REMEMBERING THE FORGOTTEN

He smiles at me mischievously as the sunlight plays with the silver in his hair. Sitting on the park bench, with his hands delicately resting on his lap and feet placed firm on the ground, my grand father is not an ordinary man. A scientist by profession, this man of eighty-four is a remarkable story-teller.

The air around us brews up little moments of nostalgia: the lilies, the damp grass, the warm and moist smell of mud—they all conjure memories of a forgotten time. This park has seen me grow up. As a child, I have sat down on the swings, raced with the wind, have even imagined the swings to be magical wings that would help me soar as high as the over-ambitious Icarus. I have not only imagined all of this, but have also attempted little feats of my own, only to fall face down on the ground, and to learn (at a very young age indeed) that gravity does, in fact, exist and can make me bid farewell to two of my teeth. I've stood in awe under the once giant slide which once upon a time proudly towered two feet over me, and which meekly seems to dissolve under my presence now when I approach it; I’ve chased butterflies, for colours and movement have always fascinated me. I've sung several Hindi songs at the top of my voice while sitting under the quiet trees with my friends [until 2^nd grade, when I took to listening and appreciating Dire Straits and Eagles. Courtesy: my brother]—this park has seen it all. This park has endured it all. It celebrates my childhood every time I visit.

Past speaks in whispers, the see-saw beckons, time stands defeated while my grand father's voice scissors through the world my memories have woven, re-introducing me to reality.

He begins to tell me a story.

I was always interested in science... My maternal grand father was an educated man. He had studied agriculture and was interested in farming. Education made him liberal minded and broadened his perception towards life. It was during that time spent in his house that I realized my first love and the subject I wanted to pursue later on in my life-Science.

My father's death left my mother a young window of 18, with three extra mouths to feed-her children. I was four back then, while my sisters were one and two. In south India, widows were ostracized and hence it was inevitable that my mother would have to face several hardships. Though she was illiterate and young, my mother was a strong and intelligent woman, determined to educate us.

{His smile fails to leave his face as he talks ardently of his childhood. His dimples teasingly play hide and seek with me, while the wrinkles near his eyes deepen and relax with every movement. Sitting opposite to him, I wrap my arms around my knees and place my chin comfortably on them. I wait anxiously, wanting him to go on.}

***

This piece is a part of a much longer story. The story is growing beautifully. Will try to complete it as soon as possible.

P.S. Thank you Aaki.

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Genre: Creative Non-Fiction