- Oct 23, 2021
- 3 min read

Moving Frames of Still Crouch Lane!

A Photo story

Bowbazar, Kolkata — Walking down the memory lane...

Facing the narrow alley I stand still! My childhood days comes rushing to me like a strong wind, leaving me with goosebumps. I take my first step and start walking slowly towards my much loved destination.

Crouch lane, a tiny speck in the big ocean of Bow bazaar, a famous locality in central Kolkata. Not many may know about it, unless someone has a knot connected to this forgettable narrow lane of the city of joy.

I walk behind an old frail body with a heart of gold, a life well-lived in humility. Not much wealth to flaunt but peace exists in his small little world.

Life goes on in this narrow alley. But I miss the regular humdrum this time. Wasn’t it more alive then, quite many years ago when I would hold the big hands of either one of my grandpas or uncles or aunts with my tiny hands and go on a walk or to just get something from the busy market. My haansh sondesh (duck shaped sondesh sweet) would be a bonus though, every time.

The silence that has befallen Crouch lane makes me hear sounds instead, from a distant land. A mother calling out his son, “Ai Tukai, Tukai..ki re koi geli daakchi je” (Tukai, Tukai..where are you lost, am I not calling you?”) or a wife growling at her husband, “Ki holo, shudhu boshe boshe khobor er kagoj porlei ki hobe, jao ge maach ta nie asho” (What happened! Is it enough if you keep sitting and reading newspapers? Go and get my fish.) Or a small child running aloud or a semi clad old man taking bath at the municipal hand pump at one corner of the lane.

But nothing I see now, nothing I hear now. Nothing, but this soul stirring silence and a few shadows of past softly brushing through me and moving forward, leaving me behind.

I recognise my favourite home, the home with its curvaceous seat. I loved it always as a child. Only now I come to know it belongs to a zamindar, a rich man who once organised classical music gatherings and also housed many rare birds, a mere attraction for the kids living in Crouch lane.

I keep walking. Just a few seconds but memories of many years have crossed my mind already. I am yet to reach the huge house where my mother’s cousin sisters, brothers and her uncles and aunts lived, my grand dad’s (mother's father) brothers and their families. That was my Mamar baadi then (uncle’s house). Being the first born of the family made me the most pampered kid on Earth by default, and this was my home once a year, every year, thoroughly pampered and loved by this huge big family.

Not a long alley at all, and I reach the house and stand still! I gaze at the gate, the gate that I would open and run through calling out maashiiii...(auntyyy). Can't do it any more. The people are gone, the gate is locked.

The house is in shambles. They had lived here for 54 years! And I, for a few precious days every year, as a child. The windows stand still. I look at them with nostalgia in my eyes. Once upon a time I would be standing on the other side, by the bed side holding the iron rods of the huge windows and peeping through it to keep an eye on the outside world.

I wish I could peep through to have a look inside now. Red floor, ground floor and first floor, a huge courtyard at the centre and many rooms. And the room where Durga Puja took place every year with much fanfare. Lot of people, lot of noise and lot of laughter and fun. Lot of playing for me of course. The aura of those gone by days cross my mind in a flash.

But now I can see only the gate and some bushes inside. And a few closed windows. Just a piece of the house that is visible to me now.

My Dadus and Didas (Grand dads and Grand moms) are already gone, one day the house will also die. But the memories will live as long as I am alive.