I get intrigued about the things that belong to my grandparents and great grandparents.
I have always been a curious child, which is the case with me even as an adult. Having brought up with stories about our ancestors and their lives, I developed an intrest for the same. So naturally, when we travel to our ancestral home, I get intrigued about the things that belong to my grandparents and great grandparents. Every time we visit our home in Rajasthan, I am excited to find something novel and different. And every time, I discover something that connects me more to my family and defines my roots I get thrilled.
With this excitement comes a sense of loss. While migrating from our village Badanwadi to Mumbai and Bangalore, my ancestors had to make tons of sacrifices. They had to leave their familes back in the vilalge, look for new means to earn for their living. And the only source of communication was a call from our village, that too once in a while because every coin had to be saved meticulously. With these personal sacrifices, they also had to sacrifice their familiarity and comfort. The food they consumed was much different from what they were used to eating. Their attire was perceived as orthodox, and they had to change their appearance as well. Learning a new language to survive in a new city and learning to change their lifestyle was demanding and challenging.
When I visit Rajasthan, I see a massive gap in our lifestyles. Having brought up in a starkly different lifestyle from my ancestors, I find it hard to live in their culture and lifestyle. The architecture of the house is very different from our houses and apartments. They had to work tremendously hard even for basic necessities that are available to us easily.
I try to get to know them better by listening to stories they have to share. I also try reminiscing and slowing down, and absorbing every minute detail I can get from looking at all things left behind by them. Those cooking dishes with their names inscribed on them, the colourful tiny threads used to embroider their clothes, the glasses that my grandmother wore, and the sand clock she used to meditate. The house's architecture, the old practices of using cow dung to level the ground, the cooking vessels they used and the way they used to cook. The food that they would consume with lingering aroma. Their clothing, the turbans they wrapped on their head, the ornaments they wore, the colours they were attracted to and chose to wear, the last rites for the dead and the way they wish them goodbyes.
We try and imbibe the culture and traditions passed down to us, but a lot of that is filtered out. While I am in awe of the facilities and the luxury we are provided, I also feel some pain imagining the big decisions they had to make. They had to sacrifice what they were comfortable with for the future generations to come, for us. I capture bits and pieces of our root through photographs and I finally feel like I belong here with them, inspite of the different lives we live.
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