Traversing Old Paths

Navigating nostalgia, loss, and reimagining my relationship with my hometown

The house has been broomed clean, and the kitchen swept. The bike was serviced today, and all the cobwebs have been removed. I put the clothes to wash yesterday, but the laundry got postponed due to the heavy rains. Greetings with my friends from the village are done, and groceries have been restocked. The first meal was cooked in the kitchen today – a steamy hot upma for lunch. I cleaned the bathroom while I took a bath, and I had already arranged the wardrobe yesterday when I unpacked my bags.

I am back in Bir after a month of travel. Coming back home always requires me to complete these homely rituals. They tire me, but I also feel arrived after ticking them off one by one.

I write to you today from my beloved desk. I can still catch the silhouette of the mountains from my window. The sky is cloudy, and the faint sound of water droplets falling on the verandah tells me that it’s still drizzling.

Usually, when I sit to write my newsletter, I start with the title and subtitle. Otherwise, the empty space continues to stare back at me. In the past 4-5 days, I had several ideas for the newsletter. Thoughts on religion, parents, home town, ageing, habits, and so much more. Yet when I sat down to write today, my mind felt robbed of all those ideas. So I did what usually helps me fight writer’s block… just write.

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Reminiscing Rewari

During summer vacations in school, most of my friends used to go on trips. Others had their grandparents’ houses in places like Dehradun, Nainital, Chandigarh, or Shimla. Both of my parents are from Rewari (a district in Haryana), and I was born there too. It was a ritual for us to visit Rewari during Diwali and summer vacations.

Once, after returning to school after the vacation, a friend asked me where I had gone. I replied, “Rewari.”

His instant response was, “Oh, where is this country?”

I looked puzzled and answered, “It’s just two hours from Delhi.”

This joke still runs in my family and often comes up in conversations. Nobody knew about Rewari, and some people even made fun of how it sounded. As a child, that was enough to make me feel ashamed of the place I belonged to.

Regardless, the time I spent in Rewari was always fun. Both sets of my grandparents lived just two kilometres apart, and summer vacations were a time when cousins from nearby cities gathered in Rewari. We would play all day, crack jokes, eat food, and complain about the irregular water and electricity supply.

Next to my paternal grandmother’s (dadi) house, a shop opened that sold all kinds of chips and chocolates I loved. For me, that was a magic shop because everything from there was free. I never had to pay the shopkeeper!

All the days I stayed at my dadi’s, I would run to the shop every few hours to buy a packet of chips or chocolate. I always wished that shop was near my home as well.

It was much later in life when I gained some understanding, that I learned that the shop was just like any other. It was my dadi who was financing everything I bought. Nevertheless, my shopping never stopped, and I continued to buy whatever I wanted.

My dadi also used to knit clothes for me, tell me endless stories, and pamper me.

She passed away in June 2018. I was in Bangalore at the time and couldn’t make it to Rewari for her cremation. My world came to a standstill. How can someone just vanish from the face of the earth? I couldn’t fathom that feeling. I cried and howled for hours. Alas, my dadi never came back.

After my dadi passed away, Rewari never felt the same anymore. I never felt like going to that shop to buy things. I could purchase anything I wanted from there; I was earning now, but the joy of being spoiled and pampered by my dadi was something no amount of money could buy.

In my late teens and early 20s, I developed a healthy relationship with my hometown. Whenever asked where I was from, I said “Rewari” with pride and grace. I felt proud of my roots. But after my dadi’s passing, my relationship with Rewari soured, and it continued to worsen.

Photographs from Rewari (2020)

In March 2020, just a few days before the lockdown, my family’s world came to a halt due to my uncle’s (bade papa’s) death. He still had many years left to live, a wife to love, two kids to pamper, and four nieces and nephews to tell stories to.

