My earliest memories of Varanasi are painted with the hues of awe and admiration, all centered around Bade Mamaji, an esteemed doctor with an imposing presence and an endearing smile. At five years old, I had just begun to grasp the world around me, and the trip to Varanasi was a journey into an enchanted realm, with Bade Mamaji as the grand wizard at its heart.
Bade Mamaji was a figure of splendor and grace. His stout frame and dignified demeanor commanded respect and fascination. I would often find myself peeking from behind the curtains, my small eyes wide with wonder and fear as I watched him come and go. His movements were a study in elegance—each step measured, each gesture deliberate. He carried an aura that was almost magical, and his most enchanting smile would light up his face, prompting me to drop my guard. But then his solemn, deep voice would speak, and a shiver of awe would remind me of the reverence he commanded.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Bade Mamaji called all the children into a dimly lit room. There, for the first time I saw a black and white television, and he showed me my first cartoon movie featuring Mickey Mouse. The flickering images on the screen were nothing short of mesmerizing. I felt his gaze on me, ensuring that I was captivated by the magic unfolding before my eyes. Perhaps he sought the smile of contentment on my face, a smile that mirrored his own joy in sharing this moment with us. Those eyes, full of wisdom and kindness, left an indelible mark on my heart.
The mornings in Varanasi began with a ritual that I came to cherish—the breakfast table, impeccably laid out with a fork and spoon in their precise places. It was a sight to behold, and it inspired in me a desire to emulate such sophistication. I watched Bade Mamaji as he navigated the table with an effortless grace, his movements precise and poised. To this day, my dining etiquette is a tribute to those early lessons in elegance and refinement.
The adventures didn’t end there. Bade Mamaji and the entire family would hop into his pristine white Ambassador and venture into the bustling streets of Varanasi. The cacophony of sounds, the vibrant colors, and the tantalizing aromas of street food created a sensory feast. We would sample the delicious offerings, from crispy kachoris to syrupy jalebis, and each bite was a celebration of the city’s rich culinary heritage.
These memories of my childhood have enriched me profoundly. Bade Mamaji’s influence has been like the North Star, guiding all of us subtly but surely through life’s various twists and turns. His presence was a beacon of wisdom and grace, teaching us the importance of sophistication, kindness, and joy in the little moments.
Thank you, Bade Mamaji, for being the cornerstone of our family, for guiding us with your silent strength, and for making my childhood an enchanted journey. Your legacy continues to shape us as we carry your lessons with us always.
