NPM April 8th.
When I was growing up in the Deccan Plateau of South India, I thought that I would stay little the whole time. Growing up, getting married was never a thought. My brothers and I played in the courtyards of that huge place where mother had grown up. In one of the courtyards, there was a huge tree. My brother would climb it and shake the branches; all of us, including the house staff, would spread sheets on the ground so the berries, called “beyr” would drop down and be collected, and distributed to the entire neighbourhood.
I loved eating them.
Then we moved away further south where father became the dean of a university. Several years later, I went back to my maternal home, and— here is what I have extracted from the poem that I had written.
The Courtyard
I played in my courtyard with a huge tree in the center,
all our games we fashioned around that tree. I knew
that the tree would stay the same for the rest of its life
and mine.
I stand under that same tree now, and wonder why the
courtyard had shrunk, and why the tree
had become so much taller!
(extracted from the poem The Courtyard, from my book Stray Thoughts/Winged Words.)
ZSA_MD April 8th 2016.
I love this, Zakiah! How true that children, without other experience, expect the world not to change, and how surprised we always are when returning after years of absence to find that everything has changed rather drastically! Can you identify the tree or its berries? They must have been tasty!
They are tropical trees and quite large, Janet. During summer, (hah, it is always summer in south India) like in June and July, the tree is full of berries. They are about the size of dates, and meaty with a seed in the center. Very, very sweet. I haven’t tasted them since I left that part of India in the early fifties.
Going back to visit childhood places is always interesting. I think those fun memories will always be there even if the courtyard looks smaller.
Yes, that is the absolute truth. Flying kites, paper boats in the rain puddles climbing trees, all make for such beautiful memories.
Yes the tree was taller but about the shrunk yard i think this is due to a difference of perception of the space .This is like for time : that may seem be long ago or in acceleration .
I learn your father was a dean of a University : a family of Universitaries .
This post is food for thought, Zakia ( as always)
Love ❤
Michel
Yes Michel, father was a scholar and a great educationist.
I agree about the shrinking of the yard…. small children always think that the play area is so large, and when they grow up, the room is so small; their little feet have now become larger and they can cross that same room in just a few steps.
You make me homesick for a place I have never been. Only talented writers can do this! Of course, I love it.
That is a great compliment Cindy. Thank you.
Beautiful, SweetZ.! This brought a smile and a sigh. Very poignant. Oh, I’m so glad for those happy childhood memories, even if everything is smaller when we visit as adults.
Going back to the home I grew up in is too difficult (emotionally). So I haven’t done that for 12+ years now. 😦
I wish I could sit in the courtyard you describe! 🙂
HUGS!!! 🙂
Oh if only you could come and see that land where I grew up, and hear the stories that I heard, and love the people I loved. It was a beautiful time and a beautiful life… my childhood. Thank you for the lovely words Carolyn. ❤ ❤
I love reading about your life and growing up in India. Such a different world from mine.
There was a tree I use to climb in my grandparent’s yard. Like you, I went back as a college student and low and behold, it had shrunk. LOL. It seemed so tall as a child. I still loved it though and climbed on up it again.
love and hugs.
Thank you Elizabeth. It’s all in the way the brain fits the images in a child’s mind, I think.
Beautiful poem, and I love the memory you shared! 🙂
Thank you Marica.
oh, i remember this 🙂
Do you know, when I was writing this post, I thought that you might remember it. I know you have read my book. It brings smile to my face. Thank you.