You know when you are sitting warm and cosy and suddenly someone cracks open a door or window and that intruder of an icy breeze slaps you awake?

Or when mama is cooking something familiar, how that aroma transports you to a back to when you were a kid to a forgotten land?

Or you are walking down the kocha (alley) to your home, the familiar scents take you back to childhood days?

I am aware that I am trying to explain deja vu and unnecessarily so, but a word is sometimes too fickle to describe the intensity and multitude of thoughts or feelings you are having. Maybe it is an excessive description but just sometimes, excess makes sense.

Or I spiral easily- whatever.

February 2024 – It’s snowing and the local transformer fuse blew. There was no electricity and the otherwise scattered family huddled in the hammam, each in their own corner attached to different contraptions. Allow me to colour the scene in a little bit more detail for you.

We have my dear father with his extended arm (i.e. cell phone) scrolling away as if life depended on it. Dear mother is huddled in a blanket after an episode (more on these episodes later) of excessive cleaning. A blanket warning has been issued that whoever disturbed the precious nap will be dealt with in a manner to be remembered for generations to come. The sister engages herself in multiple pursuits at the same time – crocheting, watching content, sketching, working – whatever combination might suit her fancy. It has to be multiple things with her or she will conclude she is useless. And finally, dearest Badi (my granny) perched on her trusty chair busy remembering the divine or scrolling Instagram. Hey – her priorities!

As the evening unfolded and I looked from one person to the next – it took me back to a scene decades earlier. The situation was quite similar- no electricity, snow and everyone huddled in the hammam. There were no contraptions to distract. A candle was lit and kept in the alcove and that was the contraption that kept everyone together.

There was a gas light powered by the ever-so-efficient Welsbach mantle. Lighting that mantle would be a task only my father was qualified to execute (in his opinion) and if any of us misplaced or tampered with that mantle – that would be it for us. Abaji (my late grandfather) would be tinkering away with the radio – tweaking stations and at precisely 7pm he would tune into Shaharbeen News. He’d listen in carefully to each piece and would be most excited to hear about the weather. He’d be silent for the news telecast, often with his eyes closed or sipping tea and as soon as the telecast would close, he would start relaying it to us – discussing the important pieces, weather and whatnot.

Meanwhile, I would be stuffed in a corner with a desk propped up doing the dreaded ‘Winter Vacation Homework’ closely supervised by every adult present. Oh, how I hated it. Every winter ‘vacation’ we’d be assigned piles of homework and activities which defeated the very name and purpose of ‘vacation’. In response to my puppy-eyed look meant to rescue me from the desk prison, Abaji would give that indulgent stare and would say out loudly – ‘Padhegi nahi toh kya karegi‘ in a tone I would not be able to justify in text here. [Tranlsation – What will you do except study?] Now mind you all of this ‘homework’ was in the labour age with no digital aids. A the start of every vacation, my mom would sit down with me and make a daily timetable for 3 months. Mornings and evenings were fully occupied with the winter homework for primary subjects. Afternoons were for activities and projects because in my parents’ opinion the work was light, fun and therefore categorised as free time.

My father went a step above – he used to make these pre-filled notebooks where he would fill each page with sums. There were separate notebooks – one for addition and subtraction, one for multiplication and division to be done every day. Every evening he sat to review those notebooks. I’d cower behind the desk as I received my review. My arithmetic was ahem, let’s say – mildly respectable and suffice it to say my parents knew their sarcasm.

As all of this was running in my mind, it seemed to be from a life in a different world. The adult me is there – floating above, having this otherworldly experience where I see it all happening. The sound of the mantle catching the flame, the radio static, the Shaherbeen tune, Abaji’s voice, the quiet of the snow, Dad sharpening the pencil, erasing my answers – I feel, hear, smell it all vividly. And in this moment where I was sitting still, I was spinning with colour, noise, movement, joy, song and dance – all at the same time.

This is a part of the kaleidoscope of my childhood – candles, Shaharbeen and Abaji.

-Bareen