I was at my gaon (village) last evening. I visit it every time I’m in Sitamarhi to see my parents. I feel calmer there. We have a house where no one lives now. Our grandparents are no more, but our cousins and uncles still live nearby.
Walking inside the house still feels the same as in the old days — when Grandma would make aloo parathas or offer me mangoes (saved just for me) from our bambiya/maldah tree in the angan. None of that exists anymore.
We take everything for granted — only to realize, with time, that we’re fading too. We’re getting closer to death. One of my biggest regrets has been not visiting my grandparents more often; they passed away too soon. I know I was their favorite among all the cousins. 🙂
The bazaar, school, and river have all changed with time. There isn’t much water left in the river, and people no longer swim there. The village school now goes up to class 12. The bazaar still has things to buy and eat, but it feels different.
There still exists a lingering silence within me. I often find myself daydreaming — imagining Grandma around me, talking, smiling, and feeling proud. I feel like the same naughty kid again, being stubborn about what I want to eat and watching the menu change (thanks to Grandma).
Some photos I took on the way and at home.
