Have you seen scooters parked inside a house?
I have.
4 scooters placed back-to-back, belonging to a father and his 3 sons. The gents were all named R. Dayal. We had a single phone, so if someone called, he had to mention if he needed to speak to R. Dayal- lawyer, judge, journalist, or banker.
I spent my childhood in an extended family which included my grandfather-grandmother, Manjhle Papa and Chote Papa’s (father’s brothers) families, Manjhle Dada , and Chote Dada’s ( grandfather’s brothers) families (and of course, my parents).
The main-door in the verandah led visitors (and the inhabitants) into the living quarters of the house. It opened in a passage where the scooters were parked. On either side of the passage were Manjle Papa’s and Dada’s rooms. The corridor led to the dining hall, which was connected to our room, which in turn marked the end of the ground floor.
Adjacent to our room was the aangan. There was a tap in the expanse which poured the most delicious water I have ever tasted. Next to the aangan was an abandoned room. There was a certain mystique about it, especially to my young mind. My mother told me not to venture near the place, as there were mongooses living in it. I never saw anyone enter that room; so it was covered in dust and debris.
In the other side of the dining room was the kitchen, where food for the three families in my grandfather’s clan was cooked. The kitchen window overlooked the pathway leading to the garage; where our mothers could spot us playing cricket.
Also adjoining the dining room was Manjhle Papa’s study room. It had magazines and newspapers stored in heaps. The room smelled of paper, which I loved. My uncle also meditated there. Hence it had an aura of wisdom and calmness. Even as I found the space so compelling, I didn’t visit it as often as I wished to.
The verandah (mentioned earlier as the entrance) had another door opening into the Office, my favorite part of the house. It held my first (mini) library. Sitting on the pages/wings of my story-books I visited some exceptional imaginary worlds, where everything was possible (and which were far different from our normal lives).
The preceding text was a terribly brief and loose description of the Ground Floor of the old house, where I was born and spent the first 10 years (or so) of my life. I have not chronicled the rest of the house and the other elements in the broader compound, which I shall cover in some time.
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