A Visit to the Roots

  

                                       A Visit to the Roots

 

Nana (maternal grandfather) had gone to His lap in 1948, Nani (maternal grandmother) (MAA as we all Natis her daughters’ children called her) lived for long, left for her Heaven some times in 1987 at the age 103, subsequently four Mamas (brothers of my mother) and their wives also left for their heavenly Abode one by one: full two generations had gone, so the thickness of relations diluted considerably. In the last thirty years four Masis (sisters of my mother) and Masars (husbands of Masis) also left one by one, this further thinned the relations: left only to bereavements that too sometime. My father left in 1980 and mother in 2010 at the age of 97: this brought almost an end to the blood relation we had with the home of our maternal grandparents whom we still carry in our blood.

 

Recently while returning from Hanumangarh Rajsthan, after attending marriage of daughter of my youngest brother: myself, my wife and son thought of going to the place where my grandparents (Nanke) used to live as it was on the route we were following, the place all three of us had not visited during the last fifty years: there we doubts with us whether still there would be someone to recognise us even on a mention, although we had information about our Mamas bigger families still living there and the most prominent name was that of grandson of my Mama say great-grandson of Nana: Fourth generation boy and fifth generation was school going.  

 

Any way we were on the Road to Pipli in the Dabwali Distt of Haryana, first we met the Tappi village sign board, I immediately nodded area is the same, then came Pirkhanna (Place of a spiritual): the dense thick bushes wherefrom my mother used to pluck berries for making pickle and before plucking she used to offer a Paise or two to the Peer: I was so happy. In few minutes we were in the outskirts of the Village Pipli: I was feeling a little tense and there we saw a person standing outside his home and asked for, by name the person of my Nanke in my knowledge. He immediately responded: “Fourth House from the next turn”. We reached but little hesitant whether somebody would recognise us or not. I entered first and told my wife and son to wait outside. It was a pleasant surprise that a young lady from the house later confirmed as wife of great grandson of my Nana; loudly said you are Delhiwala son of Bua Kalawanti: I was so happy, realized “Blood is always thicker than water”: yes we were connected somewhere. All the three boys and three ladies (great grandsons of my Nana and their wives) headed by the grandson of my Nana surrounded us: as if we were their prize: no amount of words can express the joy and happiness all of us felt in the reunion: their faces were glowing pink. When I looked around I felt I was sitting in the house of progressive farmers with car, big fridge, tractor, trolley, solar power plant, submersible water pump, piped drinking water, four buffaloes two desi cows and one jersey, own flour mill for home only, milk churning machine a house with all this not less than 2500 yards with the intent to acquire more land for farming than building a palacial house: this was totally different from what my Nana as a farmer had. I could see a big heap of cotton fresh from the farm waiting for good price in the market. They grow organic wheat for their consumption and high yielding varieties for the market. In the meantime milk tea was ready for us, made from pure milk from the home kept milch animals so freshening and tasty. For lunch we had chapattis made on wood fire, grams curry with crystallised butter, a lot of homemade white butter and of course glasses full of buttermilk. Garlic chutney made from garlic, red chillies and onions was classic. Halwa of wheat flour made at home was a delicacy.  

 

When one lady was kneading flour to make chapattis, I noticed, the flour was creamish instead of white as we normally have: it was told it was organic wheat that made the difference. I was tempted and asked them to give a 4-5 Kg of atta for our consumption: instead they packed 20 Kg for us. We also carried with us Mustard Oil made from self-grown mustard and 5 Kg mustard leaves and a two litre bottle of home milk which we enjoyed for two days at home. Everything was fresh and telling please carry us along. It is not what they gave us as gift it was the intent with which it was given that was important. It was like a dream we there in my Nanke say after 18000-19000 days when the world had changed but not their love, affection and Apnapan.

 

Long Live My Nanke