Days back, as usual, I entered my room after Iftaar to read a book but as I stepped in, a gush of melancholy rushed into my room. Small girls were singing songs to welcome the Eid in somebody’s court yard away in the darkness. I suppose it was a group. It was a beautiful experience to hear these girls. It was a voice so thrilling. The sweet sound of these girls, I believe like me, would have attracted everybody’s attention. The girls were beating the cans and were dancing merrily. As I tried to venture out to go near the singing, something from inside stopped me– you are a grown up now. I felt my heart heavy. Tears rolled down my cheeks. A feeling of solitude swept over me and I was reminded of one beautiful stanza of Wordsworth which my teacher Prof. (Dr.) Navidita Mukherjee often used to quote before teaching us Wordsworth’s ‘Ode on Intimations of Immortality’ poem.
What though the radians which was once so bright
Be now forever taken from my sight
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower
At very first I could not make out what the girls sang but as I put in effort I heard it was the same old song – Eid Ayie Rase Rase Eid Gah Vase Vaey Eid Gah Vase Vaey ………..
It enthralled me and I sang the same song. And as I muttered it to my self I was reminded of my own days. Those wonderful days, when there used to be Tosbunduk (Pistol) in every child’s hand. Because in those days Pistol was an affordable item that children were very much fond of. Then it’d cost us rupees five only. There was no color except black. And it would produce fires once firebrand was used in it. Firing sound would fascinate children a lot, then.
Parents used to pack this tool just after the Eid days were over and would give it to their children again on the next Eid; not because they were misers but because they were afraid of the situation prevalent. I recall, the day of Eid-ul-Zuha was over. I had returned home after playing, like every other child of my village. That was my first time to have purchased a Pistol from Ali Bhat’s Shop. It was the day that it was revealed to me that my father disliked Pistols. Because in those days it was treated as a sign of violence.
My father intolerably rebuked me. He did not let me sit down in the home and forced me to return Pistol back to the shopkeeper instantly.
It was going dimmer and dimmer when I, accompanied by my sister, went to Ali Bhat’s shop for returning Pistol. Ali Bhat was an old frail shopkeeper but very kind. His shop was in the wooden granary. At first he refused to take Pistol back, as he said, I had used it throughout the day. But when my sister told him that he’d not be allowed to enter home, he gave me rupees five back, which was my Eid money. And when I, along with my sister, came home back, my father advised me; “Yen bare dubar zindgi manz auth fitnah gar aanak. Te che pher gach zay yeth dafa. (Be careful to get such a things home, else get out from home the moment you take such damnable things).” Since then I have never in my life touched this toy. I fear that my father will rebuke me, what though I have grown. I remember very well, Ali Mohammad Bhat’s Shop was most often visited by children on Eid days. He was a well-known shopkeeper who on Eids, used to be in his shop all day long. Unlike other shopkeepers of my vicinity his name was popular among children as Ali Kak. I will always remember those days – how we used to sing, dance and celebrate Eid        

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Lastupdate on : Tue, 30 Aug 2011 21:30:00 Makkah time
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