And I was thankful that the green building remained green.

This morning, I found myself walking the streets of Gandhi nagar, where we lived for a while some seven years ago. I was out of sorts, and 'd intended on a walking a few blocks: the weather was lovely, and there is something on those tar roads riddled with red petals, and the trees lining it that quietly whispers 'home'. But I kept walking (with a stop at an unfamiliar kirana for water and a few melodies), tentative steps increasing in pace until I forgot everything in the pleasure that only a brisk walk can give you. (Here, I was beyond my knowledge for a while, before I found myself on familiar road again.)


I walked down the streets I'd walked so long ago, my trusting hand in daddy's, looking up to him, and pretending that it was not very tough to keep pace with him. Sometimes, he'd told me stories of the days of old, of the village where my grandfather had practiced as a doctor, of the bungalow they'd sometimes stayed in, of a faithful dog whose name I forget, and of the hut that was theirs. I'd listened, asking endless questions, trying to hide my fatigue from walking so much. Somehow, the distance did not seem to be so much this afternoon. I felt all grown-up, suddenly, with my handbag and new shoes of three-quarter-inch heal.


The streets felt different too. And that was not entirely the result of me being an unobservant, often spaced out creature with no head for road-details, no. There clearly were a few unfamiliar apartments, all new and swanky, with names such as Om Sai Deluxe and the like. One of the parks where the boys had played cricket was now a monstrosity with impossibly green lawns and a locked gate. Pray, what's the use of a park if one can't enter it? The green of Trinethra was now an orange, slightly cluttered 'More' (as it is everywhere else), and there was a posh new State Bank Of India opposite it. (I withdrew money from the ATM, and bought soap, of all things, from the supermarket.) I almost went inside the roadside cafe beside Trinethra -I refuse to think of it as More- where we -me, jiji, and Pushpa Aunty (who stayed next door), that is- stopped for cool drink after shopping expeditions with our neighbour: that remained the same, after all these years.


(Here I took a detour to the main road where I knew there was a watch-repair shop, to get a new cell for my poor, long-neglected wrist watch. I entered a temple I found on the way -yes, me, after this- in search of some calm. Everything was closed, and I was all 'what's the used of a temple...?')


When I was making my way back to those streets I hadn't seen in so many years, I felt an ever-so-slight triumph, that I remembered that the road bends at a certain point. And I was thankful that the green building remained green. Umm, that being at a turn that I was supposed to take, and all that.


I walked down what I'd once named the 'trees avenue', then marveled at things being so completely unfamiliar before I realized that I'd lost my way again -did I mention I have a very poor sense of direction?- and had to retrace (here dad called, wondering where I was, and asking me to hurry home for lunch) my steps. I turned homeward, then, but couldn't resist the streets where I'd taken my 'Happy Sunday' walks so many years ago, inspecting all those pretty one-storied homes, and deciding on a new favourite every time: today, I decided on a house with vines creeping along its stone walls.


My colony felt almost unfamiliar, and the neat lanes with sparse trees and neat rows of houses too bare to be of comfort. When I finally entered home, I threw myself onto the bed, with tired legs, endorphine-d brain (or so K. reminded me), and now a rambling blog post to show for my two-hour walk. If you can, forgive me the too many commas, colons, dashes and parentheses,  and any other piece of erratic punctuation. I will not apologize for the whimsical word choice.