That being the Greek root of the word we all encounter when thoughts turn, nostalgically, towards the past, or alternatively, the vision looks homeward, even if 'home' never did have much of a physical existence, i.e., perhaps it was only a state of mind to which my mind yearned to return this evening.

So on encountering a post by Anand about taking a visitor to a graveyard in Delhi, where the graves date from the Raj era, my thoughts automatically turned to a similar graveyard that was situated behind my elementary school that I attended some twenty odd years ago. I had, in moments of boyhood bravado (bravado because graveyards, especially in the Hindu ecosystem, are considered very inauspicious places to visit much less spend time in), entered it to play in the cool shadows of the banyan trees, which had had nearly some hundred odd years to turn it into a hushed hall.

There were the usual graves of ‘firangis’ dead in a foreign land, dreaming perhaps of the Scottish highlands or Wordsworth-ian daffodils. More exact recollections of the dates on those gravestones are dim, for while I was aware at that point that some of those graves dated in the prior century, I didn’t have the critical machinery in place to pluck and weave such information into the weave of understanding of the place where I stood. But then this was one of the many perceptional cues that were missed, only perhaps not totally.

Thus began a very long Google adventure to unearth images from that geography, which soon ended in a pixel investigation of the memory’s alleys. While I was unsucessful in discovering any images of this graveyard (it is hard to discover images when one doesn't even know the specific name of a certain locale; 'British graveyard behind school' doesn't help!), here are a few other images that were found on this investigation:

[Exhibit A]

Click here for a larger image

Another view

Here you see the dargah (mosque) that stood on a hill about two miles away from the school. This was where I went to play hooky on those much anticipated final school exam afternoons. There was a small Hanuman shrine in a cave lower down on the slope that you see in this photo. As Arun Kolatkar in his book 'Jejuri' wrote in a poem titled, 'A Scratch'

what is god and what is stone the dividing line if it exists is very thin at jejuri and every other stone is god or his cousin

there is no crop other than god and god is harvested here
around the year and around the clock
out of the bad earth and the hard rock

that giant hunk of rock the size of a bedroom
is khandoba's wife turned to stone
the crack that runs right across is the scar
from his broadsword he struck her down with once
in a fit of rage

scratch a rock
and a legend springs

Also the railway station that you see in this photo is called Cavalary Barracks and still stands. However the Great Indian Railways, with minor exceptions, have phased out those nice steam engines (whose tonalities I, far removed in time, attempt to mimic to amuse others). Also a certain image from that time now comes to mind: a green field in the monsoons, a rock as a cricket wicket, schoolboys noisly playing a quick game of cricket, I am sitting higher up on a hillock, and watching a steam engine chug by at a distant level crossing. This image, by the way, has also been frozen in words variously by R.K.Narayan in his novels (for example in 'Swami and Friends', Swami watches the train in the distance rather than pay attention to one of his dictatorial school masters), and in celluloid by Satyajit Ray in 'Pather Panchali'

[Exhibit B]

A long article on Hyderbad's street names.

For the history buffs and readers with ample time to kill, a Project Guntenberg text titled "RAMBLES AND RECOLLECTIONS OF AN INDIAN OFFICIAL"

[Exhibit C]

from the fascinating geography site Great Mirror

A view of the bangle market (Chuudi Bazaar) where I was waylid by my co-spawn for my excellent bargaining skillz. First lesson, learn to say 'nakko'.

This was what the country side around the 'edge colony' (edge because it was on the edge of the city; thank god for such small luck of draws!) where I grew up looked like in the rainy season.

For other South Indian village pictures, including the ones above, click here and here. And here for a view of rural Indian markets, which can perhaps be found in this well preserved state even today.

To be continued same time, same place, next weekend. However before that here is a photo of a street sign in Hyderabad (Yes, we are like this only!):

The above photo comes from Rangachari Anand's fascinating album of street signs!