A trip down the memory lane
Given all the frustrations of the world-wide Pandemic situation since the past one-year, I often find an escape in browsing old photographs and reliving the happy, childhood memories attached to them. One such family photograph stirred me to pen down this post. It is dedicated to the place, which was part of our annual family destination; an instant detox for the body, mind and soul.
I grew up basking in my dad’s nostalgia of the many shades of Kishanganj, a small town in the Purnia region of Bihar, where he grew up. The whole family had later, relocated to Kolkata excepting the eldest sibling. Therefore, the deep-rooted strings of the place were never quite severed.
Even after all these years, I clearly remember the much-awaited, early morning glimpses of the vast, green fields of Ruidhasa from the window of the Darjeeling Mail! The Cycle-Rickshaw ride through the winding roads of the laid-back, unadulterated town, held its own rustic charm, followed by the cheerful and animated welcome of my cousins, Pishima, (dad’s elder sister) and the inviting waft of fresh and delicious, home-made ‘Daal Puri.’ It was an instantaneous rejuvenation for our tired, hungry, city-bred souls.
Therapy of fresh Food
Healthy and Nutritious, would be the aptest description of Kishanganj’s food. I can guarantee that it had never seen the interiors of a refrigerator ever. The fruits and vegetables were garden-fresh, the fish was local fresh-catches from the Mahananda and Ramzan Rivers. The other provisions were directly from the local farms.
The purity of the food and the devoted hospitality with which it was cooked and served by my Pishima, made the food of Kishanganj sublime. I can bet on the unbeatable taste of the local “Piuli fish” and the crispy-fried baby shrimps of Mahananda River, the creamy, sweet, fresh buffalo milk, the enticing aroma of unadulterated home-made desi-ghee, the subtly sweet, seasonal “Mondas” (a type of sweet, made from soft cottage cheese and date jaggery) of Tinuda’s (my uncle) Mithai Shop and my Pishima’s cooking, tempered with love and indulgence.
More connected than Social-Media
The entire town functioned as a united family. One felt a kinship with every household. The town was dotted with Bungalows flaunting sprawling flower gardens or lawns. Seasonal, as well as exotic fruits and vegetables, were an essential part of every garden. The bounty of nature all around was a treat in itself. I remember the long, afternoon walks along the winding lanes flanked with picturesque gardens and greeneries leading to the banks of the dark, soothing waters of the Ramzan River and buying fresh catch of the day, from the local fishermen, baiting patiently for the next catch.
Tinuda’s Mithai shop was the focal meeting and snacking point of the local elites. I always hovered around this place, in the evenings. The place used to be full to the brim with friendly crowds, enjoying a cup of tea with the steaming hot ‘samosas’, having witty, boisterous conversations. I loved the dynamic atmosphere of the place along with the occasional sampling of fresh, hot ‘rasgullas’ or ‘jalebis.’
The District town of Kishanganj did not have much to offer to a normal tourist and yet every year I eagerly waited to visit the place. It was a blessed, fertile town, strewn with tropical orchards overladen with litchis, Gopalbhog mangoes and jackfruits in the summer months and the crisp winters were just the time for endless picnic lunches, trekking and biking.
I’ve heard that inevitable, modernization has transformed Kishanganj into a bustling business district. The quaint little, laid-back town has given way to contemporary buildings and fashionable shopping centers like most of our cities. However, the present reputation of Kishanganj can never tamper with my good, old, precious memories of childhood. It will always be embedded in my mind as an unspoiled canvas over-flowing with natural beauty, affection, indulgence and pure good food.
