The simple shopping street of Khasa near the Wagah-Attari border lives warmly in my heart thanks to the array of memories it brims with from my childhood in the early ’90s.
Back then, we lived in a joint family with our house on the main street. As a child, I frequented its shops during the day and unwittingly created a treasure trove of sweet memories.
Once a sleepy avenue with few vehicles plying on it barring the packed buses, today it has become a busy road like everywhere else. Three grand peepal trees along the street bear witness to not only its present but also its quieter past, and its many characters.
For me, it was the Champs Elysees, the Times Square, and the Sector 17 where I came to buy humble snacks from seviyan (fried vermicelli) to phulian (sweet puffed rice), the chief treats back then, none of which came in a packaged form but on a newspaper page, cut in the shape of a square. The shopkeepers knew how to pack the snacks neatly in the blink of an eye. The shops were known by the names of the shopkeepers: Satu, Bittu, Barnala, Bidiya and Radha Swami.
Some shopkeepers were friendly, others rude. Some charged genuinely, others didn’t. Once I was eager to buy a pen. When I complained to Satu uncle that Bittu uncle charges less, he was offended. “Go to him then, why are you buying the pen from me?” he retorted. They both always had the best variety in almost everything and were often helped by the wife and children. When the air wafted with fresh barfi or besan, I knew I had to head to Bidiya uncle’s shop for the softest and delicious bites. Whatever the encounters, the street offered me the first lessons in business.
{{/usCountry}}Some shopkeepers were friendly, others rude. Some charged genuinely, others didn’t. Once I was eager to buy a pen. When I complained to Satu uncle that Bittu uncle charges less, he was offended. “Go to him then, why are you buying the pen from me?” he retorted. They both always had the best variety in almost everything and were often helped by the wife and children. When the air wafted with fresh barfi or besan, I knew I had to head to Bidiya uncle’s shop for the softest and delicious bites. Whatever the encounters, the street offered me the first lessons in business.
{{/usCountry}}My shopping joy, however, began with Biji, my late grandmother, whom I bothered several times during the day to give me a rupee or two. Usually resting in her room, she never said no but always asked what I wanted to buy. The coins would be under her mattress. She would smile while giving me the money and at times even kissed me affectionately, nostalgic moments that will always be treasured.
During those days, we often heard about the shops which once existed on the street. Many of them had closed down, including a dwarf tailor couple’s clothing shop to a busy cobbler and even a dhaba. Two years ago, within the span of a few months, Satu uncle and his wife passed away and ever since their shop has shuttered. Elderly Narinder uncle’s TV repair shop never opened after he fell sick a decade ago. At Bittu uncle’s shop, his son, who once assisted him, took charge three years ago. The flour mill of elderly Jassi uncle closed down a few years ago. An old-fashioned chemist shop and its owner, however, continue to be in the business just as decades ago.
The street and its characters may continue to change, but they will always live on in the childhood memories of many. Such is life.
The writer is an Amritsar-based freelance contributor and can be reached at rameshinder.travels@gmail.com.