Going back to the roots

Last week I went to Malda, this is a small town in North Bengal, famous for mangoes and ABA Ghani Khan Choudhury. The former still as sweet and fresh as my childhood and the latter dead and gone.
It was my grandmothers death anniversery and all relatives were gathering to remember one of the liveliest woman that any one of us had known. Sharp tongued and witty she was known as 'pishima' to all in that small town. Till some years back you could get off at the station and just tell the ricksaw puller ' pishimas bari' and be sure to be taken to her house.
I went after 14 years to the place where for the first 12 years of my life I had spent 2 months every year. As usual there were bitter sweet memories and people who you had played with in childhood were these different adults with their own problems and challenges.
Call me a hopeless romantic but there is something different about the air and smell of Bengal, specially in the monsoon. And the lilting language adds to the charm. In the 2 days that I was there I tried to rewalk all the memory lanes starting with getting up early ( 5.30 am is early for me !), going to the local haat with my uncle, see him haggle with the fishmongers over Rs 2 - Rs 5 and go in the evening to the river side to be bitten by mosquitoes the size of sparrows.
The first thing that struck me was that everything seemed smaller, the roads, the shops, the house and the rooms. The ground on which I had played so much of football seemed liliputian.
The second thing was the number of medicine shops. I am sure there are more medicine shops per sq Km in Malda than anywhere else in the rest of the world.
The 2 days there also showed me how simplicity and large heartedness is still there in these small towns and how the simple things of life can give so much of pleasure. I also saw how big city living can add cunning to the smallest of kids who can then play to the gallery.
All in all an interesting trip.