Remembering the long lost

On 30th December, 2000, we were a group of naughty, super energetic young kids on our way to celebrate new year at our Uncle's residence in West Sikkim. Never before had this bunch ever been on such a trip together, especially to ring in 2001 with a bon fire, live music and dance, good home food and family for company. On the first day of the new year, we requested Uncle to take us to Varsey, some 35 kilometres from our host village. He came up with a mere excuse of resting as "what one does on the first day was what one would do for the rest of the year". Driving was out of the question. So we had to comply with the decision of the high command.

A lot has changed since that trip. My sister and another cousin are happily married, one has settled abroad, another decided against it, two are working for the airlines, two are on their way to earning their doctorates, one of us is a soon-to-be successful businessman etc. In short, we have moved on with our lives and continue to do so.

This summer vacation I decided to spend time in a rural setting. Not an excuse to run away from the crowded capital, not to steer clear of unwanted company, and definitely not to shy away of the various social callings. My paternal village was out of the question because of the lack of any company there. On the maternal side, the house in North Sikkim already houses a noisy, and entertaining, lot plus the ever thirsty leeches so I made a conscious decision to give it a skip. My best bet was this quaint has-been village in West Sikkim yet again. I say has-been due to two chief reasons:

1. It has long surpassed its nearby counterparts, save Jorethang, as a bustling market place.
2. People here, unlike my relatives in North or South Sikkim, have access to facilities like the internet, mobile recharge shops, beauty parlours etc. 

This is my fifth day here and I must say I attract quite a few questioning glares from the curious localites. I am but a new face after all. My Aunt might look like a frail woman at first but she is pedigree through and through once you've been exposed to her mannerisms and handling of everyday affairs in her cosy house. As the sun sets every evening, I walk upstairs to light up the various rooms. My cousin, who is easily the most style conscious man I know, seems to have done a commendable job by installing three tiny lights alongside a pillar, whose lights emanate visual brilliance hung on the wall. One of the frames is that of Uncle and his mother, another of the late grandfather and a final one of Uncle himself. 

Right uptil now I have deliberately kept the untimely demise of my Uncle away from you. Twenty days after the epic new year trip, he died due to a heart attack. I remember as a kid, Uncle would come to our place in Gangtok and buy us this yellow sweet called chakki from the tea shop below. Everytime we heard Uncle was in town, we would squeal out of excitement. He would spend lavishly but these amounts were always followed by some scolding. He was a loud man when drunk, but drinks aside he was a very generous person. Much revered in his village, when we now make trips to this area we see instances of his generosity when we pass the Subba worship centre (I ask for prior forgiveness for not knowing the real title) in Daramdin. The land was donated to the trust in the nineties I believe.

As I lit up the solo photoframe last night, it seemed to me that Uncle was around. Every glance at the picture led to a denial of sorts. It has been a decade since his departure and, even today, I feel he never left us.

"Remembering you as I walk though the old lanes of love, laughter and meaningful relationships. It seems to me, you never left us but continue to live in our hearts and memories eternally".