Nostalgia

I'm a person who lives for and dies by nostalgia. I don't live in the past, but I'm someone who's very emotional and sentimental about the past. People, moments, food, memories - they hold a lot of significance for me. Even on my most practical days.

Today is one such day. I have tons to study and I will, without fail. I've become that kind of a student. Always studying. Not because I'm a nerd, but I think its because I fear failure. I fear academic failure. Its taken a lot to get back to academics. I hate academics. Even now when I'm actually enjoying what I do. So, I'm worried that a single failure will push me back. I guess it will take some time to get back to telling myself what I told myself all the 22 years that I studied. Academics is bullshit. Its the person you are that makes a difference :D Trust me, its true.

I've been looking forever for this Class 11-12 (PUC in Bangalore) classmate of mine. She and I were super close. She was born to study Science and Engineering and she was determined to do very well. I hated Science and I didn't do well those two years. But one thing that kept me going to class and trying harder every time was my friendship with this girl. 1998 certainly didn't have Facebook and I certainly wasn't tech savvy to have an email account to exchange. Plus, hey, we were in the same city. Who thought of moving anywhere? Who thought of getting married and losing touch? We had our home phone numbers. No kid owned a cell phone and kids like me thought it was uncool and spelled 'spoilt brat' to own a cell phone then. I preferred not telling my parents where I was and sometimes, I think my parents preferred that too :P

Now, my 'online research' skills are superlative and I search for this girl every other day. I know her first name and don't remember her initials/last name. I never found her. Until yesterday. I was looking for someone else and I suddenly saw her on Facebook. I couldn't believe my eyes. I sent her a message and she responded. We exchanged emails all night. She spoke of how she went to my house in Bangalore looking for me a couple of months ago. And she saw that we'd moved out. It hit me then.

The house. I was 10 when we moved from the congested area to this residential area. I was this kid who grew up with no regular friends to play with (these residential areas had tons of kids, parks, slides, kids cycling around, hep mothers watching these kids) and in a not-so-cool area. I hated this initially. Change of school, home. Everything. I'm not as sensitive a child that I got upset :P so, I adjusted and made friends pretty quickly. Earlier this year, when I went to India for a vacation, Amma told me of plans to demolish the house with the beautiful garden, lawn, the long walk to the gate, the compound around which my dog used to run around, with the mango tree and the old, decayed guava tree. I was shocked. They wanted to make apartments of my glorious independent house (Bangaloreans in residential areas like mine will understand the agony I went through) I'm all for convenient apartments, but my dream is to own/live in a huge house with a garden and lots of space. And my house had old-fashioned red oxide floors. Yeah!

But nothing prepared me for my sisters' reactions. My youngest who moved in when she was 2 broke down and cried and spoke of how much she will miss the house. The other one spoke of how she met all her friends in the post first renovation 'last room.' I had no such memories, frankly. I loved the garden, the huge terrace where we made vadaam with Pati during our summer vacations, the dog we had. My friends did come over all the time, but I was someone who spent a lot of time outside the house.

But now? Now I'm crying over this house. I got this email from this girl and now, I have had SO many people - all old friends, classmates write to me talking of how they missed the huge house on the corner of the road every time they passed the street. My house was the center of our lives. School was close by, class mates lived around my house, college was close by. Shops, hang out places (remember those chaat joints in 1998 when we paid Rs 5 to eat Pani puri with friends :D), everything. No wonder everyone remembers my house. Because every one passed by it and we waved at them. My friends who walked home when it rained were called in by Amma, fed some snack, given an umbrella and sent home. My granny stood at the gate and saw which guys I walked back home with. My mom stood in the terrace taking clothes off the drying line watching us come back from school. The library guys came home to pick up/deliver books if we forgot to return them in time. My sister's friends came over all the time to spend time and giggle over studies (all of them were nerds). I stood at the gate watching my crush go home every day. EVERYONE passed my house.

I know it seems like a historical site, but that house has been there for way longer than we've been. The residents of the area know the previous occupants. So much that my English teacher went to school with one of the erstwhile residents of this house. While I didn't feel much when my mum spoke about demolishing the house, now, reading emails from more than 4 people asking me about the house makes me cry and yearn for those cool red-oxide floors, the lawn, the portico that was, the backyard, the everyday fighting over who was going to lock the gate and doors, the getting wet in the rain and coming back home to Amma standing by the gate with the umbrella to escort us through the walkway inside the house. The house I left when I got married ( I never thought this'd get me sentimental. I'm just not the bidaai type)

I can only imagine what my youngest feels. The years she spent in this house were her years. The birthday parties which were so famous, her friends on the road, her 'Ms. India' friend, the irritating neighbour obsessed with his 'frontage,' the neighbour opposite us who turned out to be the 'Mrs Jones' of the neighbourhood, the next door neighbour calling Appa and Amma 'uncle and aunty' though he was older :D Nothing can replace these small memories and I know how she feels. Now.

This post really goes out to that house. I hope whatever my family decides to build there is going to have as glorious a life as what the previous house did. This, I hope will be even more special since my aunts and uncles are going to be living together. All in one apartment complex. I can only hope that, this means that my kids and little cousin will have brilliant summer vacations too. Maybe listening to old Hindi movie numbers, trying hard to escape Math quizzes? :)