[ Dr Dipon Sharmah ]
Recently, when my brother offered me the opportunity to visit Seren, a picturesque village nestled in the foothills on the way to Pasighat in Arunachal Pradesh, I felt a huge surge of emotions. This was more than just a trip. It was a journey back to the place where my childhood unfolded, where I had spent some of my most carefree and memorable childhood days. From 1985 to 1990, I was in Seren, where my father was posted as a teacher. I studied at the Government Primary School there until Class 5. When we left Seren for Ragi Doke, I was just 11 years old, and my younger brother was seven. Those years have stayed in my memory like a cherished photograph.
So, this summer, when I returned to my home state of Assam from the Andaman Islands, where I work now, I immediately said yes to the trip. The thought of seeing my childhood home and old school filled me with excitement.
Four of us – my brother, two cousins and I – embarked on a 300-kilometre journey. Our Thar Roxx effortlessly sped on the highway, and with every passing mile, my excitement grew.
It was afternoon when we reached Seren. The sight of my old school made my eyes misty. The classroom walls, the corridor where we lined up for morning prayers, the playground in front of our old quarters and the little river that flowed gently behind it – all these familiar sights came rushing back. The sights of the football matches once held in the playground flashed in front of my eyes. Standing there, a deep sense of joy and contentment filled me.
I remembered how, when the tap water ran dry, my father and some of us would go to the Seren river. We would dig into the sandy bed to create a small pool. Clean, fresh water would collect there, and we would fill our buckets and carry it home. Those moments seemed so ordinary back then, but now they feel like a precious memory.
And one memory led to another. We used to play marbles and other games at a house which was positioned diagonally across our quarters. On impulse, I crossed the playground and walked up to that very house. A lady, busy speaking on her phone, glanced up, mistaking me for a vendor. “What’s up?” she asked, her tone curious but guarded. But when I told her that I had studied in the village school back in 1990, her face softened with recognition. We spent a good time there and reminisced about our olden days. I also learned that two of my childhood friends – Ebom and Eppe, with whom I used to play – are now settled in Pasighat. Both are now teachers, one at a school and the other at a university. Later, in Pasighat, I met them. We talked and laughed and promised to stay in touch. That moment of reunion was deeply nostalgic.
We also met our old teachers. Time had taken its toll – they had grown older and frailer. But the warmth in their eyes had not changed. We took their blessings, feeling grateful for the role they had played in shaping our lives.
Our journey ended at a serene countryside resort by the Siang river. The tranquil surroundings mirrored the peace in my heart. As I reflected on my beautifully spent day, a deep sense of contentment filled me. I had lived my cherished childhood once again. And this is a gift I will carry forever. (The author is Assistant Professor and HoD in the PG Department of Botany at Jawaharlal Nehru Rajkeeya Mahavidyalaya, Andaman and Nicobar Islands. He can be reached at sharmah.dipon@gmail.com).
