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Of late, there’s lots happening in my hometown of McCluskiegunj.
The recently released movie, A Death in the Gunj (Konkona Sen Sharma’s directorial debut) was filmed here and has trained the spotlight back on the country’s only Anglo-Indian settlement, 80 years post its establishment.
However, what piqued my interest was the newly-laid highway which connects Ranchi, the capital city of Jharkhand, with ‘the Gunj’, the name by which we refer to our hometown.
As I took my first stroll down the glistening tarmac, its freshly painted white markings, the neon signboards and the arrows that appear out of place amidst the foliage of Sal, Flame of the forest, Gulmohar and Mahua trees, I realised that it didn’t feel like I was walking down the same road I’d skipped along during my schooldays.
It’s also a stark contrast to the once eroding, potholed, old dirt road of the 50s that would choke with dust after Dr P Badell’s horse had trotted by, on his visit to attend to a patient’s call....
So, hoping to spike their enthusiasm a little further, I asked if they’d come across any wild animals on the way. Their eyes widened. For most tourists those might just be myths. However, in the mid-70s, on many a journey to Ranchi (where our parents headed whenever they had to stock up on groceries and toiletries), they’d be forced to halt their cars and allow a hare or a fox to trot across the road! Not to mention the larger species of wild cats that didn’t need their permission.
It isn’t only the retreating wildlife that has begun to mark the onset of urbanisation. Some of the ways are more subtle.
My family, both from my maternal and paternal sides, were among the first inhabitants who came here, bought bungalows with enormous high roofs and huge verandahs, a pretty chabutra (which is a cemented circular seating) in the garden area, planted orchards, bougainvilleas and settled down to a languid lifestyle.
A lot has changed in the Gunj and lots more will, in the future. Even more quickly since the new road has opened up a quick corridor to places far off.
The last time I visited, like always, I carried out a chair, put it out on the chabutra and waited to hear the familiar evening sounds I had come for. Silence took a while longer to descend and the strain of the gramophone had a hard time pushing through the din of heavy vehicular traffic that has also smothered the shrill of the cicadas. I tuned my senses further and only then caught snatches of chatter of my family and neighbours over tea and cakes.
As the years roll by and new roads lead to new destinations, there will always be one lane that leads to the heart. Down memory lane some things will remain forever the same.
(Lesley D Biswas is a freelance writer who writes articles on parenting, environment, travel and women, besides fiction.)
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