Back in Time

Have you ever witnessed flashbacks trigerred by a smell, a sight or a sound? If you have, then you would know that this is how the brain is said to work; opening 'vaults' filled with events close to our heart.

Events, when the two, who commomly disagree, have been in agreement over the emotions expereinced,making them memories of a lifetime.

My mind too, often takes me on a journey back in time.

I see the snow clad Himalayan mountains, a red brick lined pathway and red and white rose bushes guarding the edges of the lawn;

I smell the sweetnees of the pea plants and the local alcohol brewing in a corner room; I hear the chirping of birds and other familiar sounds that enveloped me twenty five years ago.

I breathe the air once again,I am a child once more-am home in Pedong yet again.

It is true what they say about the place you grow up in.You can never really leave it.It never really lets you go.

A Christian community of God fearing and Christ loving individuals. Those trips downhill every Sunday for the morning mass,a herd of feet scurrying and hurrying on hearing the first gong of the church bell resonate throughout the small countryside;only to be catching our breaths rushing uphill immediately after the mass to be on time and reach the one house which had a television set so we were in time for our favpoutite epic "Ramayana".

Yes,kids and grown ups alike,from one God to another.

Wonder years indeed, spent amidst winter flowers in full bloom,terrace farms boasting of a rich growth of peas,potatoes,rice corn and radish;fruit trees which we climbed and wild berries that we collected followed by the ritual of sampling and savouring them at our own pace.Bliss.

The animal sounds reaching our ears from a distance were a frequent and welcome distraction.I vividly recollect the endless hours spent feeding the cattle ,petting the goats, watching the pigs and chasing the hens back into their coops at sundown.The ceremonious preparation of animal feed was something I so looked forward to.

For breakfast, we always had newly laid eggs picked straight from the coop, boiled and placed onto our plates.A glass of fresh milk, milked from one of the cows just a few minutes ago.

I have been fortunate to witness the birthing of calves and the pure joy it brings to people.

Families often picniced up on the forest clearing and the occasion was solemnised by the act of driving away packs of wolves and families of foxes.

I once accompanied an uncle of mine on a rabbit hunt.We chased but did not kill.

There is nothing more inviting than the sun on a cold winter day.A walk to the infamous "Daara" was more of a custom than a routine on such days. Once there, we lived just on oranges for hours soaking in the sun and taking in the view of the ravines and gorges below and the mountains dressed in white right across.

Throwing our names with all our vocal mights into the hills and waiting for them to answer, fascinated by what I learnt was called an echo.

Mountain air, spring water and homegrown food.The adorable people and their unconditional love.I shall never know what it is that takes me back there time and again.

Maybe,I never really did leave.