My life in Ballygunge Place

The years of my childhood were spent in a house that was full of people. Even though the house was modelled on the apartment building concept, which was a novelty in our country in those times, there was a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing between the members of the entire household and being the first child of the house I had unlimited access to every individual resident.
My days contained a healthy amount of school books, kittens, Tagore songs, homework, ludo and a lot of talking. Very early on I had decided that I loved talking and listening. I had conversations with my parents about whether to go to the mountains or the sea for our annual vacations. I conversed endlessly with the domestic help about the Hindi and Bengali movies on Doordarshan and even sang songs at their request. I spoke to my great-grand-aunt about the things that I was learning in school and how my social calendar even as a 7 year-old was choc-a-bloc with birthday party and 'day-spend' invites.

But most of all I loved talking to my best friend. A kindly spinster who loved me to bits and treated me the same as any adult. Daily I would come back from school, bathe and then dawdle with my lunch for an hour before flopping into bed with a story book. After a good read and an afternoon siesta I would go down the stairs, clutching my ludo board and cards, to her flat. She would serve me tea in my own special cup and puffed rice in my own special bowl and let me dip my tiny hand upto the elbow into her biscuit jar. We would sit  companionably and she would tell me stories of her life and her relatives while I would tell her about my school, friends and teachers. It was an exchange between equals. Then we would play a game or two of ludo and cards and then finally, I would sing some Rabindrasangeet for her. At the stroke of six my mother would call for me from our flat above and I would wind up my visit and potter upstairs for homework followed by dinner and bed.

Life was simple back then. I used to draw greetings cards for all the old ladies of the household for every occasion starting from Holi to Christmas. I would spend my summer holiday afternoons chasing the latest litter of kittens from one end of the house to another and barter news from one flat to another for edible treats. I spoke so much and so incessantly that my mother was quite glad to be rid of me for hours at a time. This is how I developed a love for old people. I thought they had a lot to say and a lot of stories to tell from their past which was interesting wasn't it? I could not wait to grow up and grow old!