A special mention must be made of the Dhudwallah, the Milkman. Every morning, one person from each household would stand in line, and the Milkman, in front of them, would milk the animals directly, draining the milk into a huge bucket! The yield was so good. After one animal was done, the milk would be distributed, and then he would move on to the next animal. He was reputed to be the richest man on the street. A very honest, straightforward, and simple fellow.

Once, I took some money from my parents and tried to reach a sweet shop on the other end of the street, across a busy road. Without even looking at the traffic, I ran across, right in front of a huge lumbering lorry. The shopkeeper, instead of scolding me, took me in his arms and, leaving his shop unattended, carried me back home. That was the care and understanding the people of that era always showed.

The houses had dry latrines that had to be cleared manually by a worker. Even to speak of this is so gross, but everyone lived through it.

Coming back to Bhuvaji, she was a dominating, domineering, and strict lady. But with my mother being so young at that time, she took her under her care and guidance. Perhaps she taught my mother many good habits, like how to keep the house clean, how to dress the kids, and how to run a household. Our house was always neat and clean, and my brother and I were always neatly dressed. When I went to Delhi in 1998, I inquired about her kids, a boy and a girl. They were still in Delhi, but I could not meet them.

I care so much about cleanliness now, but in those days, I remember running barefoot in the street while playing, getting drenched in the rain, taking a bath at the street tap at the end of the road, and getting back home without the obsessive cleaning I do nowadays. Nothing happened—I was fine. What changed with age?

This street has seen rule by invaders, heart-rending riots and arson during the partition, later a period of peace and happy families, brisk activity, and, alas, perhaps degeneration over the years. But still, that picture of the street and houses is etched in my mind.

My mother's brother settled down at the end of this street with his family. Thus began a relationship—so close, so well-knit, and so caring and helpful—that saw lots of trials and tribulations for quite some time before the next generation came up trumps.

Contd... Simplicity of Childhood - Part 3