A Window Full of Memories

Some of the happiest days of my life live in a small two–room house in Bagbazar, Kolkata. By any modern measure it was tiny, but to us it was the most luxurious and peaceful place in the world, because it was always full of love.

I can still hear Dadu’s cheerful voice calling out, “Welcome, welcome!” every time we arrived. Even when he was bedridden, his spirit filled the house. That warm greeting was our official entry into a world of comfort and belonging. And then there was Dadi, her cooking remains unmatched till date. The aroma from her kitchen was enough to make all our worries disappear. No restaurant, no recipe, no chef has ever come close to recreating her magic.

Savitri Pishi, our house help from even before we were born, was another pillar of that home. Her face would light up with pure joy the moment she saw us. She was not just help, she was family. Her love wrapped around us as naturally as the walls of that house.

The greatest joy, however, was being together with all our cousins. Imagine so many children packed into two small rooms, and yet never once feeling cramped. Instead, it felt like the happiest playground on earth. Every corner held laughter, stories, secrets and endless games.

And then there was the window.

Ah, that window!

In the hot Kolkata afternoons, it was opened to let in a breeze, to cool the room, but it did so much more than that. It was our connection to the outside world. From that window we could see who was walking down the road. A familiar face would send us into squeals of excitement. It told us whether the sweet shop downstairs was open, whether we could run out to buy mishti doi, sondesh, or enjoy beguni and chops with evening tea.

That window was our television, our playground, our lookout point, our source of endless entertainment.

One of our favourite games was “Bus Bus.” The eldest cousin always got the prized driver’s seat, standing at the window and revolving the latch like a steering wheel, while the younger ones sat on the bed as passengers. There was fierce competition for that driver’s spot, because it came with the best view of the road and all its happenings. I truly believe no video game today can match the thrill of that simple, innocent game.

That window has seen everything.

It has seen us grow up.
It has seen us jump on beds, laugh till our stomachs hurt, fight over silly things, and make up again.
It has watched us relish Dadi’s fish recipes and her unforgettable aam er chutney.
It has listened to Dadu’s stories, our late-night study sessions for joint entrance exams, our whispered conversations and our childish dreams.
It has witnessed our joys, our tears, our mischief and our milestones.

One of the most emotional moments for me came years later, when I took my daughter to that very house. I made her stand at the same window, letting her feel a piece of my childhood. For a brief moment, time folded in on itself, I was a child again, laughing with my cousins, playing bus-bus, waiting for evening snacks.

With pride, nostalgia and a full heart, I introduced her to the window that shaped so much of who I am.

Some houses are made of bricks and cement.
Ours was made of memories.

And no matter where life takes me, a part of my heart will always remain at that little window in Bagbazar.