come up in the area, denuding the place of the greenery and calmness it once symbolised. I wish I could turn the clock back to those halcyon days when life used to be simple without social media and mobile phones. mukherjee.dashing@gmail.com
The writer is a Delhi-based freelance journalist and can be reached at mukherjee.dashing@gmail.com.