On small towns...

Abidingly in any “introduce yourself” question I proudly declare “I was born and brought up in the steel city of Rourkela”. I have lived in quite a few of the Indian cities. My first job took me to Pune, higher studies to Mumbai (I still prefer calling it Bombay) and work again to Bangalore. Have lived in Bangalore for quite sometime now, my marriage, the love of my life - my first child, his first birthday… and I continue to breathe on here.. But my heart still dwells in that little quarter of Rourkela which has been synonymous with the happy days of growing up.

Small towns have a cult of their own. The fact that they are small makes them so different from the rest. All faces are known, all paths commonly treaded, shops defined and few, space and room in plenty, life content, ambitions high and living simple. In such places you will not stand long with a motorbike gone kaput – help comes handy. The fact that you are known and recognized makes you want be a better person. Life is sans a lot of hassles like traffic, distance, crowds and malls. Schools are little and all go there. So though within a small community but competition is rather fierce. Space is available in abundance. Roads are all yours. The verdure there is not a thing of the past. You still can bike on those long winding roads and feel the breeze through your hair as you zoom.

As for Rourkela I can go back to it anytime I want, feel the place that still resides in my senses. First to my mind comes the entrance of my little home, the two tall trees that stood there right at the entrance all along ready to welcome all, and the tulsi (basil) plant just below where I would pray every morning before I left for school. The kitchen garden that followed would pride itself with a little bit of everything. Flowers, vegetables, fruits, climbers, basil, mint, whatever you need that little piece of earth had just managed to house it all. Then the staircase to the verandah with a small bench on the side. I can still see maa there sitting quietly with her morning cup of tea and then finally that wooden door that shielded our sweet abode from all outside.

Inside home the sounds that echo in the labyrinth of memory are so different. “Get back to study” was the most commonly heard phrase at home. And we four siblings could do anything but that. Ashim (the second of we four siblings, I being the eldest) was the smartest and the most mischievous. He would always come up with ideas of exploiting the wealth of resources we had – old magazines, sarees, utensils, instruments and above all those “happy hours” when both mom and dad were away at work. We then literally were the “masters of all we survey”..

I can just go and on.. Its like revisiting a time that you love the most.. Running out on time though..

Till I blog again to complete the rest.. Happy reading..