When a person finds time hanging heavy on his hands, – after retirement maybe, or when the children are settled and far from home, – he tends to sit back and let his thoughts wander. The thoughts that come to mind are almost invariably of one's childhood, which are usually tinted with a rosy hue. I, too, often find myself sitting on the balcony, lost to the present world, my mind wandering around various incidents and pictures of the long gone past days.

I was born in Shillong, and spent a large part of my life there. The Shillong of those days was quite different from that of today. Many of the beautiful “Assam type” houses have been replaced with monstrosities of cement. A large number of the stately pine trees have been cut down to make room for people. Even the Golf Course, at one time one of the finest in the eastern world, and the pride of Shillong, has not been spared. It is now surrounded by Government quarters, and the resultant bazaars and “eateries”.

The wide expanse of meticulously kept, cool green grass no longer soothes your eyes, as you turn the bend in the road. The Golf Club is still there, the house is the same one, but the sheen of sophistication, the innate dignity, is missing. We used to look forward to Saturday afternoons, because this was when our father would sometimes take us to watch the horse races from the hills looking down to the famous Polo Grounds .We were always aware that the most glamorous and sophisticated of Shillong society were in the Turf Club, involved somehow in all this horse racing business. But our cup of happiness was full as we sat around in those pine scented hills looking down on the galloping horses, absently munching roasted peanuts and other such delicacies! …….

There was a road leading down from Upland Road, where we lived, to the Polo Gounds. It was one of our favourite walks on holidays. We would go past the large houses with lovely well kept gardens, like the Rupshi House, going down a steep hill until we came to the road adjacent to the Polo Grounds, with the stream Umkhra, separating the road from the grounds. Following the road to the end of Polo Ground, we would climb the twisting path leading up to the posh residences of the top Government officials. The beautiful and elite Pine Wood Hotel, and the stately Government House with its vast compound, and the small house in front of the imposing gates, where the sentries lived, was complemented on the opposite side by the famous Wards Lake with the Shillong Club visible behind it. Turning left from the Sentry House of Government House, we would take the path to Jacob's Ladder, a steep and narrow lane, at the top of which was the Don Bosco Square. From here we would go left towards St. Mary's Convent, and thus, back to Upland Road, and our home, ‘Narayanpur’, after an exhausting and pleasant morning or afternoon.

Sometimes, a group of us – young boys and girls from the neighbourhood, would opt for a ‘picnic’. Our leader was invariably Subirda, who was the eldest. There were Pulin, contemporary of Subirda, his sister Pori, and their younger brother Partha, Manu, the two brothers, Rana and Jit, and their cousin and my great friend, Bhanti (Manjari), Subir's younger brother, Subroto, my brother Bitudada, and myself. Armed with cans of roasted peanuts and bottles of water for the road, and packets of rice, dal, vegetables and eggs for our lunch, we would take the road to the Spread Eagle Falls beyond the Ram Krishna Mission, and about one-hour's walk from our house. Once there, the two eldest would get ready to be the cooks, preparing khichidi and boiled eggs, while some of us would go around to collect firewood. The others would simply loll around indulging in jokes and songs. I forget what we used for plates. But, after a delicious and piping hot lunch, we would clean up the place, pack up and leave for home at about two, or at most three, in the afternoon, arriving home happy and pleasantly tired before late evening.

I remember that once we even celebrated Saraswati puja in our house. Akan Mahi, an aunt of one of our friends, was our "friend, philosopher and guide", and ‘Romudi' who was already in college, was our leader. We were all up and bathed early on that cold January morning, and had started the decorations for the puja mandap even before our parents were aware of what we were doing. We had even arranged for a purohit (a priest), and the ritual Saraswati puja lunch of luchi, chana dal and tomato chutney could not have been more delicious! I forget who had cooked it. In the evening, we had organised a very hastily planned ‘Variety Show' under the leadership of Romudi, which proved to be a disaster, since most of us did not remember what we were supposed to do! But the audience, comprising mostly of our parents and a few other neighbours, were most indulgent and appreciative.

