A dig into nostalgia

Memories of my ancestral home:  To get respite from the daily hectic schedule of our lives, it is often seen that people rush to some place where they can find solace and one such place is Tagoreland..Yes I am talking about Santiniketan where my ancestral home is located.So much fond memories are deeply associated with this place that if I want to delve deep into it, I might land into the depths of Pacific ocean. It is not a sprawling mansion and neither is like an ordinary manor, but it's aura used to draw me greatly in my childhood and still it does.Encompassed  by different kind of trees like Mango, Arjun, Guava and so on my abode of peace has the ability to provide me with the warmth and serenity specially when my Grandmom and Grandad were alive.I used to bask in the sun in glory looking around for various unidentified saplings and studying the nitty gritty of the plant as well as animal kingdom amidst the lap of mother nature.Strolling around the vast gardens used to give me immense pleasure.''Happiness lies in the thrill of creative effort''..it came true when I discovered some unknown flowers and insects too.Never I became perplexed with the complexities of present day life including belligerent people and crucial situations.Rainy season used to be real fun when just like many other children I could'nt help but floating paper boats in the puddles created in the gardens due to accumulation of rain water.The rainwater particularly aimed to sensitize me with it's form, appeared to be a sweet beckoning serenade trying hard to distract me everytime from the offerings of mother nature but all efforts became futile.It used to create a magical atmosphere in the evening with inscrutable darkness around as those were the days of loadshedding and you blame the inclement weather.The presence of the trees in the garden could be strongly felt amidst the darkness as their whispering songs never ceased to exist. I remember one constant companion to be present along with me throughout the evening - frogs. They were never exhausted, not even with their vocal cords.It reminds me of Pather Panchali where Apu used to savour the rain washed ambience of mother nature.Words fade and memories curl into and finally get printed in the darkroom of the mind to be presented in brighter shades as they ultimately rejuvenate you. Time flies in jet speed and you never know when hardcore reality grips you thereby not letting a chance to dig into the past- nostalgia. Things have changed these days.The house is not dilapidated but to some extent it has lost it's glory after the death of grandmom and granddad.The house still stands in it's composed manner as if it has chosen it's solitude and totally forgotten it's residents who once used to dwell there. Still the wind whistles through the trees hoping to bring showers and blossoms.

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