There was a man in our neighborhood, or I dont know where he lived. On every Sunday, he used to come in our colony and sit in the outer porch. He had a musical instrument called EKTARA in his hand. He used to recite old Bhajans sitting there. That voice still rings very clearly in my ears. That rustic still melodious voice of his was a source of excitement for me and my sister. We used to just stare him, as we were unknown to the Bhajans that he used to sing. When we constructed new house at the same place with no porch at all :( , he just disappeared. We never saw him again. But the dedication and sincerity in his voice still inspires me. He was not a beggar, neither he was a person who would go to the streets just for singing. I am still confused what his actual job was!!
When there was any thing which could not just thrown away or some things which were too bulky to be thrown away in normal garbage, we kids were more than happy on that day. Reason is these were things which were sold to 'Ataale wala' and amount was distributed amongst kids. That small amount was so precious in those days, even though we had no needs to buy. But the feeling of having some saved money used to give a sense of pride. All the old newspapers, old notebooks were saved for the 'Ataalewala'. We were so careful in keeping the newspapers in good shape just to keep ataalewala happy. That small thing made us to value each thing and each penny which comes our way
Like 'Ataalewala' there was also a 'Jildwala' or 'Binding wala'. The unfilled pages of the notebooks were torm from the note book, piled up and were givrn to 'Jildwala' who used to bind them all. A new notebook for use in the next session was ready using the pages from the old copies.
Our milkman used to shout for us when he used to come to deliver the milk. Then we used to run downstairs and get the milk from him. He was an old person but still used to ride bicycle carrying the heavy milk cans with him. Even in the winters, he never used to wear sweater. His daily clothing were white kurti and dhoti. When we constructed new house, he stopped shouting for the milk and started climbing stairs to deliver the milk at our door step. I never noticed this change until now when i am writing this. Elders asked us to learn his discipline and honesty.
So many things changes as time continues its marathon. But the memories itched in the back of the mind never get erased. I can clearly picture these people and I will continue cherishing these memories as long as I live.
Feeling lost in old days(and loving it),
Mrunal