We (my parents, sister, and I) rushed to Rewari for his cremation and mourned together. I had only 4-5 t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and no laptop. A few days later, the lockdown was announced, and we were stuck in Rewari for the next two months. Those two months were the toughest of my life. There was an eerie feeling of death, loneliness, and extreme sadness all around. Everyone was mourning, the media was filled with terror of death, and without my laptop, I couldn’t even distract myself with work.

As days passed, we mustered the courage to pull each other out of the pit of depression. We played cards, chess, flew kites, cooked new recipes from YouTube, and bonded as a family. Even then, the sadness loitered around us.

Rewari never felt the same again.

In December 2021, my paternal grandfather (dada) passed away, and we rushed back to Rewari. From visiting for vacations and festivals, we now visited to cremate our family members. This harrowing fact disturbed us as a family. My memories of childhood in Rewari, playing in open houses and terraces, were now replaced with the image of giving shoulder at funerals. The streets that once reminded me of the colours of Rewari now echoed with memories of loved ones who were no more.

Recently, my paternal family moved into a new home. I visited it for the first time on my trip to Rewari this week. My aunt, brother, and his family have been through a lot, losing family members one after the other, and building a new house was a difficult but important decision. The house is beautiful, and I admired their efforts in building it all on their own.

I feel almost guilty to even have this thought, as I was not around for my grandparents on a daily basis, but visiting Rewari and not staying in the house where their imprints and memories are… it feels like the death of time and my childhood.

My maternal grandparents are still alive and healthy, and they live very close to my aunt’s new house. I spent most of my time at their house this time. I fell sick, so I didn’t have much time to roam around and take photographs.

I didn’t have the courage to visit my paternal grandparents’ old neighbourhood. I wasn’t ready this time. Perhaps, next time, if I feel bold enough, I’ll go and spend time there, maybe even buy a snack or two from the shop.

Rewari and how I feel about it always seems to be a work in progress. From feeling shame as a child to pride in my college days, to recalling happy memories from my childhood, to now only remembering the funerals and cremations of loved ones, I never really know what to make of this place.

My parents were born here, they spent their childhood here. I was born here, and so were most of my cousins. My grandparents lived most of their lives here. By virtue of having so much family history, it is an important ancestral heritage. I hope to find a new meaning for it, to see it with a fresh perspective. While memories of my grandparents and uncle will certainly make me want to imagine the Rewari that was, I must also see Rewari for what it is, for the people who are still there and who love me dearly.

Today, I don’t have the courage to love Rewari, but I’m sowing the seed. I’ll let you know when the flower blooms. Perhaps its fragrance will reach you, too, dear readers.

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I tend to write a lot about nostalgia and days gone by. During a recent introspection, I realized that my effort to make sense of past events and check in with old feelings is my way of finding closure. It’s as if I wish to bring everything together through words and write it down to process it. This is not out of discomfort or compulsion, but just a way to park my thoughts. Thank you, dear readers, for allowing me to do this.

As a feature of all my newsletters, I share one song, one book, one plant-based meal, one film/video that inspired me, and some photographic updates from my life.

• Song: Shamoon Ismail’s new album looks promising. So far, I’ve only heard You.

• Book/Newsletter: If you’re an artist annoyed at having to create content, this newsletter is for you!

  "I wanted to be a writer not a content creator"

• Meal: Had a very interesting coffee at Third Wave Coffee a few days ago. Tiramisu Latte (with almond milk because I’m vegan). It’s rare for me to go for such drinks – I usually take my coffee black – but I really enjoyed this one. I also ordered Banana Walnut Cake to go with it. PS – Only one of them is mine!

• Film/Video: I’m experimenting with recommendations here, but I recently listened to Shaunak’s podcast on Anurag Minus Verma’s show. Shaunak is an Oscar-nominated documentary filmmaker for his work All That Breathes. I’m recommending his earlier film, Cities of Sleep. It’s on my watchlist, and I hope to see it tonight.

• Photograph: Here are some photographs from Rewari

  

  

  

  Photos from Rewari (2020)

Hope you have a brilliant day and week ahead. Thank you for reading.