Of Night Trains and Afternoon Nostalgia
A usual lazy summer afternoon. Its siesta time for everyone in the house. I cant sleep. After all, summer vacations aren’t meant to be wasted!! The open verandah in this big, old, brick and mud house is my favorite. The mango tree is in full blossom. Heavy, dusty winds carry a promise of rain. I have been circling the ‘treasure trove.’ This huge, cylindrical, cast iron drum that lodges innumerable books and magazines. Read and stored away by all the uncles and aunts over the years. At seven years of age, I am too short to peek over the top and too weak to move the heavy lid. At max, I can slide the lid and stretch my hand to grab myself a surprise treat. This mystical treasure box never disappoints. Its akin to Kubera’s coffer. A bottomless pit filled with unique riches. I get hold of my reward and take it out. The musky smell of old books needed its own description. ‘Biblichor’ does not do much justice. The fragrance of those pages already has me dripping with joy. What do we have here? ‘Night Train to Deoli’ by Ruskin Bond!! Almost instantly, I am transported to the hills of Mussoorie and the forests of Dehra. Before long, I am exercising my powers of imagination for climbing those hills and hiking those jungles.
More than two decades later, obscure afternoons of the yore have made a comeback. However, I no longer have to imagine the hills. I have now seen it all. The hills and the plains, the beaches and the deserts. Also, the highs and the lows, the good and the bad, the niceties and the nasties!! In the many intervening years, I lost touch not only with the lazy summer afternoons but also with the world of hills, forests, ghosts and dahlias.
We went to war with a virus more than a year ago. Amidst the grey, Ruskin Bond returned to offer hope through his latest- ‘It’s a wonderful life.’ His words bring solace not only by the sheer power of the story they tell, but also by whiffing up the nostalgia of a simpler world. The pandemic has forcibly and sometimes, inadvertently, led us to explore this uncomplicated world from the past. The writer himself sums it up best- ‘and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.’
The birds still chirp in the mango tree. The wind still carries the scent of rain. My treasure trove is long gone. I search for the ‘Night Train to Deoli’ online and now read it in a new light. The writer did not get down at Deoli to spend a day enquiring for the girl. He was afraid of what he may find out. As a seven year old, this intrigued me to discover the world. Today I know. I know that knowing, isn’t as exciting as exploring the unknown. As I sit here with Ruskin Bond’s heartwarming books again, there is no other place I would much rather be.
These stories are home.
