The other day I stepped out to the terrace and my feet burnt. The red tiles of the terrace floor were so hot. Instead of pain on my face, which is my normal reaction, I smiled. It was instant. My feet felt the heat and my face lit into a smile. A small memory hidden in the recesses came up. Summers in Jharia were always scorching. If we went to the aangan to cross from one room to another, our feet would burn. Terrace was a complete no no till four pm. Then we would go to remove the clothes which were drying and were warm. The terrace was swept and then water was splashed on it so that our rooms below cooled with sun set. Later we would put our mattresses and sleep with Granny on the terrace. Granny ,six children, religious stories, gentle breeze and the stars. My world was complete.
A friend gifted me a bag with beads and I was all nostalgic. Our drawing room had jute and bead curtains. It was not jute. It was the brown strings of coir like the threads of a brown gunny bag. I had a bead bag with the same brown rassi. I loved it. In Jharia, people did not have a formal drawing room. There was an outer room of the house to sit and the room closest to the kitchen was to eat. At our home dad had made a formal nice room with false ceiling, fancy hanging lights, handmade furniture and rust sofas. The flooring was daane waali tiles unlike the cemented red,green and brown which were common those days. We kept it shut and opened it when important guests came. Our tuition teacher came and taught us there. I guess my Parents knew the importance of educating their children. And the Guru was the most important person in the family.
Snippets from the past and they make me smile thru the day.