The practice of celebrating Rongali Bihu as a public festival started comparatively late in Shillong. In our childhood days, Bihu was a strictly family affair. The town being the capital of the State, a large number of our relatives were posted at Shillong in various Government jobs. My parents were the eldest members of the family in Shillong, so all the others would assemble in our house for festivities. And what fun we used to have! The morning would start with traditional chewing of masur dal and neem leaves, in order to wipe out all bitterness for the coming year, followed by the ritual bath with maah bota and kesa halodhi. Gradually, as the morning wore on, the relatives would start arriving. After the Bihur sewa to the elders, there would be exchange of gamochas and other presents, and our mother would get busy in the kitchen, aided by some of our aunts. (I remember with nostalgia today, that after I got married, my husband would always help my mother, rolling out the luchis for her to fry). After a sumptuous and traditional lunch, everyone would sit in the large drawing room and relax, gossiping in great good nature. Those who still had the energy would go out to the big lawn in the front of our home, and start playing different games. A strong favourite was cricket! And thus, the day would end - a happy and relaxed family get-together, full of joy and camaraderie. But it was not yet over. There was still the Husori to prepare for! Replete with happiness and good food, all would opt for a very simple dinner. Then our mother would make sure that there was enough uncut tamul -paan, and silver coins to offer to the husori parties that would invariably come from house to house in the night. Of course, we had to go to bed at a particular time, and would also fall asleep after the fun and exhaustion of the day. But even in deep sleep, I think one ear must have been attuned to the husori, because at the very first sound of the dhol and taal, at the first strains of Deutar Padulit, my brother and I would jump out of bed and rush to the front verandah. My parents would come out, my father in dhoti and kurta, would bow down to the Husori party, formed by respectable gentlemen from around Shillong. They would form a circle and sing a number of typical songs with a religious and spiritual background, and also a couple of Bihu songs. Then, father would bring out the prepared sarai with whole betel nuts and betel leaves and coins in accordance with the respectability of the members of the party, and covered with a phulam gamocha, get down on his knees and offer it to the Husori party. They, in turn, would go down on their knees, call on the Gods to bless the family, take the offerings and go their way to their next house of visit.

Durga puja was another very special time for us. Aside from the eagerly awaited new clothes, particularly from our maternal grandmother (our father's mother had died long before any of us were born), the very fact that grandmother was with us for a long visit was in itself an occasion for celebration. She was extremely generous when it came to her grandchildren, and she was always full of fun and cheer. I will never forget her arrival. She would arrive in her old Austin car, driven by Umesh, her equally old driver, whom we had seen since our earliest days. He was always dressed in khaki half pants and a loose white shirt. I do not remember him ever wearing any kind of footwear. He kept the maroon Austin immaculately clean, and was very proud of it. Woe betide any of us children if we so much as spilt even a few peanuts inside it! Of course, we would be notified in advance of her arrival, and would be eagerly waiting for her car to turn into the driveway. As soon as it stopped in the car porch, we would rush to open her door, and she would be ready for our loving assault, with a large smile and a big container full of our favourite larus and pithas.

Durga puja then was quite different from what it is today, – at least, it was in Shillong. I must admit that I cannot really enjoy Durga puja in Guwahati, in spite of all its glamour and fancy lighting. The essence and spirit of the festival seems to be missing. I dare not say much more regarding this for fear of arousing the ire of Guwahatians! But the festival in Shillong was much more fun, despite the fact that most of the time was spent in the one area puja pandal, which was almost like a family celebration.

Winter was a season to be enjoyed, especially the early winter months of November and December. January was quite unpleasant with the biting winds and the sun just managing to filter coldly through the bleak days. Also, most of the people had left Shillong by the second week of the month for warmer places, and for Magh Bihu at one’s village home. But December was fun, not mainly because of the festive season of goodwill towards all men, but because of the bracing weather, too. The bright sun early in the morning with the refreshing and invigorating nip in the air was itself a joy. Then, of course, school was also over and exams done with. There was nothing to do but enjoy. The elders, too, seemed to be mellowed by the spirit of the season, because somehow parents did not seem to be as strict as they were during the other months! And in the evenings, the unique coziness of the brightly lit chimneys, with the family gathered around, each occupied contentedly with his own favourite pastime! Or maybe the entire family would opt to engage themselves in some common leisure, like a game of cards or just telling each other stories. It was great and incomparable fun indeed, something I have never again experienced. No amount of sophisticated artificial flames or heating systems can compensate for the sheer pleasure of those evenings.

With the reopening of the schools in the first week of March, life would start resuming its routine. But then it was time to look forward once again to the lovely Spring season of the old Shillong, with its hedges bursting with white May flowers, the flowering plum trees and peach trees promising a harvest of rich juicy fruit in the months to come; the delicious red berries and black berries which abundantly lined the edges of the roadsides, and which we were free to enjoy as we walked along; and to those long, leisurely walks through pine scented woods on Saturdays and Sundays, culminating in the fun and festivity of Bohag Bihu.

Reminiscences of the joys and beauties of the Shillong of old are both nostalgic and happy, and one hardly knows where to stop. But there must always be an end to all things. So, this will be my enforced full stop for the time being – to be resumed, maybe, at some future time.

Gayatri Bhattacharyya