Reflections from the pensieve

Right in the center of India lies a small place called "Jabalpur". Jabalpur derives its name from "Jabali" meaning...... wait wait wait why m i telling you the history or the geography if you want to know more go to www.gotowikipediaandsearch.com, History and geography doesn't make it special for me, what makes it special is cause of the memories that i have of this place, probably the best, memories that i can live the rest of my life with. I grew up in this place, and spent about most of my life here. Its a place where even 16 kms seem far so far that you think you have reached another place. I miss the childhood spent in the narrow lanes of my colony or "compound" as most people would rather refer to. So narrow were the lanes that no car could enter without touching the verandas of most of the houses, and even if they could enter without a scathe it couldn't get out. So people preferred to park their vehicles outside the best Coffee restaurant "the indian coffee house". Till late 2000's it was probably the best place to have a coffee or a masala dosa. You could find literally everyone here,as if the whole of Jabalpur was here, from businessmen to clerks, from students bunking their classes to students who wanted to complete their projects, from mature couples to immature couples. The place where I lived and where the coffee house was situated was known for its city glamour, Sadar was the place for any kinda hangout, for any kinda shopping and ofcourse there is this "Chowpaati", a food junction where all food lovers would flock in the evening, even the not so foodies would jam together for a "chaat" (it was too tempting not to have anything from there). Sadar of course was heaven for all eve teasers for apparent reasons, 1 college, 1 girls school was more than 2 reasons for them to make their presence known. I still miss biking in these roads not because the roads were heaven to ride but because people never followed any rules, they believed in care free riding, inspite of all accidents were a rare sight. email culture was still naive to the place when i was in college, much of the mails were from the "daak" or the post. I miss running to the door when the postman would come and knock on the gates and say "aapke liye daak aaya". I miss playing cricket in those narrow lanes and getting scolded by neighbors, especially one. I still wonder why the ball always went into that one particular house. Miss those moments where we would hit the ball which would crash into someones house, within minutes all our bats and wickets would be hidden and so would be the future cricketers, and then come out as innocent as a dove claiming that we never were the ones who were playing and hence the ones who were responsible for breaking the window panes. I miss those summer days when we would fly kites, running after cut kite along with 10-15 guys and the joy of snatching one cut kite from the herd. I miss the sweet smell of the autumn breeze, the hustle of the falling leaves, the morning sunrise, the 5 oclock sparrow chirping, the tete a tete with friends morning afternoon and night, sunday church, the night mass on a chilly Christmas eve at 12 am where friends would come in their suits not realizing that they would be shivering in the long chilly night mass, the diwali celebrations, the mithaai and the crackers, the thick smoke from the crackers which would instigate our cracker lightening skills, the jumping from one terrace to another and getting a royal scolding from our neighbors, the colorful holi where for one day it was difficult to comprehend who was who, running with friends in those narrow lanes, tripping over and then blaming it on the other for being the reason, miss the postman coming over for Christmas cakes, miss the cricket in army grounds and then be chased down by army men, miss going underground on Thursdays the day when scores of beggars would turn up, miss the one legged baba whom we never missed to give alms and who never used to miss coming to our house, miss the dark old fish seller and other hawkers the bargaining mom and nearby aunts used to do, watching them getting fully pissed and ultimately relenting, miss the stunts on cycle with the bunch, miss the wedding nights which used to be the only days where i could hog without being under mom's supervision, the scorching summer where getting out after 12 pm or before 6 pm was considered a risk, and wait i forgot to brief you about the girls, who were perenially clad in complete white as in white gloves upto the arms white doctor coats white dupatta covering the entire face and head save two tiny holes for the eyes riding a white scooty(i remember one my friends telling me "bhaai, if you want to ascertain if a girl is fair or dark look at her feet, coz thats the only part which is uncovered") and one special thing i completely forgot to tell u i miss those rickshaw rides, manned these were the modes of transportation for ages until the govt thought of adding some iron ie buses to the transportation. So that my dear folks is Jabalpur, the place where i grew up the place which has its memories and a beautiful tale to tell.