I left Ranchi, where I did my entire schooling, around 38 years ago and have not visited since. I have fond memories of the playground, our house, my schools (yes, I studied in two schools, excluding the primary classes which I studied in a girl's school), my friends, the cinema halls that I would frequent to catch the latest, the auditorium in our township, the corner stores where my mother would ask me to go and buy some items and in a hurry since she needed it immediately.
My sisters too have a desire to go to Ranchi and meet a few of their friends, with whom they have maintained or been able to renew contacts since leaving the city around the same time.
We have been planning unsuccessfully, it seems, for many years now to visit. At least one of us does not find the date suitable that the others have suggested. The plans have been put off forever.
My classmate, Lalit, lives in Ranchi, in the same township. Another classmate, Satinder, whom we call SP, has visited Ranchi, often on work, and keeps telling me about the township and asks me when I am planning to visit. I don't think I have any pent up desires in life, other than visiting the city where I spent my most memorable years.
Guava Harvest
The guava tree behind our house would start flowering sometime in May in anticipation of the monsoon and would bring forth about a couple hundred fruits (with red flesh) every alternate day (or so it seemed to me). We had to clamber up the kitchen grille, move up to the sun-shade on the kitchen window, and then onto the roof of our single-story house. Access to the branches and thus the fruits would be easier that way. My sister, Shanti, was an expert in climbing up. For long it was Shanti who would be responsible for plucking all the fruits. After some years, I got used to the rigour of climbing up and would do so. Before plucking them and putting them in a bag, I would definitely pluck an unripe guava and eat it on the roof. During season, I think we may have eaten as much as 50 fruits each year. Most homes had a tree and would not need any of the excess fruits that our tree bore us. So mother would take them to the nearby vegetable market and barter some of the fruits for the weekly quota of vegetables. With so many guavas, I was not part of the gang of friends who would pluck (steal?) fruits from others' homes. SP keeps telling me about his exploits with a stone and his unerring aim to bring down some fruits with each throw. I have no way to verify his claim and I am sure he would be embellishing his story.
My sisters too have a desire to go to Ranchi and meet a few of their friends, with whom they have maintained or been able to renew contacts since leaving the city around the same time.
We have been planning unsuccessfully, it seems, for many years now to visit. At least one of us does not find the date suitable that the others have suggested. The plans have been put off forever.
My classmate, Lalit, lives in Ranchi, in the same township. Another classmate, Satinder, whom we call SP, has visited Ranchi, often on work, and keeps telling me about the township and asks me when I am planning to visit. I don't think I have any pent up desires in life, other than visiting the city where I spent my most memorable years.
Guava Harvest
The guava tree behind our house would start flowering sometime in May in anticipation of the monsoon and would bring forth about a couple hundred fruits (with red flesh) every alternate day (or so it seemed to me). We had to clamber up the kitchen grille, move up to the sun-shade on the kitchen window, and then onto the roof of our single-story house. Access to the branches and thus the fruits would be easier that way. My sister, Shanti, was an expert in climbing up. For long it was Shanti who would be responsible for plucking all the fruits. After some years, I got used to the rigour of climbing up and would do so. Before plucking them and putting them in a bag, I would definitely pluck an unripe guava and eat it on the roof. During season, I think we may have eaten as much as 50 fruits each year. Most homes had a tree and would not need any of the excess fruits that our tree bore us. So mother would take them to the nearby vegetable market and barter some of the fruits for the weekly quota of vegetables. With so many guavas, I was not part of the gang of friends who would pluck (steal?) fruits from others' homes. SP keeps telling me about his exploits with a stone and his unerring aim to bring down some fruits with each throw. I have no way to verify his claim and I am sure he would be embellishing his story.
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