The other day, I was passing by my native place, Ropar, while travelling to Amritsar on official duty. Overwhelmed by nostalgia to catch a glimpse of the outskirts of the nondescript town, I asked my driver to head straight instead of turning left to the bypass that touches Aasron, circumventing the town.
I migrated to Chandigarh in 1985 with my wife as we had joined government service. Thereafter, we settled down in Mohali after constructing a house and my connection with our family roots drifted into oblivion. Our ancestral house was merely a documentary proof of domicile. The house, once our permanent residence, was built by my grandfather after the family was uprooted from Rawalpindi during the turmoil of the Partition in 1947.
After the death of my grandparents in the late ’80s, visiting our native town, being my birthplace also, became a distant dream. Our grandparent’s house, which still holds their legacy of values, started crumbling with every passing day as most of the time it remained shut. A few years ago, I convinced my father to get it repaired as it beholds the saga of our forefathers’ harrowing ordeal in the post-Partition era. Finally, I got it refurbished with basic amenities to make it livable, after realising its monumental value to act as a link between the past and the present progeny.
Several childhood memories are still etched afresh on my mind about this historic town, being the first sites of the Indus Valley Civilisation. I am reminded of the good old days when we as kids played cricket on the mound amid ruins in Ropar, one of the Harappan sites. Today, it is in sheer neglect as cow dung cake pathis stuck on the walls is a common sight.
{{/usCountry}}Several childhood memories are still etched afresh on my mind about this historic town, being the first sites of the Indus Valley Civilisation. I am reminded of the good old days when we as kids played cricket on the mound amid ruins in Ropar, one of the Harappan sites. Today, it is in sheer neglect as cow dung cake pathis stuck on the walls is a common sight.
{{/usCountry}}The wetland hosts a vibrant natural habitat, particularly at the Ropar headworks on the Sutlej river, where thousands of migratory birds flock together from Central Asia as the winter chill sets in.
Unmindful of the stress during student life, we were a group of four friends, Ravi, Bali, Kirpal and me. We would take refuge on the banks of the Sutlej to study for the exams. Being in the lap of nature was an exhilarating yet tranquilising experience in itself for us. It helped us tide over the examination jitters.
Going down memory lane, I recall how a stroll early in the morning or late in the evening in summer and winter along the Sirhind Canal was a popular pastime of local residents of all ages. A cursory look at the precincts of the local government college still reminds me of the time spent there while pursuing graduation in arts in the company of my class fellows, including the late Punjabi folk singer Surjit Bindrakhia, who often offered us tea and samosas in the college canteen to seek our audience for his favourite Punjabi hit songs in typical long Hek, which would leave us spellbound.
Unfortunately, most of my friends and acquaintances have already left this place with the passage of time to pursue their goals and careers. A few went abroad in search of greener pastures. The handful left here are not accessible for want of their whereabouts despite digital platforms, such as WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter in vogue nowadays.
Alas! Not much has changed since I left this blissful town almost four decades ago except its panoramic beauty with diverse fauna and flora along the Sutlej river that still bewitches one and all. In the heart of hearts, I still yearn to visit this place blessed with nature’s bounty, far from the madding crowd and indeed a panacea for all ills. opinder.lamba@gmail.com
The writer is the additional director, information and public relations, Punjab