6 years in the US had changed me! A strangely paced set of events in my early struggle, trying to place myself as decently poised surgeon I had not been able to return to India since the day I chose to pursue a 'better' life. But my memories were all coming back to me, hauntingly. As the train wound on as a black serpent in winding fashion across the Pahalgarh hills, a gale of wind gently slapped my face bringing me scent of freshly soaked earth across the pastuers of Halgaam, my birthplace. 
My dear mom was still, smug, enjoying her nap, quite happy to have succeeded in her experiment. Fighting insomnia for the past 2 years she found relief in taking up a habit of reading Bhagwad Gita when everyone was asleep, while she lay, anxiously wondering, watching and waiting. During my 'Board' years, and my secret affair with a girl in my class, I had a slight taste of insomnia myself. She would blame it on hormones, food patterns and TV; how quickly the tables have turned. I was always convinced it was the gene! I would have been happy, a self-proclaimed mighty, if only I knew the future but then pain stung my heart. Few years away from her and I could see those forlorn eyes, worrying constantly with a brave smile on her face. Her only creation had long ago taken the chisel into his own hands. All she could do is watch me, comfort me and pray.

It had been 6 days since my return which too was a shock to my parents; really my folly-impulsive; trying to pleasantly surprise them with my presence on a fine Sunday morning, dressed as the dudhwallah! The shock, the surprise and the jubiliation, which ofcourse would remain as one of my prized memoir was quite the expected. They hadn't changed at all! All the frantic phone calls to relatives, friends and family followed, the news spread like forest fire, everyone who was anyone's someone was dropping by, like unwanted unexpected allied troopers a mile inland from Normandy beach! A landslide of people just swarmed across the entire house. 'It will be disgusting', I had imagined, 'quickly getting along with everyone'. It was my most feared moment, had always been difficult to deal with so many at once,yet I was strangely calm, rather amiable. I could see a glint of surprise, a doubt in my father's watchful eyes. I quickly guessed what he was thinking, hinted across the hall to him, "6 years have had its pleasant surprises, after all,haan!", I said. He smiled, gleefully.

The train pulled in at 7 in the evening, on time. Mamaji and my cousins were waiting anxiously to see me. "aapdo bhai ketlo badlaayo che(how much has he changed)??" an overdue question in their eyes. Everyone had their own version, an argument began amongst them, occasionally pausing, hoping that I would corroborate someone. They continued no matter what. Mamaji was just too happy to see maa and myself, immediately recollecting the last time we all were together. On our ride back to our farm house, Ketki, one of my most eager cousins came up with a recap of all the 'related' incidents since I had left, almost as if she had prepared a speech for a college event or even more so having claimed the coveted rank of 'Official Spokesperson' of the family. "Official Spokesperson", a stupid game that we all ardently played as kids.No time limit, no rules! The idea being to know each others' mistakes, follies, even secrets; by all means necessary. Once armed with information ask for favours from them, in lieu of trading such sensitive information to the right ears, thus performing a favor in return of not excersing the duties of a spokesperson.

Mamiji had prepared a banquet with a gusto. We all rushed in and exchanged official greetings. She, being somewhat of a poet herself, had taken time out and written an octet for me. Ofcourse, she had someone in mind for me! Over the meal, mamaji happened to mention that he had recently got a few things repaired in the old house, at the other edge of the farm. It was the place where I was born and to what my earliest memories are linked. I cannot remember my coursepacks from few years back but I knew this house like the back of my hand, something prenatal I would imagine. As a toddler, I could remember myself running around, my maa too running around with a bowl of khichdi and my baa(grandmaa) yelling at the top of her voice to my mom to take it easy. "If he is hungry, he will come to the kitchen. Your son is intellligent, you know." All school vacations were spent at the farm with the rest of maternal family. Night times used to be a gentle break for my mom, hell raiser for baa. " Tell me a new story". Every single day poor baa had to invent plots and sub-plots, it got even worse when I started pointing to discrepancies in the story line or hidden possibilites! Even maa would lay by my side and listen to her. I could even see then, she doted on her daughter. My dada even more! Maa was a spoilt kid according to my mamaji.

I asked mamaji if the old house by the farm was still habitable, I had yearned to come back to this house. Yes, he said, he himself used to go to that house and sleep overnight. Sometimes he became too uncomfortable or too hot in the new house. That was a special house, so many memories, the comfort zone. So the four of us, mama-mami, myself and maa went over to spend a night there. I decided to sleep in the verandah.

I got quite thirsty at night. I lay awake, not knowing what to do. I was kind of angry for not asking mama where the drinking pot was. It would be inconvenient to wake someone up just to give directions. Feeling of missing this place for so many years overwhelmed me.  "Come in here, there's a pot" I heard. I got up and went over to the next room, strange, I hadn't asked yet!. A faint lamp was on. "Even I am feeling thirsty, can you pass me a glass first?". Quite mundanely, I did it. "So how are you feeling beta, after all these years, you have been quite busy and all along I had to tell you something" I passed the glass over, she seemed slightly older now, I remarked, her hands wrinkled, dry and cold. Those gold bangles, a glint. I held her hand and asked," Oh wow!! since when have you been wearing baa' bangles?", I sat next to her. She said,"I haven't, but you are not mistaken, you remember those bangles vividly, haan?" I was already perspiring, chilled, hair rising strangely aware,"Baa...?!!"

"Yes beta...you have become a fine young man. I know everything. I am a keen follower, you know." I felt a bead of sweat slipping over my nose. "See how your Iyee is silently sleeping? Poor girl, dear girl. You are her heart as anyone can see, and she is mine. Hmm-ha, she is still a little girl fretting over small things, easily irked, easily pleased, just like your dada." 
"Over the years, she looks even more like you", I added. 
"Yes..she does...But she often misses people in her life. Sometimes me,you, more often."
"She is every bit for me, to straighten my affairs, relentless for my welfare", I exclaimed getting more comfortable.
"Yes, its the genes, you see! Can you open that window, its awfully hot in here, see even she is sweating. She doesn't get much sleep now a days, you see?"

I obliged, a flicker of the lamp, placed the glass back onto the pot, "So baa, you still remember the stor.....baa? baa! b.." Maa turned over, inside her blanket facing the other wall and I saw the copy of Bhagwad Gita left exposed under her pillow. Almost on a impulse, I sneaked it from under the pillow. I always knew it was there in our house, never actually ventured to open it. In bright red ink on the inner cover of the hard copy was neatly inscribed " To dearest daughter Minoo, on getting first rank in 6th standard, love, Madhu-Nalin." I put the book aside onto the table and curled up beside her in the bed. Next morning she had a quiet smirk on her face, more so a glimpse of satisfaction," My child still needs me.."

Other memories of baa and dada are like fleeting glimpses, some more prominent than others, some so real that I can even smell the shikakai in her hair. I remember times when my grandparents use to visit us in Bombay for a few days, twice an year. I was by then in middle school, already bogged down by homework and aspirations. Once, baa and dada pleasantly surprised us, I was just done with my exams, mom was free. That reunion was a particularly emotional one, strangely I remember the exact scene, the circumstance. Dadaji bursting into the main door with bags, again a surprise, again the genes, my mom stirred, running down the stairs to greet Iyee, myself swooshing in an embrace with dadaji and both of us, onlookers looking at a Iyee-mulgi(mom-daughter) reunion. " This time I have come specially to see you, who knows.." and both burst into tears. After two days, baa passed away peacefully in her sleep, a patient of chronic heart disease since years. Dadaji who was prepared for any eventuality, wasn't, he realized. I saw him sternly shedding tears in one corner," Madhu. maari madhu!"