Dr Surabhi travels down the memory lane to reminisce her childhood days, her family and her bond with her dad. We are introducing a fortnightly column by her, from this week. An exclusive for Different Truths.

As educated people, we sometimes do not admit to beliefs and divinity. Many a time the subconscious turns to God in His many avatars to guide one on a path of righteousness. When we enter a place of great reverence where thousands have paid homage, the experience is unforgettable. The smells and sounds of rituals being performed and in some case the aura of a place of worship, where many others worshipped before us, are, what makes the experience memorable and special. It is so beautiful to see other souls being touched in that way. In place of worship, there’s gratitude, which is wonderful to feel.

My childhood was quite simple, with lots of laughter and love. My parents were very God-fearing. They were practical too and never enforced spirituality upon us. My visit to several religious places in my hometown with either my Mom or Dad, were, just pleasure trips

My childhood was quite simple, with lots of laughter and love. My parents were very God-fearing. They were practical too and never enforced spirituality upon us. My visit to several religious places in my hometown with either my Mom or Dad, were, just pleasure trips, when I was 3/5 years old, an age when no questions are asked. And I did as I was told

‘Bhagwan ji ko jai karo’, and as a little munchkin, I joined hands doing Pranam. As I grew older, I developed my personal relationship with God. It made me feel humble and at peace.

One such places of worship, which I, sometimes, visited with my mother was Kalyani Devi temple, in the old city area of Allahabad. Many times it was just a pleasure ride for me on a rickshaw, all the way from my house near Prayag Station. A great way to enjoy the crowded area, from University road, Science faculty of Allahabad University, Elephant park, Museum, Civil lines, Hanuman temple, Powerhouse, Niranjan Cinema, Chowk Clock Tower, Kashi Ornament House, bypassing Loknath, traversing the multiple, narrow lanes, to reach Meerapur, where the temple is located. It was an hour-long, breezy journey, way back in the late 70s. The experience was unique, and the rickshaw ride, back home always included, stopping by at Loknath to have Matka Kulfi, which, Panna Lal, our rikshaw puller, always looked forward to.

Pannal Lal was a sturdy fellow, very comforting, very sensible, in his early thirties. He parked his cycle rickshaw, in our backyard and stayed with his family in the quarters, allotted to him and other servants, who served, several generations of the Belvedere Press owners, tracing their forefathers, right from the British era.

Pannal Lal was a sturdy fellow, very comforting, very sensible, in his early thirties. He parked his cycle rickshaw, in our backyard and stayed with his family in the quarters, allotted to him and other servants, who served, several generations of the Belvedere Press owners, tracing their forefathers, right from the British era. He was sensible enough to have two kids only, whom his wife nurtured in the best way she could.

She also worked, for a few hours at our place, helping my Grandmother with oiling her hair, washing her clothes, plucking the flowers for the pooja, cleaning her room. Both enjoyed each other’s company. She would tell stories of her father-in-law and his forefathers. They were all employed at the printing press. How times changed and printing work reduced and most of the employees lost their jobs. Panna Lal wanted to study but had to sacrifice his dreams to earn a livelihood. She was happy that Panna Lal, only smoked bidi and had no other vices, like few other in the quarters.

My Dadi, and Planna Lal’s wife Gulabia, would occasionally gossip about all the other residents of the campus. Many talks were just assumptions of who got pregnant and who had some problem at the home front, or whose newly married children were troubling their parents or whose children were excelling in studies. The joy and sorrow of each one, who resided in the well-built bungalows, in the sprawling press campus, would be discussed, with great zeal. Dadiji was generous enough to dispose off her old sarees and some of our old clothes, shoes, books to Gulabia. She would always ensure that Gulabia was not hungry, her children were studying properly and occasionally she would give her some fruits and leftovers to carry back home. The couple’s hard work was well rewarded and their two sons are in a State Bank job now.

Dadiji was generous enough to dispose off her old sarees and some of our old clothes, shoes, books to Gulabia. She would always ensure that Gulabia was not hungry, her children were studying properly and occasionally she would give her some fruits and leftovers to carry back home. The couple’s hard work was well rewarded and their two sons are in a State Bank job now.

