Continued from Part I

The old house had an aura about it which, combined with its age, its size, the size of its rooms, its garden and trees, the old wood furniture, the delicate smell of my grandma's sandalwood soap that pervaded the furniture and the furnishings, the feel of the cool red-tiled floor, musty-smelling books in bookcases and a thousand other similar things made it, for me, the best place to be on a vacation - it was what a grandparents' house should be. Lucky are those of today's children who have such havens to head to.

I remember tagging along behind my mother plucking flowers for my grandma's routine morning pooja. Sound of a particular birdcall that even today takes me back to the bedroom I used. The old bathroom with its coarse floor. Bathing in hot water from the big brass boiler. Breakfast on the bench in the kitchen. Hot upma, quickly devoured. Several servants to do several jobs. Wandering barefoot in the garden. Eating mangoes perched on the mango tree. Roaming the cool, dark rooms alone. Somehow, none of my twenty-one cousins to play with - not that it mattered. Running behind grandma - agile, sharp, very much in control of housekeeping. A bunch of keys tucked into her sari at her waist. Pestering her to bring out the goodies from the storeroom, kept locked. Homemade ice creams, jellies and custard in the fridge. Sitting on the ledge in the sit-out on lazy afternoons reading a book - picked up from the Madhukars' collection. Spending half the time upstairs, pampered and petted by all four of the Madhukars. Mr. Madhukar, English lecturer, funny, good-natured, a gentleman. Sahaji mai (aunty), as sweet as the biscuits she baked and gave me. Ajit, long-haired, mocking. Called me "Vidya Charan Shukla." Ammani, freckled, read out Tagore's Cabuliwallah to me. Evening aarthis before dinner. Hot humid nights under the fan. Mosquito nets. Bright moonlight streaming in from the open window. Afraid to be alone in the large, dark rooms. Eerie thoughts from stories heard about the death of a former occupant of the house.

When I was about nine, my grandmother sold Sudharshan. The house was too big for two people (grandma and my aunt who lived with her). She was getting old, servants were hard to come by and she couldn't manage its upkeep by herself. It was bought by a wealthy family, which owns a well-known cloth store in the city, and wanted a house big enough to accommodate its large joint family. Grandma shifted to Coimbatore for the next few years, so there was no place to go to during vacations.

I don't remember my feelings then, but now, I wish I could have somehow held on to Sudharshan, bought it and preserved it for myself. I missed it terribly. After many years, when on a visit to Ernakulam, I persuaded my surprised cousin, who lived in the city, to take me to the old house for just a glimpse from the outside. She knew the people, so she took me inside and introduced me to them.

The house had been painted recently and looked new and polished, with none of the majestic and ancient aura that I remembered. Only, they had not changed its name. It seemed to be overflowing with people, indifferent but affable. A smiling young lady said I was welcome to go inside and look wherever I wanted. Never having imagined that such an opportunity would arise, I hesitated, unsure and embarrassed.

As my cousin went in and turned and beckoned to me, I saw huge boxes stacked right in the main passage and under the staircase (somebody explained, "stocks for the store"). Skirting them, we took a peek at the sitting room filled with modern furniture with some men sitting around, and then peeped into what had been my grandma's room. I had had enough by then. I whispered to my cousin and we soon left, hurriedly thanking the young lady.

This wasn't the house I knew, I thought. I had been silly to imagine that it would be the same. I should have stayed away from it, letting Sudharshan remain in my mind's eye as I remembered and loved it.

Last year, on another Ernakulam visit, when I asked, someone casually told me, didn't I know, the plot had been sold to a builder and the old house demolished to construct an apartment block.