In the Lanes of New Guwahati

I am taking the liberty to reminisce my days in New Guwahati. It's been more than two decades since I got married and haven't living in the area, but a few "oldies" like me would be able to relate to my words. My childhood was nestled in the gentle arms of a neighborhood that felt less like a place and more like an extended family. Every lane, every porch, every gate held a memory - some loud with laughter, others quiet with emotion.

In was in the first half of 1990 that we shifted to the current House No 18, By Lane 9..In those days, "House Numbers" were unheard of, "By Lanes" didn't exist and boundary walls weren't robust. The couple of hundred metres walk from the doorstep to my school bus stoppage at Tiniali in the mornings and taking the reverse route in the afternoons remain vivid in my mind. Sounds clichè,  but yes, those were the days....For a couple of years, the route was muddy - it was made "pacca" much later. The walk to and fro meant muddy splatters on my school uniform, white socks turning orange and frequent mending of my black ballerina Bata shoes (yes, in those days, the school shoes and uniform were restricted to one each for the entire academic year).

Saraswati Puja was a grand affair. Preparation would begin days in advance. We waited eagerly for dance performances by Kiku, Dina and others. I remember Bunku Ba enthralling us with her melodious voice - her first glimpse as a new bride remains etched in my memory. There were quiz competitions,  games and not to mention the delicious khichdi. The young people were dapper in their style; young mothers turned up in beautiful mekhela sadors. The young energetic lads and lasses  managed everything efficiently. Saraswati Puja was not only about devotion - it epitomized camaraderie and teamwork.

I had a very dear friend and a confidant in one man who never missed a cricket match - Atul Barua Bortta. We discussed cricket, books and everything under the sun. He would regale me about the Englishman (Domraine?) who owned acres and acres of land, and was instrumental in setting up the refinery.  The difference of decades in our age didn't stop Bortta and me from being pals. And a very beautiful chunk of my childhood vanished with Bortta's demise a few years ago. 

My childhood would have been a lot less wonderful had Goswami Bortta (Mum ba and Guli ba's father) not been around. He was always there to guide me and was very  protective towards me. 

I remember Gogoi Uncle, Choudhury Uncle, Mukti Barua Uncle, Borthakur Uncle (Meghalee ba's father), Das Uncle (Mimi's father), Kanu Bortta and many more who are now longer around.

Our very own Sika (Bijaylakshmi) is my dear friend Bikram's sister. Don't be fooled by her poise and maturity! Back then, she was capable of putting Dennis the Menace to shame. Sika was a volcano of energy, a bubble of naughtiness. Till now, she's my favorite,  the one who never fails to reach out. Her father, Borpujari Uncle, had an unwavering faith in my medical opinions and advices, and he never failed to seek me out for any health related matter; I miss him dearly. 

Then there was Santa ba (Dina's mother). Words won't suffice to describe her, but let me tell you that when she bade goodbye to New Guwahati,  life lost its charm; Santa ba was was the rainbow in the New Guwahati sky. 

Long before dating became the norm, I tagged along with Bhonti Ba and Arup Da to watch Mel Gibson's *Braveheart* at Vandana Cinema Hall. When the landlines came, I spent hours talking with Mimi, Novanita, Zooby, Meghalee ba, etc. 

This place stands witness to moments like Deta's shocking demise. It has seen me going through the myriad of feelings of my teenage years, my experiences as a young woman - both good and bad. And when trouble came, as it sometimes did, the people of New Guwahati stood by like a shield around me. No one waited to be asked. Help arrived, silently and surely.

My younger brother Mayur (Jumu) tried to give me driving lessons one summer afternoon while Ma was asleep. And I drove our Maruti 800 direct into the drain opposite the Ganesh Mandir! That was my first and last attempt at driving.

Prasanna Bortta driving to work was a welcome sight every morning; he used to drop me and my friend Julie at Chandmari , from where we took the tracker across the railway line to the GMCH. There were a couple of autorickshaws that waited at the Hillview Colony lane, and on numerous occasions, when I woke up late and was in a hurry for my clinical classes, I took a ride - they used to charge me less than the standard fare. 

There are thousands of faces, scores of tales. But both space and patience are limited. In addition,  many new faces are now here. I am just a blur in the horizon now. But it feels great to reconnect. Looking back now, I realize that those bonds were the foundation of our joy, our security, and our strength. In today’s world of closed doors and busier lives, that kind of neighbourly connection feels like a rare treasure. But I hold it close, that memory of unity, warmth, and shared lives, as one of the most beautiful parts of my childhood.

And today, when I pass by the old lanes -  though the houses are freshly painted, highrises have come up and the people have changed - I still see a flicker of my past in every corner.

And I smile. Because I realize that some places never leave you. Because in that old neighborhood, I learned what it truly means to belong.