Memory is unpredictable . One never really knows what we will remember and what we will forget. Which is why nostalgia arrives in unpredictable waves, highlighting something and skimming over others. Recently, I have found myself thinking of how memory works, as I was assailed by nostalgia over a trip to Varanasi, a city I prefer to think of, as Kashi. The nostalgia hit right as we landed at Varanasi airport. The last time I was here, it was 1988, I was 13 years old, the airport was brand new… regular flights hadn’t started yet (I think) … flights landed about once a week, and for the rest of the time, everything was open to those of us who lived in the airport quarters nearby. There were fields everywhere, vast expanses of green… I have vague memories of corn and sugarcane… and being overwhelmed by the vastness of the fields (this was the first time I was in such close proximity to them), and the warm hospitality of complete strangers who lived and worked amidst these fields. I h...
The rains are here, but it still doesn't seem the same . It rains, but in a desultory way, as if it's heart isn't in it. More of concern is the fact that there has been very little rain in the catchment areas, which means that we are looking at a major water problem. It has already been announced that the water cut is being taken further, so we shall get water just once in two days from now on! On a personal note , Samhith is upset that the snails haven't appeared yet. We spend our few minutes waiting for his bus looking for snails and earthworms, but haven't seen one yet. Meanwhile, as we wait for the snails and the creatures of the rain, here are the birds and other members of our extended family whom we have been noticing from our window - Red-Vented bulbuls - there are plenty of them around, and they regularly come to eat the food we put out for the crows (a tradition which symbolises providing food for our ancestors). But I have never been able to take ...