The colorful days of Comilla still emerge in my mind when I become bored with the monotonous struggle of life. But is it only me who still wants to go back to his childhood? Or are there other folks with the same wish?
Whenever I think of my childhood, wholesome memories start flooding in from nowhere.
Every morning, my father turned on Cartoon Network so that I wake up for school. I attended a kindergarten located on the top of a hill. Walking up the slope required real effort, but it was worth it; running down the road was a thrilling experience, after all. I could feel the wind against my shirt every time I ran down. And it was not just the school location; there was a plum tree in the back of the campus, which I visited during every tiffin break. I would collect the plums in my tiffin box with never-ending enthusiasm. There were even times when I got into fights with my friends to bag the larger and riper fruit.
Imagine if non-living things could speak!
That small edible substance would probably laugh at us, and feel proud at the same moment. Today, whenever I buy that variety of plum from the market, I see a glimpse of my childhood in those fruit packets. The phenomenon is amazing when we think about it; wholesome memories embedded in such miniature objects.
Comilla days were full of such events. But the ones that attract me the most are those of rainy days, windy afternoons, and stormy nights; there seems to be something different about nature that draws me towards it.
Pappa (my father) would drive us through the cantonment at night in his Toyota. Relaxing in the backseat, I used to stare at the wonders on the side of the road. Pappa would turn on the song – Coffe House at least once in a while. In addition to the soothing tunes of the music, the body spray that he used created a very cozy atmosphere in the car. As I made myself more and more comfortable in the back seat, I would wish that the night never gets old.
The roads looked empty, but we knew that we had company.
More often than not, we caught the sight of a porcupine or two passing the road or heard the synchronized howl of a pack of foxes nearby. There were lots of foxes in that area, and they would inform us of their bold presence every night. I sometimes wonder how good times pass in the blink of an eye.
It has been ten years since we left that place.
I still imagine going back to 2008 and experiencing the same events again; I never seem to get tired of it. Even today, whenever I feel fed up with life, I decorate my room with fairy lights, use the same body spray that my dad used, and lay quietly on my bed. I close my eyes and turn on the same music he used to play while driving through the roads of Comilla Cantonment. As I keep listening to the same tune and lyrics, I start feeling something.
It is the year 2008, and it is Comilla.
I find myself in the back seat of our car. Pappa is driving through the Cantonment, passing hills and bushes on both sides of the road. The fragrance of Maxi (his perfume) and the song -Coffee House playing in my ears do far more than what a goodnight lullaby would.
Unfortunately, good moments never last long. I feel someone patting my shoulders.
“What is it, mom ?”
“Sabik, you slept with your earphones plugged in again”!