The old intercity bus, a bit rattling, blared its horn through the crowded road. The road wasn’t wide enough to allow this kind of traffic to pass through, a stretch of it was even broken. It was the market area. People from multiple small towns around frequented here for their wants and needs.
Grisha had missed the only premium bus that came by this side from another route and had to take this one instead, the one that went through a messy route and took more time. The braking and speeding did not help in trying to persuade the mind towards peace.
In the last part of the journey, before the bus reached its final stop it was a clear road. Grisha looked out the window and it always surprised her, the feeling this small town gave her, it was like it carried a distinct feeling of discomfort that Grisha felt while going through a horror novel. The houses and buildings were quite old; a new one was a rare sight. Even the road signs looked like they had been there untouched for more than ten-fifteen years. The soul of the place was clearly dying.
Grisha’s paternal grandfather, Mr Rao was born in this town; he spent a major part of his childhood here before being sent away to his aunt’s house who lived in another city.
Mr Rao came by occasionally to meet his family here but he settled in another city. One day when talks of selling the old house in this town came up. Mr Rao decided he wanted to go back to spend some years here before letting go of it. The close memories of the house only remained in his mind and in photographs of those who once were.
No, there was no family remaining there, he just wanted to be back in the town, and his sons could not think of what Mr Rao intended to find there, but yet they made the arrangements.
Now, Grisha in her university student years, came by occasionally. She was quite attached to her grandfather and he would always try to persuade her to come by, mostly with the lure of showing her something unique he found in the house. Last time it was his own grandfather’s typewriter.
The town was silent, with people who kept to themselves in their big old houses. Some apartments had come up on one side in the past five years but most of them remained vacant. There were electricity cut offs, not long enough to justify a generator, but they happened every day, in the evenings. At most there was 20-25 minutes of darkness on rare occasions, generally it would last for 10-15 minutes. Reflection of lights of candles, lanterns or emergency lights could be partially seen in the houses around.
At night, a guard could be heard out on petrol and Grisha thought he had to be the bravest person here to take up that work in a town that looked like it had its share of supernatural around.
In the late evenings Mr Rao would tell Grisha of his childhood in the house and Grisha would try to imagine the little boy she had seen in some of the black and white photographs, running around the house, she would try to imagine the people who were there, a house full of movement, talks and laughter. A town livelier than before because the wants of life were less.
Mr Rao had decided to leave the house for good by the end of the year. Grisha knew the time was coming to an end like it always does and even though there wasn’t much, she would carry with her something to remember forever here.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 