My brother and I grew up in Bangalore in our relatives’ homes, away from our parents who lived in the village. We would visit our parents only during school vacations – one month in the middle of the year, and two months during summer. During the last week of vacation, our parents would decide when to send us back to Bangalore. This was usually two days before starting of school so that we gradually get over our belligerent vacation mode and get back into a docile school mode.
On that morning, we would have to be dragged out of our beds and pushed into packing our bags and getting ready for the journey. We would finally make it to the breakfast table struggling to hold back our tears. We couldn’t even relish our mother’s breakfast and then we would hurriedly gulp down the sweet dish made by our grandmother. We would finally let our tears flow while bidding goodbyes to our mother, grandparents, helpers, neighbours, trees, animals and the old home which provided us with space and intrigue that city homes cannot.
Our father would usually take us both on his motorcycle to the bus stop in the centre of the village. There were only a few buses to Bangalore back then. Since our village was located on the highway, most of the buses heading to Bangalore stopped there. We always took the 10.30 bus which would reach Bangalore early in the evening. Hence, ideal for us nine and ten year-old boys to travel by ourselves.
Once we got to the bus stop, father would enquire with the nearby shop owners about the bus. Usually we were right on time to catch the bus. But not always. There were those few occasions when we were late and we had missed the bus; Sometimes, the bus came along but it was too crowded; And some other times, the bus did not show up at all – it was cancelled for repair work. Father would get a little agitated at such times. He always had places to be and things to do. So he did not like such disturbances to his schedule. He would look for other ways to send us off. While we waited for the next bus, he would also keep an eye out to see if anyone he knew was headed towards Bangalore by car. And if he spotted anyone he knew, he would request them to take us along if they had the space for us. This wasn’t unusual at all in those days and we regularly got rides to Bangalore in this way.
But there was that one time when we missed the 10.30 bus, our father simply turned to us and declared, 'let’s come back tomorrow and try again'. It was all so sudden. I remember my brother sitting at the front of the motorcycle exulting but I could only gape in disbelief. Father’s enthusiasm made me wonder if he had wished we miss the bus and this was his plan for the day.
We then went back home and did it all over again - play cricket, enjoy our lunch, watch Mr India (again!), sneak away from the afternoon nap and sit on our own separate guava trees in the backyard. Everything felt more joyful on this last plus one day of vacation. My brother and I did not even get into fights as we usually would. And on the following day, we didn't have to be dragged through the morning at all. We got ourselves ready and bid our goodbyes with a lot less heartache.
Oh Karthik! You took me back to lazy summers of my childhood - spent some in Patna, some in Jamshedpur. The mention of guava trees reminded me only this one, solo trip to my aunt's place. That was the only time I ever plucked fresh guavas off trees with my siblings and cousins. You're so right. Cities could never offer us space and intrigue the way towns/villages do. Thank you for taking me back to my own childhood memories.
Such a heartwarming portrait of the disappointments and triumphs of childhood. So resonant as well.
“Belligerent holiday mode and docile school mode” 😃