The journey to Kalyani Devi Temple, on September 18, 2019, holds a special place in my heart. Dad was discharged from the hospital and wanted to visit this temple. This time it was a ride in our car, that accommodated my Dad, Mom, me and was driven by Pradeep, a young, faithful driver, residing in the old quarters. My heart was pounding with emotions. I was a little apprehensive wondering, how my, very practical Dad, was behaving like a child. He was the one, who always told us, not to roam unnecessarily on the roads. For him reaching home, after a long hospital stay would be the first priority. Earlier, even a ride to the temple would be well coordinated. The type of prasad, red flowers (Hibiscus and Roses) for offering to Devi and the right time for worship were well planned meticulously, prior to any temple visit.

Dad wanted to go around the town too, the driver looked for my approval in the rear mirror and drove us from Nazrath hospital towards Minto roadside, crossing the British cemetery, fly over, New Jamuna bridge over Jamuna river, Jamuna Christian College, Ewing Christian College, we crossed several florists, vegetable vendors, general merchant shops, through narrow bylanes of old Khatri houses, to an alarmingly congested area of Meerpur, that housed the staircase to our destination. The old and majestic Peepal and Neem trees, which earlier had so much space to breathe, were, now surrounded by a concrete platform. The temple, flashed, a multitude of childhood memories. The temple used to be very neat, clean, beautiful, calm, soothing and spiritual too.

Dad wanted to go around the town too, the driver looked for my approval in the rear mirror and drove us from Nazrath hospital towards Minto roadside, crossing the British cemetery, fly over, New Jamuna bridge over Jamuna river, Jamuna Christian College, Ewing Christian College, we crossed several florists, vegetable vendors, general merchant shops, through narrow bylanes of old Khatri houses, to an alarmingly congested area of Meerpur, that housed the staircase to our destination.

“Om Namo Lalita Devyai Namah”

Next to Naimisaranyam, which is also an ancient Lalita Devi temple. Kalyani Devi temple is one of the sacred Shaktipeeth, Lalita Devi. The three-stone idols enshrined in the temple dates back to 1883. Kalyani Devi in the centre, flanked by Chinnamasta Devi on the left and Shanker Parvati on the right are worshipped with all daily rituals of Shingar and Arti, by the priests residing in the temple premises. The temple is considered auspicious, as Goddess Sati’s little finger is believed to have fallen here. Chaitra Navratri and Ashwin Navratri, are the two important festivals that are celebrated in this temple in the months of March/April and September/October.

Dad was finding it difficult to climb the stairs, so he sat on the staircase. He looked at the skies. We bought some fresh Roses and prasad from the flower girl, who was brisk enough to wrap it in a banana leaf. Mom lit a few diyas in the clean courtyard of the temple. We both prayed in unison, bowed our hearts and thanked the Goddess for being with us. Mom stood mute, with tears rolling freely from her eyes. The chief priest blessed us. Following this, there was a brief spell of meditation. We sat quietly in total awareness of what was happening at the emotional and mental levels. We departed with a lot of gratitude and positive memories. Our journey back home was silent and serene. Our car was full of the sweet aroma of Roses.

As we drove back home, the image of my strong, robust, active young Dad, faded in the sunset rays that dipped in the Jamuna water and my silent tears flowed. My Dad, who was a pillar of strength, walked straight, had aged gracefully, his shoulders drooped, he spoke less, he drove a little slower and more erratically. He forgot simple things, spent more time at the doctor’s office. Being with my Dad that evening and enjoying a treat of vanilla ice-cream — two scoops each was both joyfully pleasant and painfully difficult. Little did I know that this was our last visit to this temple with my Dad, as he passed away almost two months later, on Nov 6, 2019.

As we drove back home, the image of my strong, robust, active young Dad, faded in the sunset rays that dipped in the Jamuna water and my silent tears flowed. My Dad, who was a pillar of strength, walked straight, had aged gracefully, his shoulders drooped, he spoke less, he drove a little slower and more erratically. He forgot simple things, spent more time at the doctor’s office. Being with my Dad, that evening and enjoying a treat of vanilla ice-cream — two scoops each was both joyfully pleasant and painfully difficult.

Losing a parent is part of the cycle of life. As I confronted my Dad’s ageing, over the years, I also had an opportunity to share some of the dearest and most intimate kind of love and blessings. I continue to love, honour and embody his spirit.

Photos by the author