For years, all over the India, naani ka ghar (dida'r bari for us who had no "mamabari") has always been the favorite holiday destination. Especially for people like me whose maternal grandparents stayed far away, at Madhya Pradesh turned Chhattisgarh. Year after year, summer and winter holidays meant Indian Railways, and Dongargarh.
How the place always smelled of Sunsilk Black, how the place always had a sky full of stars, a big ground which ended on a bunch of bush and small hills on one side and mud huts on the other. The place of my dreams where Dida told stories on the Khatiya every night, and Dadu took all the children together on a single Scooter for movies to theatres that had fans. It also meant a lot of new tricks and life lessons on cycle, kabaddi, kite tying, plastic flying, roleplay games and 6pm cartoons with Chintudada
Abandoning the place has probably been the worst decision of the family ever, however, visiting the place after about seven years, at a price that's scary but visiting nonetheless. Also, trains after forever, like the old times when Maa and I would be dippy eyed to see the first glance of the hills in the morning when we would wake up, by the sleeper class window seat which would fit me perfectly!
Just that, this time, there's no Naani to welcome us with bhaat and shorsher machh.
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