Dust in the Wind

My darling Opsi,

And the walls came tumbling down….

The strains of a lyric and a biblical story long forgotten, knocked my mind with the force of a tsunami as I sat on the little red bench on the boundary of what was once North Avenue, IIT Delhi. And in front of our eyes the house where you had spent your childhood came tumbling down to make way for the new Girls Hostel complex. Along with it the part of the campus where we had raised you was reduced to rubble.

I was walking your first rescue, our now senior dog Phulki, when the walls of our former house came crumbling down. I was taking a short breather while walking and was resting on the little red bench below "the hill" of North Avenue where there was once a pump house and the gardeners gathered. You know the one adjoining the main guest house where you would drop in once a while to play TT? Phulki offered a sit without being asked and suddenly went still, rooted to the spot. She looked up in surprise as a giant machine brought 23 and 24 North Avenue down. Just like that! Did she understand the significance of what she was witnessing? I wondered: were Phulki and I destined to be here at this exact moment when this building would come tumbling down? After the dust and sound had settled I said to Phulki: "come Phulki let us go home." Our new home was now on an adjacent road next to another hostel which stood where once there were family homes.

When Phulki and I witnessed the demolition of the building which we had called home for so many years, you of course were no longer physically on this earth. You had by then left more than three years ago. Phulki knows you have left. She and I also instinctively understand at a deep cellular level that nothing in this world is permanent.

Why then Apu, this lingering sadness over bricks and mortar and walls that had once echoed with your laughter and tears and Phulki's sharp barks? For the garden with the hibiscus shrub with its vivid red flowers? For the tree full of the fragrant night-blooming shiuli flowers that would cover our car every morning like a layer of snow? For the moringa tree laboring under the weight of the drumsticks which we used for your favourite sambar? For the squirrels which would scamper up and down on North Avenue moving from one garden to another as Phulki chased them relentlessly? For the peacocks that would dance in the rain swept greenery of North Avenue?

And suddenly in that moment I felt a heaviness in my heart again for Kalonji and Kulfi and the brother duo Gulab-Jamun the North Avenue community dogs who faithfully patrolled the roads and trotted alongside our house dogs when they were out on their walks. Since you left, Kalonji, Kulfi and Gulab have crossed the rainbow bridge and I am sure you received them with outstretched arms. The adorable Gulab is survived by his brother Jamun who we fully adopted after you left and he lives with us now in his new abode – the only surviving canine of North Avenue.

What was once North Avenue had a patch of green where you had played cricket every evening with your friends after school. "The triangle" was what you called it. Every evening you gathered your band of friends – phone calls were made with the seriousness of office meetings – what time are we meeting in the triangle? Who is bringing the cricket balls, are we using wickets or the tree as a wicket, should I bring the willow bat that my mother got from Kashmir? And later an even more burning one …do we need to play with GIRLS? A senior citizen had apparently passed by while you were all in the throes of a nail biting match and said sternly: where are the girls of North Avenue? Does the triangle belong only to the boys? You came home that evening profoundly exasperated, having received your first lesson on gender equality! Now we have to share the triangle with the girls! The thought of playing along with them in the cricket team was not something 10-year-old boys entertained – at best it was - OK we will play from 4 pm to 5 pm then the girls can have it!

So much drama around cricket in North Avenue! Smashing the windscreen (or was it the window?) of a car parked on the triangle while the cricket ball was swinging its way to a boundary! Your father and another father having to go and apologize. You and your friends completely unrepentant! The next day there were posters adorning the trees of the triangle. Print outs of an appropriate font had been organized and the stern messaging was pasted on the trees! "The triangle is our playground. Park at your own risk." It was solemnly signed: The Children of North Avenue!

Who will tell the students who will now live in tall gleaming residential towers that their manicured gardens were once spaces which held a hundred stories from My family and other Animals? That the state of the art recreation centre coming up was once a zone that resonated with the swish of the willow bat from Kashmir and the echoes of songs of birds that no longer have their old familiar trees to perch on? That the pathways they will walk were once redolent with guavas, mangoes and lemons from so many home gardens? That their lawns will carry the imprint of the tyres of children learning to cycle for the first time and the feel of the wetness of pichkari sprays after Holi?

So Apu, once a while as you travel across the multiverse, remember to drop by to what was once North Avenue, IIT Delhi. Maybe amidst the cranes, the cement mixers, the dust, the metal and the rubble you will still hear the echoes of an old song, the laughter of childhood friends and the sound of a cricket ball as it hits the bat and wings its way to the boundary.

Travel in eternal bliss, beloved child.

With love always,
Maa

Post Script: I took Jamun for a walk to our old stomping ground. The entire area is now cordoned off with giant blue gates promising a state of the art hostel facility. And the little red bench where Phulki and I had sat the day 23 and 24 North Avenue came down? It too is now "dust in the wind".