Textures of an old soul

In 2008, I was in Sacramento, California. As excited as possible for a boring 22 year old nerd to be, I went exploring the city on my own. I asked my cab driver if the old Sacramento town was worth the time and money spent considering it was far from the uni. The cab driver, as all cab drivers do, started talking and to cut the long story short, on knowing I come from India exclaimed, “You come from Jodhpur you say? Why are YOU visiting old town? It is not even that old by your standard! Don’t you come from a city 1000 years old?”

It filled my heart with joy and pride that he knew about my city and knew it so well. And I remember this story every time I visit my hometown. I always wanted to visit all those monuments back and relive my childhood memories. There never was enough time! Or let me say I never ran out of excuses. Since I have always stayed in boarding school and hostels, this place had always been the place you go back to with tired, worn down spirit. It has some healing properties I swear!

 

But this time when I visited my family back home, I made it a point to explore the city which had always been home. And guess what, cities grow up and around, just like human beings. So there was an unexplored familiarity about the place. It was still home, but it felt that few pieces of furniture have been moved around. It has been so long that it all felt new! And I realised I always carried a piece of it in my heart, so it still felt mine!

 

The thing which strike me most is how we associate textures with our memories. I always associated colours and shapes with it. Not knowing how important a role textures play! Science says sensory memory is called haptic memory. I did not know much about that. So I was in for a surprise at how comforting and striking out the textures were. So I picked up few which subconsciously always stayed with me.

 



Jodhpur is known as the blue city of India. Reason being the ancient houses were painted blue for keeping them cool. Remember the city is also called Sun City for the fair share of sun we get!  If you stand at the top of the fort what you see is harmonious range of houses painted blue. But take a closer look and you will see the randomness. For me simply touching a wall in old city means a trip down the memory lane. Old walls, some made up of stones, some being smothered by layers of mud over them in order to keep it cool during the summer.

Run your hand over the wall and you will feel years of history, layers of paint freshly done every Diwali, after a death in the family, after many births, after when innocent hands leave a not so innocent coloured hand print to say ’I was here!’. It is like the wrinkles on an old person’s face, holding in its creases many stories. Little rough to touch with a sensation it leaves on your fingers moments after you leave them behind.

Just like the creases I see on the face of this old man who has been sitting at the same place making shoes since I remember. He has not aged a day. He has been old since last 20 years! The same white beard and dyed hair, wrinkled hands, white head gear and the toothless smile! Now the toothless smile is my imagination. That of course is new. He knows the city and its stories like the back of his wrinkled hand. He tells stories with such passion that his eyes and smile brightens up your day. With back hunched over his tool with so much of concentration that you would be afraid to break the spell even by moving. But the moment you greet him, his smile opens up a world, a world which is just found in memories now. In few years he will be but a memory. But he will be a memory which brings such a wave of comfort that I was really taken aback. I was surprised at how vividly I remembered the texture of his beard, his face and hands, the shoes he makes, the tools he uses!

 

Another thing I share with all the residents of the city is the security we get from the high rising fort. We are past the days of wars. I do not know anyone who has witnessed or remembers those days. But the fort still stands as a citadel of security for all of us. It was said that where ever you go in the city you can see the fort. It does not literally hold true now. But many people still start their day by visiting the temple in the fort.  The temple still witnesses hundreds of devotees on any given day and the wall around the fort and the old city hugs you the moment you step inside the way your father does. Warm and with an assurance! After the wars stopped hundreds of years back, the wall lost the purpose, but it never lost the emotion! I along with many people can still feel safe just by being near it. To me, the texture of this wall and the fort resemble the texture of my father’s hands. My father’s hands when he held mine when I was a small girl.

 

Everybody must have heard of the Dalai Lama saying. Taking the liberty to rephrase it I would say, Once a year go to a place you have never been to before, and once a year go to a place you have always carried in your heart. And all these textures bring the home back to me. The textures which have layered over centuries hiding and telling many stories. These are the textures of an old soul; these are the textures of the place I call home!