Our Ancestral home in the middle of city of Patna has been sold and will be demolished to make way for Development. Home is where the heart is…but the ancestral home is where the soul is” was my pitch to my mother when she broke the news of the demolition of more than 100-year-old majestic bungalow, She was probably more crushed than I was about the news because she has seen four generations walk its corridors and was born and bought up there. But this is about what Sheo Sumitra Sadan (SSD for the rest of the article) at Frazer road means to me and my generation.

What is so special about an ancestral home? What makes us travel there to rediscover ourselves? Is it the connection to our nostalgic past? Is it the feeling of security that is associated with a home where our childhood was spent? Is it the treasure-trove of memories about our grandparents? For me this house is like a giant store room of fond memories. A treasure chest of memorable time, which I would like to visit again and again even in absence of the house itself.

Most of my early memories associated with SSD are associated with my grandfather. The house was him and he was the house. He was the first man I saw shaving, and there was an elaborate ritual associated with it. How he will be sitting bare chested on the roof top terrace with a mug of hot water and mirror on a table in front of him. I would watch fascinated while he would make foam from a brush and apply it on his chin and then carefully use his razor to remove it. Since he shaved everyday and as a toddler i never saw him with a stubble I felt it was an elaborate way to wash one face. I used to watch him standing from the doorway and he would tease me by applying the foam all over his face and smiling, further reinforcing my belief that he was washing his face. The entire roof was his domain and he had a small room which had a attached pooja and a room next door where he had two sets of encyclopedia, one red and one black. I remember spending hours reading them. My introduction to Greek and roman mythology was from them. Also i read about titanic there. What made those books special was the notes written by my grandfather on the sides and highlighting of certain texts. It was a treasure trove of knowledge which I couldn’t get enough of. There ware many evenings when I would ask my grandfather to elaborate on what I had read and he would indulge me as per my age at that time. I remember the room on the roof with a big table lamp on his bed side making his reading glasses looking like magnifying glasses and his monologue on whatever he was telling me. Vivekanand and Gandhi ji were introduced by him to me, and so were Swami Dayanand Saraswathi, Raja Ram Mohan Roy and Sir Aurobindo. The dark corners of the room would come alive in my imagination with his tales, and I would be reluctant to leave when his prayer times came.

His prayer time or ‘Pooja’ was another of abiding memory of him and SSD. His Poojas were elaborate affairs and done twice a day. His pooja room was adjoining to his room on the roof and was elaborately set up with all the gods in the Hindu pantheon and even some Jain and Buddhist one too. My mother would force me to go and attend the morning pooja with him and I would do so reluctantly, mainly because doing so would mean bathing early and also sitting still in the pooja room for at least an hour if not more. But now most of the mantras and chants I remember were those that he would recite. When he started the pooja to which I was invariably late the stairs to the roof would reverberate with his chanting voice and the sound of his pooja bell. Years later when I went to SSD after he was no more, the stairs were unchanged and his pooja room was not there but when I was walking up them, I could still feel the vibration of his pooja reverberating through the railing and hear his chants.

That roof top terrace was the scene of many of our get togethers. It was developed lovingly by my Nana in to a terrace garden, long before terrace garden became fashionable. His room and pooja was also on the roof overlooking the garden. And on most of our early visits we also got the room at the rooftop adjacent to his. The winter morning were spent on the roof along with Nana and summer evenings were spent on the roofs with all my cousins. I was the youngest male there and was mostly bored to just hear them talk, so naturally I resorted to all kind of pranks, like climbing up the trestles, leaning against the railings(much to the alarm of my elder sisters Minni di), and in general being a nuisance. Many a times I got cuffed by my elder brother Vijay bhaiya due to these antics leading me to naming him “Zalim Singh” a name I still call him. I also remember the eldest brother Raju bhaiya defending me many times during these interactions. These rooftop sessions also involved singing and storytelling especially of some horror movies or in general the local legends. My mother being the youngest sibling in her generation was part of the gathering of kids (seeing her becoming a youngster there in the twilight on that rooftop was a revelation for me. She was the eldest Bahu on my Paternal side and as such had an aura and presence there), and was always telling local legends of her time spent in the same house. Like the corner room on the roof is haunted by a ‘chudal’ who would try and strangle you if you slept there. Needless to say I tried my best never to step in the room even in broad daylight.

