“If we were meant to stay in one place , we would have roots instead of feet .”
A wise person said the above words . But it is not entirely true . Roots do grow ,even in the two and a half , one year and eight months, and sometimes as short as eight months , of the Forces tenure .
The process of uprooting sounds painful . I assure you , it is anything but that . In fact , the longer the tenure at a particular station , the greater the eagerness , and anticipation . For example , right now , the house we live in , is built on an ancient road . Rumours suggest that this was a part of the ancient runway .
The runway that was used by the British , during the british raj , in the second world war . This station also has the dubious reputation of having refuelled and provided a landing pad for the American allied aircrafts , that flew from here , to bomb Nagasaki and Hiroshima .
Anyway , we digress . The old , British era runway has now been covered with roughly six inches of soil, and lawns , trees and flowers planted on it . We discovered this, while gardening , that some areas of the lawn have particularly poor soil and nothing on it actually grows or lives , for that matter . Including hardy periwinkle ( which will thrive anywhere else ) . Trees however , over the years , have penetrated the asphalt and have spread their roots in a wide , unforgiving swathe . The macadam on top of these giant roots , have swollen , heaved and cracked (Take that , Brits ) , leading to percolation of rainwater to deeper reaches . Nothing survives the power of the peepul and Banyan . They , together , succeeded in hiding entire city of Angkor wat for centuries , so a foot or so of asphalt is not a problem .
We digress again . The plants , transplanted (or uprooted ) from the aforementioned lawn , into tiny , but well nourished flower pots , start thriving . Impossible , isn’t it ?
Yes . It is true . Transplantation breathes new life into plants , vines , and people .
We grow . Meet new people , breathe a different air , hear a different language around us , and encounter different cuisine on the streets outside . The vehicle registrations have a different alphabet , your pincode and STD code changes ,there is a different guy sitting on the chief minister’s chair , and , in some cases , a different political party too . Your airport and main railway station changes , and you get to see a newer part of the country .
Roots , shallow , adventitious , grow numerously , fabulously . Everyone needs nourishment . Don’t we ? Hence roots . Albiet shallow , thin . Ready to move , at the drop of a hat .
The template is already there . The home , when you are allotted one , has been recently vacated by an earlier family . It bears all the signs .
Nails have been already startegically hammered into the walls , all you need is to hang your pictures , twine your fairy lights for diwali around the old nails . Sometimes the ‘welcome maintenance “( euphemism for whitewashing of walls and painting of the wood work ) guys will rip off the nails , fill the holes with putty and whitewash it over . Fear not , like a homing pigeon , you will find the tell tale hole shaped depressions in the walls , where your nails go.
Whatever is despised , unwanted or plain forgotten , is yours to discover .
We have , over the years , discovered beautiful , thick , calender paper lined cupboards , mosquito repellant refills , complete with machines in each room , still plugged , ready to use . In one house , we discovered neon , glow-in -the-dark stars , stuck to the ceiling of the kids’ room , bringing untold joy to both my daughters .
Gardens are a storehouse of these leftover items , yours to embrace . The residual roots of the previous occupants , yours to splice with .
Waste tyres upcycled into flower pots , plastic sprite bottles , cut up and painted , with soil still inside for your plants , garden embellishments like terracotta horses , and plastic hanging fake nests , chinese diwali string of lights , wound around the giant mango tree in your yard , and an abandoned badminton net , tethered to poles . Plasic pots , some cracked , some perfectly reusable , dog bowls , and ready made open air hearth for backyard bonfires . Nylon ropes still tethered to your guava and neem trees , ready for your clothes .
An unwritten rule means we always inherit toliet brushes , and several bottles of harpic in the washrooms . we also leave ours behind . I guess , everyone does that .
In one station , we discovered a radha krishna fridge magnet ( it is still with us ) , and a large laxmi footprint floor sticker ( that store room automatically became the pooja room ) .
It is not thieving , if you are inclined to think so . In most cases , you do not even know the name of the previous occupant , leave alone , his /her present abode .
In any case , these items were left behind , so you might as well use it . Because one day , you will move too , leaving your roots , or impression thereof , in your beloved but transient home .
Packing is meticulous and so is loading of the truck , but there may be snags on the way . Delays , truck hold ups , and accidents are not uncommon . So is burglary and missing boxes . You may find your metal boxes caved in , crockery broken , potted plants smashed and wooden items scuffed / scratched . But , that , as they say , comes with the territory .
In many ways , a posting is like death . You are reborn , so is your household . As said in Bhagwad Gita , “ as a man changes attire .”
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