Reminiscing hometown

 

Reminiscing hometown

 

 

History says this about Jamnagar.

 

“Deeply impressed by a hare found to be brave enough to turn on the hunting dogs and putting them to flight, the king, Jam Rawal thought that if this land can breed such hares, the men born here would be superior to other men. He went on to make this place his capital.”

 

On the 7th day of the rainy month of August 1540 AD, on the banks of two rivers Rangmati and Nagmati, he laid the foundation of his new capital and named it Nawanagar (new town). Nawanagar eventually came to be known as Jamnagar meaning the town of the Jams. It is this town -now over 450 years old- that belongs to me, and I belong to it.

 

Many young men like me left this town in search of their destiny at a young age. The town did not have much to offer by way of the future in the difficult decade of the 1970s. We set out one by one, with teary eyes, crossing the bridge over river Rangmati in search of new pasture, greener or otherwise.

 

 

Just as an old family, fallen on poverty keep a few pieces of valuable, all of us kept memories of our young lives in Jamnagar intact. We often darted back to peep in and see things that we had left behind, things we had liked and loved, things that had become amorphous in the intervening period of our absence.

 

How much of what we loved about this town survived? How much of it was ravaged by the tide of time and unassailable forces of change?

 

The best way to find out this is to take a 2 hours tour of the town that a friend and I do often. All such visits must commence at the ‘chai’ shop, then move to a ‘paan’ shop. These shops were an institution of our heydays when we would just sit there gazing at the world passing by, reflecting the serene stance of the town.

 

Cinema houses where we went to see "Sangam" "Mere Apne" and "Bobby" have gone and are replaced with shapeless shopping malls lacking the charm and character of cinema halls we once frequented; musty, old & romantic.

 

Ancient but sturdy and unkempt buildings of Girls high school, vegetable market, and the Darbargadh stand like sentinels of the town.

 

The lake continues to be the central character in the cast of sites, sounds and smells of the town. It is a large lake, spliced into two with a fort that used to be the summer palace of Jam saheb. The lake bears testimony of my innocent childhood and misspent youth in this town. It was almost an extension of my ancestral home to where I ran away at the slightest affront of my nascent dignity.

 

All of my schools and one vernacular college have survived the assault of 50 years of salty winds, though one primary school suffered heavy damage in an earthquake and is rebuilt now. In one of the visits, I stood in the portal of that school to resurrect that small boy whom even I would fail to recognize if he was ever found.

 

Jam saheb palace stands forlorn, lonely, and yet resplendent in its majesty and grandeur. The palace is overshadowed by hundreds of buildings surrounding it as if a lone warrior is surrounded in a battle.

 

The old railway station is derelict and is perhaps waiting to be demolished. I wonder if all its history and our memories will also be buried underneath. If I had money, I would buy it and make it come alive with a 6 pm steam engine train, shiny brass bell, and AH Wheeler bookshop.

 

I have traveled too far in my life to retrace my steps and go back to live in Jamnagar. I have lost my home and many people who were part of my youth in that town. My memories are intact but the town is changing at the pace I find it difficult to cope. I keep going back for that ’chai’ and ‘paan’ sessions and to meet few friends and family in whose presence I can claim part of my lost city