After the rooftop the hall on the first floor was the place where most of us congregated. It was the scene of discussion and gossip on tea, and also the place where my aunts and Sisters sang devotional songs after dinner. With high back sofas and huge Diwans, it was always a cozy place and also had a 12-seater Dining table. I remember an ancient fridge there, which would make all kinds of noises sometimes even going off like a grandfather clock. Another omnipresent person was Jitan ji, our cook who cooked meals for the family and had the habit of putting tomato Sause in every vegetable. A trick I use till date to salvage any dish gone wrong while cooking.

I remember the drawing room adjoining to hall where hardly any visitor was entertained (the Hall served that purpose), Instead it was the scene of my Mausi singing lessons. Since I was forbidden to attend those I used to hide behind the curtains to hear the lessons sporadically. That was the first time i had seen a tanpura and tabla being played. One of the songs which Mausi used to sing was “Jaise Radha ne mala japi Shyam ki”. I thought it was a religious song, and I realized years later that it was a romantic song. Even today when I hear it I remember my Mausi not the actress on which the song was picturized.

The drawing was also the venue of marathon movie watching sessions. This was the time when Tv itself was a novelty and VCR’s was a rarity. Nana was dead against watching movies and even TV. Naturally that meant that we did that on the sly. But it needed elaborate planning and subterfuge. My elder brothers would make arrangements to hire the VCR and my mother and aunts would be given the responsibility of ensuring that Nana would not come down from the roof. There would be a lengthy discussion on which movies would be hired, from which i would be excluded, being the youngest. My first English movies were seen there, with a narration of story before the movie was played by my elder sisters. Since the VCR was hired for only one night (and had to be sponsored by my mother or my aunts) we watched movies back-to-back till we all fell asleep in the drawing room itself. There were occassions when Nana would walk in on us unannounced, and the entire household would bear the brunt of his anger.

SSD was the place which was the venue for numerous festive occasions including marriage of two of my eldest cousins which I attended. This was the first time I was given a job to do and learnt my first lessons in team work and pleasure of hard work. I remember we brothers who had worked round the clock sleeping through the marriage ceremony in our chairs and also being video graphed snoring.

SSD was the place where almost all my cousins either studied or worked at some point of time. Meeting them was the highlights of my visits. I remember them indulging my many mischiefs (and also when they were not so tolerant), being the youngest let me get away with a lot and my aunts and grandfather always shielded me, even when I did not deserve to. There is one occasion I remember vividly when I had put wet bubblegum in Zalim Singhs hair, and it had to be shaved off to clean it. I remember I had to spend a few hours on the rooftop with Nana to protect me otherwise i would have gotten a well-deserved beating. Since that day my mother has ensured that I have never had bubble gum.

The list of memories will be endless, but SSD was a treasure-trove of memories and was the scene for numerous firsts. I am hoping that my cousins will add to them on reading this in the comment section.

The house will always mean a lot to us, and was a crucial part of what I have become and am sure holds true for all my cousins. All my needs of the current times are imbibed on the strong backbone that this home has proved to be. At the risk of exaggerating I’d say, this home grew with us. This physical location became the core of our family heritage and values. It taught us humility by not giving us all at once; it was gentle to us when we fell and hurt during silly activities; it was homely when everyone gathered and laughed our hearts off or sang in unison or just gossiped together or in small groups in various corners of our home. While writing this essay, it whispered to me “it’s okay to not remember everything as long as you remember how you felt”. I remember, dear old-built home, and will never forget.