Feature

My Recollections

Yamin Tauseef Jahangir

IT was my first home, a home where I grew up, my bittersweet childhood. A home that was surrounded by simple people, full of laughter and joy, a place that had loving and caring neighbours, a place where I first learnt how to play borof pani and chor pulish. The Railway Officers' Quarter of Chittagong is truly a magnificent place, where you will find greenery a vista. I admit I was not a sharp head to remember anything back when I was a two year old and my mom left me to pursue her higher studies in the States, but I did know I used to be on my dad's lap and hold on to that analogue telephone trying to hear her in between numerous cross connections! I could recall the doctor uncle who was my dad's friend and he used to scold me so hard whenever I got cuts or bruises and needed stitches or medication. There had been times when I suffered from breathing distress and dad rushed me to his chamber at three in the morning. I stood at the porch and almost felt the presence of the land cruiser in front of me. It was bottle green and I so loved it. I always got up early to hear the engine roar and to see the driver smiling with his stained teeth with the juice of paan. It was in this very porch I rode my three-wheeler, having a mouthful of porridge and making circles, believing that doing so will eventually help me digest. My cousins and I at one time visited an abundant bungalow where we were almost scared to death thinking we would definitely encounter a ghost. My obsession for Lego toys was never ending, and I always had a favourite place in the lawn for playing with them.

During monsoon, I wore gumboots and a long raincoat and walked tall and strong fighting the harsh nature. The Christian school were I studied earlier performed the Sunday prayer, and my friend and I stole chocolates from the church and savored them to our heart's content. It just felt like yesterday, when I as a child with small fingers, dark brown eyes, anxious, nervous, yet holding a desire to unlock every secret of life. I was not the six year old, who was oblivious to the world, I was not the boy anymore who smiled back at the neighbor's daughter, I was not even the friend who smacked another boy who tried to be a bully, but I was a grown up; a person having unpleasant reality lurking behind that façade of responsibility. A person who could not perceive how life would change its course and I now face each day piled up with paper works and craving for a moment of juvenile spirit. I know my thoughts will remain as in words in this article and no one can bring back my earliest recollections, which were sweeter than a pistachio ice cream and as warm as my mother cuddling me cuddling me. The debris of a few dead leaves got crushed under my rubber sole as if I was embraced by an enigmatic aura of the environment. Being nostalgic I stopped near the lawn. It was quite huge for a four year old one time, but now being into adulthood I did not find the dimensions to be that of any significance. I sighed, time flew by in the flicker of the eyes, and it's me standing at a place with so many memories are left to be cherished. The colony house looked shabby, plasters came off from here and there, yet it stood boastfully amidst the night sky adorned with packs of clouds resembling cauliflower heads. Renovation is a must, I thought and I began to wonder how come the massive structure was not condemned as yet.

I saw the carousal where I once sat and thought of traveling sky high. The slide was broken and as I touched it the memories came just like a flashbulb and then faded to grey. I felt tears at the back of my eyes; I walked around the premise for the last time, the reminiscence of a few untold stories remained in a heart that was a cavern of sorrow. I saw unfamiliar faces staring at me from the building, may be I used to do the same some decades ago, who knows. The rusty gate protested and made a shrieking sound as I made my way out of the place. The moonlit night accompanied my solitude to make my way back.