4/7 Tagore Place: starting again

The welcome note:
Living at a different place was an experience that I was dreading and looking forward to at the same time. I did not know what to expect, and had no prior data to figure out how to feel. Leaving known faces back at Vivekananda Road was depressing to say the least. The day our rickshaw stopped at our new quarters, I can distinctly remember it was quite overcast – somewhat gloomy. To top that, it was hot – as in really very hot – and humid; monsoons in India ensure humidity to make life as miserable as you want it.

I am describing 4/7 because – I remember vividly every contour of the place; somewhere in my heart, I want 4/7 to be remembered by someone, somewhere in the future – that is it – I don’t want 4/7 as I saw it, to be lost….ever.

Compared to our previous quarters this was a palace. Two bedrooms instead of one, Mom was delighted looking at the spacious kitchen, an enclosed courtyard, a nice little dining space. Couldn’t ask for more. That wasn’t the entire story – the quarters (most people called them bungalows) were in the middle of a third of an acre in land! Two nice patches of green lawn right in the front. Between them, a concrete path led to the entrance door of the house. The entire plot was fenced – a shapely hedge glorified the front fence. A steel gate, whose hinges played a particular set of musical notes, served well as a calling bell. In fact, we did not install a calling bell, till years later.

A kamini tree, with its neatly trimmed shape of an inverted cone greeted us on the left of the concrete path. This was the time of the year, when that tree bloomed; its white little flowers giving out an aroma that can beat any Liz Taylor perfume, anytime. The bush was a constant source of curiosity for my brother and me in our later years. Sometimes, we would discover, bird nests deep inside, sometimes a ball that we thought was long lost. On the other side of the path, was another bush – a white lily plant – whose flowers were as gorgeous as their sweet, delicate smell. The path ended at a small porch, that had a brick red colored concrete bench on the side and a small raised hollow brick platform – the hollow meant for planting flowers. We had instead a raging Tulsi shrub in it – the leaves of which my father used for his daily worship. Right where the concrete bench ended, a jasmine plant, twined all the way up to the roof of the porch.

Thus friends, I welcome you to my formative world with three of my most favorite flowers – the Kamini, the white lily and the jasmine. Trees and flowers have formed my childhood; my attachment to trees is almost like a child to his or her parents. When they brought that jasmine twiner down to build our garage, I wept. I can still recall, those misty afternoons of fiery rains, when I would sit on the red bench, inhaling the jasmine’s sweetness, lost in the droplets of water that decorated the tips of the leaves of that wonderful friend of mine.