After dusting our ruffled clothes we would pick up our luggage and start the mile long journey to the village. Someone from the village would appear to help us carry our things. Sometimes this person would bring a bicycle. Kuku, my younger brother, liked to ride on the back of the bicycle precariously sitting atop the loaded luggage. I hung back with the family to catch up on all the conversation. We would greet or be greeted by the people of village Ugani which was right on the GT road near the bus stop. We would politely decline the offers of tea or lassi and hurriedly start the walk home. Biji would cover her head with her chunni (thin scarf) as she was in the land of her in-laws now. I did not have to do that because I was the daughter of the village. Papaji was not very particular about these customs but Biji was.
The walk home was full of wonder for me. Our city clothes and luggage of tin trunks instead of cloth bundles drew a lot of attention. Everyone passing by greeted us and kept asking questions until we moved out of their hearing. Papaji and chachajis answered the questions good naturedely. Papaji would always pretend he remembered all the people but after they had passed he would ask chachajis who they were. Papaji was bad at remembering names and faces. The neher along the pathway was sometimes full upto the rim with water running slowly and making waves and spirals on the way; Other times it would be barely a trickle with big stagnant puddles where buffaloes bathed. I would pick up a branch somewhere and draw lines in the mud sending clouds of dust in the air. Papaji and Biji would scold me to stop it and chachajis would laugh and encourage me to go on doing it. I would finally move to the back of the group to stop the commotion.
Information of our arrival would reach our village long before us. The first welcome party would be made up of the village stray dogs. They belonged to no one in particular and every one in general. They would give us a few barks of recognition and then join us on our way home with their tails wagging. By the time we were within sight of the village there would be a group of barefoot scraggly looking kids waiting inside their mother’s Laxman rekha, to escort us home. On the way we would momentarily stop and meet the families whose homes lined the gali (narrow lane) that led to our home. At the door of our home would be Bhabiji, my grandmother, Shanti chachiji, older chachaji’s wife and whoever else that had beat us in arriving at the village for holidays. There would be many hugs and kisses for us kids. Every one would rough up our hair and pinch our cheeks. Biji would do paripana to Bhabiji and chachiji would do paripana to biji and papaji. Bhabiji would bless biji with long life for her husband and the good fortune of many sons. We would be served tea and cookies. Kuldip Chachaji would shoo the kids and dogs away with a few choice words that till today I have hard time repeating. The children would giggle and scatter. The dogs were more tenacious. They would move out of reach and stand staring till they were served a little bread. Biji, and Chachiji would start the dinner and the men and Bhabiji would sit on the cots in the courtyard and socialize. As it got dark we would light the kerosene lamps. Chachajis would get up to tend to the cows and buffaloes. Then we would all sit and eat together. The food and the back and forth conversation in the dim warm light of the lamps has remained the picture of ideal family in my memory, something I try to recreate with my own family in Lincoln Nebraska.
The walk home was full of wonder for me. Our city clothes and luggage of tin trunks instead of cloth bundles drew a lot of attention. Everyone passing by greeted us and kept asking questions until we moved out of their hearing. Papaji and chachajis answered the questions good naturedely. Papaji would always pretend he remembered all the people but after they had passed he would ask chachajis who they were. Papaji was bad at remembering names and faces. The neher along the pathway was sometimes full upto the rim with water running slowly and making waves and spirals on the way; Other times it would be barely a trickle with big stagnant puddles where buffaloes bathed. I would pick up a branch somewhere and draw lines in the mud sending clouds of dust in the air. Papaji and Biji would scold me to stop it and chachajis would laugh and encourage me to go on doing it. I would finally move to the back of the group to stop the commotion.
Information of our arrival would reach our village long before us. The first welcome party would be made up of the village stray dogs. They belonged to no one in particular and every one in general. They would give us a few barks of recognition and then join us on our way home with their tails wagging. By the time we were within sight of the village there would be a group of barefoot scraggly looking kids waiting inside their mother’s Laxman rekha, to escort us home. On the way we would momentarily stop and meet the families whose homes lined the gali (narrow lane) that led to our home. At the door of our home would be Bhabiji, my grandmother, Shanti chachiji, older chachaji’s wife and whoever else that had beat us in arriving at the village for holidays. There would be many hugs and kisses for us kids. Every one would rough up our hair and pinch our cheeks. Biji would do paripana to Bhabiji and chachiji would do paripana to biji and papaji. Bhabiji would bless biji with long life for her husband and the good fortune of many sons. We would be served tea and cookies. Kuldip Chachaji would shoo the kids and dogs away with a few choice words that till today I have hard time repeating. The children would giggle and scatter. The dogs were more tenacious. They would move out of reach and stand staring till they were served a little bread. Biji, and Chachiji would start the dinner and the men and Bhabiji would sit on the cots in the courtyard and socialize. As it got dark we would light the kerosene lamps. Chachajis would get up to tend to the cows and buffaloes. Then we would all sit and eat together. The food and the back and forth conversation in the dim warm light of the lamps has remained the picture of ideal family in my memory, something I try to recreate with my own family in Lincoln Nebraska.
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