I have had a funny , no... strange , upbringing. My mother has housed us in small, big, new, old and what not houses. My father has kept us in tents, garages, offices, go- downs and other things with something over our heads. If he had some more time and opportunity, he would have even tried a kennel on me and my brother.My Grandmother too, preferred that we stayed out of her way, but in the same building. And thus we learnt to play.
My Mother created playgrounds for us when she was busy, and had work to do. Two kids were told to "stay" (often with our BigHuge Alsatian dog to keep us company) on stairways, porticoes, corridors and balconies. Children were not welcome in many places in my mothers and grandmothers world.
My brother always had a little toy car in pocket. i always had a book somewhere on my being. And between the both of us, we would always have a pencil somewhere. Failing which, thanks to my mother, we always had access to a stub of a chalk stick.
Thus we created playrooms. Of how black and white checked floors would shine when viewed from ground level, with a ear stuck to the floor. That red floors were good skating surfaces in school shoes, if it had been touched with mansion polish. A Portico with three steps were great to play fly-over car crashes, hopskotch. If they had a few lines and cracks, they were the Vietnam war zone, or became " horse- racing tracks" from Ben-Hur.
A whole flight of stairs were a story and a novel in each step. i loved them if they were wooden , or marbled. I would figure out what the world would be like from the top most step , or the lower most.The middle was perfect if i had to scribble, have a biscuit, and my glass of juice while i read. i had a shelf for the biscuit, and a plateau for the glass. And i could read downside-up on the stairs. Usually, though my position would be determined by the fact that the Dog could not fit into one step, therefore the air and sunshine on a top/bottom landing was important, and depending on what game the brother was playing; we would have to factor in place for a mammoth garage or a phenomenal , world shattering motor para gliding car rally. ( ??!!)
My mother would keep us waiting in colleges we couldn't spell, but could somehow pronounce. In bookshops that had many corners and objects we couldnt identify, on streets we didnt know. She would visit places with my aunt, old buildings on park lane, where delicate things we didnt know of were made inside, and outside the porch was all we could get.
My grandmothers world was more elegant, with old graceful well bred and well read women. Her places of work were clubs, welfare centres, foreign consulate offices, seminar halls of a yesteryear,theater halls and performance centers, and often the residence of one of those very affluent bengali women. My grandmother was kinder in keeping us waiting. Her world didnt have half the bustle and the noise of my mother's. .My dida, she had well mannered world. And like i said, she was Kinder.. She would make me sit in the balcony or the garden. Always on a bench. not like my mother, who just told us to "stay", steps, road or pavement.And she always made sure that the water cooler was close by. If it wasnt, she would tell us how to get to the water cooler.
Thus i learnt, that in all old buildings, there would be a bench in the balcony. or the corridor would actually be an open-air passage.... with a bench. If nothing, she sternly tell the Durwan to vacate his chair for me, and in the same breathe, to keep an eye on me. Thus i began to romance gates, railings and brick or paved pathways. With the drip of a water filter somewhere close by. I also learnt the many ways of storing drinking water, as that was how far i could walk.
My father took us to old North Cal places. He taught us about bits of stained glass windows. He told us that all bong houses would have a gol baranda. And that bongs didnt know jack about windows. He had faith in rafters on the ceiling. Both my parents believed that windows should be bigger than their bed, and preferably no railings, but since there were children and animals, just longitudinal bars were sufficient. The parents taught us Lattices in Bhilwara, in the garage that was our playground that holiday.
As recently as two months ago, my mothers most recent "stay" was at a railing factory. An old railing factory. Where the durwan told me how old railings were designed. My mother, of course, had more to add to it that evening.
Thus we discovered , or learnt to see how sunlight looked, how balustrades were shaped. How much light a tiny window, if placed correctly, would let in. Ventilators. and how to use them as windows. ( the father's tent treatment).
Today a little flutter set this off. Anushree, my mother and me are the only ones i know, who have a common individual little bit of a dream. A Chhader Ghor. That is a secret Fantasy. Our private love story. not just a chhad, but a room on the Chhad. The thing we always die for, softly.The very words bring to my head the flutter and burrrk-burrrk of pigeons, but could bring to her head something very different. I know about my mother, because she gave me to read Ruskin bonds "Room on the ROof" when i was 4. i am sure the house we were staying in then must have given her something to think about. And thus she charmed me into dreaming. I hope you give your child such a dream, someday
Add to it a parapet. Parapets are my current study.
but today, it is a chhader ghor. A chhader ghor with a desk, for all the seasons.
Part 2 : Parapets.
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