The Culture of a Blessed Childhood

Since everything in life is about culture (or that's what I would like to believe), it's important to talk about some of the crucial ones. Like the culture of being raised in small towns and the beauty of it, culture of enjoying education in school and playground, culture of reading, culture of sharing and spreading happiness, culture of practicing and living a healthy life. But for now, I would like to remind myself of the culture of a blessed childhood. I remember my father telling us his stories of living in one of the remotest villages as the simple farmer's son, crossing rivers literally and walking miles to get education, killing dreams due to financial issues yet braving life to earn a life, and learning and practicing and learning to live a humble life with the amount of success and respect he so rightfully earned and deserved. I never get tired of those stories he used to tell us during power-cut summer nights. And so did my grandmother (Aita) about her children. My maternal grandfather (Koka) too had stories of his life to share whenever I used to be around him. Those summer nights during summer breaks from school were my golden times. Times to know and understand the cultures my parents and grandparents passed on to us knowingly or unknowingly. Those were the best learning days.

I honestly feel I am a blessed child, a blessed soul to have the blessing, company and guidance of such great yet humble minds that I proudly call my family. My childhood memories are amazing. I don't remember them everyday most probably because I strongly feel I am still living them at some point or the other. I can talk about a few though. Like the habit of reading and writing which I believe I got from my parents. Summer nights under clear star-clad sky are still afresh in my mind: I used to write some rhymes and recite them to my maternal grandparents, aunt's family (including aunt [Apa], uncle [Nisa] and my cousins) and their neighbors. That was a ritual almost every summer break from the age of 8 onward. I used to maintain a poetry book to write all my musings (trust me it was precious to me). My maternal grandfather along with the husband of my eldest aunt (Nisa), as true academicians, used to give me summer work of practicing good handwriting - of how to write cursive, and neat and clean handwriting - which I used to wait eagerly to do during my summer vacation. Practicing handwriting was one of my favorite pastimes back then.

Well, not only did I use to practice such writing, there was an interesting amount of reading and not to mention, playing coming along. And all of it was going on in full swing right from my fourth standard onward. A young mind full of curiosity to know, observe and learn bits and pieces from those minds and from life. Reading was a daily hobby, I would say. My small house consisted of a small one-room library that father would fill in with books and more books. The bookshelves was a whole new world to me that opened doors to Maxim Gorky's Mother, Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, Ramayana and Mahabharata, stories of Jataka, Puranas and Panchatantra. There was Chekov and his wonderful world of characters, Russian literature, Grimm's fairy tales, Charles Dickens, and so many others in translated versions in Assamese. I fondly remember the comics father used to bring me. Tinkle came to my life much later than these early comic books. These ones contained stories of Rabindranath Tagore, Chanakya, Ashoka, Vikramaditya, Raja Bhoj, Sudama, Buddha, Krishna, Vallabhbhai Patel, Freedom Movement. I can go on with this list of amazing names. These characters would live in my imagination for days. Then there was a bunch of children's magazines written in Assamese - Mouchak, Safura - which were read so diligently. They were the interesting sources of learning. And reading them was never boring but fun and enlightening to my ever-curious mind.

Playing was another ritual I religiously followed. My cousins and neighboring kids were the companions at my maternal grandparents' where we used to play the regular stuff: playing guests and hosts, playing teachers and students, and games that some of today's young parents, let alone kids, have never heard of. Maybe, someday I would dedicate another post on our games. There was meaningful television as well in those days. Watching Ramayana or He-man or Vikram Aur Betal together with friends and families in the neighborhood was a usual ritual. That's not all. Sunday morning was a day for collective exercise and learning activities at the children's corner in the neighborhood where the children were taught and trained various physical exercises, cognitive ones including debates and quiz on general knowledge, singing, dancing, writing and public speaking. It was not just fun, we used to have district and state-level children's symposiums at that time! I remember my sister presiding over one such symposium at the age of 9. Learning was indeed a serious business for the young minds.

Learning was indeed a serious matter at home too. Our free times at home were always fun times. There would be poetry write-offs among us - mother, father and my sibling - on any random words or topics as simple as flower, sun, happiness, smile. We used to write poems about and around those words, and that was a fun activity everyone in the family used to follow. So was reading and buying books at the annual book fairs in the district. We used to compete with each other on who would buy more books and on different topics. And then the smell of those new books while unpacking at home! More than anything else, I was so eager to finish reading them. And then we had to reflect on what learning it transferred. Knowing what's happening across the world was not at all difficult even though we didn't have the I of Internet at that time. Reading newspapers was an everyday activity for everyone in the family. Buying and reading books on general knowledge was a regular ritual. Reading about topmost players in various games, state rank holders in education and champions who brought glory to the district, state and nation was another ritual.

All of it happened to me as a kid, as a young mind. There was television but the serials were educative and enlightening. There were playmates from all religions in the neighborhood but everybody was taught to celebrate and actively participate in all festivals. There was no Internet and social media but we were very social, well-read and knowledgeable of the world. We were taught and trained to be modest and humble in every possible way. There is not a single moment till date when I or any of my siblings was required to be reminded of the particular time to study, read, pray (that was a daily ritual every evening without fail) or play. We were sincere without the reminders at least in my house. I so fondly like to call them the cultures of my blessed childhood. These cultures are accumulated over time as life would do so, just like the chunks of cloud of different shape, size and hues that create a wonderful canvas called the sky. That's what life is all about. That's what my childhood is all about, and I am glad it's that way.