T — Taxi Services To Your Childhood Home

Turning the pages of a magazine, Charvi saw the ad for the first time. It was shimmering in the afternoon light.

“Taxi Services To Your Childhood Home.” — Technology for the first time in India. Call 1800–454545. Booking Open!

She paused at the bright yellow-red advertisement. At 48, her childhood had already become a distant place. Hidden behind dense years of strangely uneventful life, everything from back then felt far away and hazy. She saw the time. Still 4 o’clock. Her kids and husband will be back late. Her days were becoming increasingly empty and every passing year, a strange quietude was settling over them. It was like watching a pendulum gradually coming to a halt. She looked out of her house window and wondered if there were many others, like her, little people in their intimate boxes, looking out — waiting for a rainbow or some shiny miracle to stimulate them.

Her parents, now in their 70s, visited her less often. They had aged considerably in the last few years — her mother’s left knee made it tough for her to climb steps and her father was gradually losing his sense of hearing - quietly withdrawing from the world. “He went silent for the world but the world also went silent for him.” — her mother would say.

With some free time in her hand, Charvi decided to make the call. A receptionist picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Yes?”

“I would like to book the cab and know the prices.”

“One return trip is 500 rupees. What day shall I book?”

“You can book for tomorrow?”

“Ok.”

The receptionist did the booking and told Charvi the rules.

Rules of the Travel:

1. You cannot tell who you are.
2. You cannot talk about the future or take any gadgets.
3. You can only go for one hour.

Next day at 11:45 am, Charvi was standing with a box of sweets and at exact 12:00pm, the cab showed up. It was a yellow-black taxi driven by an aged man. The taxi was cladded with intricate red and blue prints all over its ceiling. Charvi stepped inside and as soon as she settled, the taxi started moving.

“How long have you been doing this job?” — Charvi asked.

“15 years.”- the man replied.

“That’s long. How come I never saw the ad before?”

“Earlier word of mouth was enough. Anyway people don’t visit their childhood anymore. It’s seen as a waste of time.”

“How many people have you taken this week?” — Charvi asked.

“Oh you are the second. You know the rules right? No phone or any new technology. I hope you left them all at home.”

“Yes. I did.” — Charvi looked at the worn out taxi and wondered if she did the right thing by hiring them. If the technology they had is still a reliable one.

“Please pull up the black blinds. you are not allowed to see outside. “

The taxi driver pulled a curtain between them and she could no longer see him. She then hesitantly pulled her window’s blinds up.

“Remember after I drop you, you have to return in 1 hour. I cannot wait too long.”

The car ride that was bumpy before gradually became smooth and it felt as if the car was gliding over ice. Charvi sat quietly, holding her box of sweets tightly. After sometime, it felt that the taxi had hit bumpy roads again and the taxi came to a halt.

The driver pulled open the curtain between them.

“You can pull down the blinds now”. Charvi pulled them down and a burst of light blinded her. She stepped out and found herself in an old compound filled with familiar sea-green coloured buildings, rusted swings, broken see-saws — but all twinkling in the beautiful gush of morning light.

“Remember to come back in one hour”. The driver said as he drove away.

Charvi went inside the old building and started climbing up the staircase. It looked much smaller now. In her childhood, it was wider, she and three of her friends could climb up together side by side.

She reached a flat and rang its bell.

A woman opened the door. It was her mother. Charvi realised that at that age her mom looked so much like her. “Can I help you?”. Charvi’s childhood was in an era were sudden visitors were expected.

“I am Sandhya’s relative from the far side. I thought I could visit. I got this box of sweets.” — said Charvi. She had researched and come up with a story of who she was and why she was visiting. Charvi’s mother, confused, led her in. Charvi entered her childhood living room with pink walls and brown sofas. It was prettier than she remembered it to be. She found her 11 year old version on the dining table engrossed working through a pencil sketch.

“I used to sketch so much and so often. Why did I stop?” — Charvi wondered why all these years instead of waiting, getting bored, she failed to find herself an engrossing hobby.

Her brother was busy with her father fixing the cooler in the balcony. Her father looked like such a young man — his hair was all black, curly, his spine was erect. Now both her parents had grown smaller. Her father was wearing a vest and embarrassed he walked in to wear a shirt. Charvi from her childhood remembered many such embarrassing moments when the guests would show up unexpected. Once there were half eaten watermelon slices covered with black ants all over the living room as they were eating it when the guests had come. At the other time, her brother was only wearing his underwear and ran in shouting when an aunt had dropped in.

Charvi’s mother asked her if she wanted to have some tea and Charvi nodded.

Her mother went inside the kitchen. Charvi wondered how her mother managed the house, two kids, did all the cooking and never showed any resentment. How was she not angry? Later when all the kids left her, she seemed content even then too. Did she never suffer from a fear of abandonment, the anticipation of which pangs Charvi from time to time?

Charvi’s father joined and cracked a joke around how he has to play a mechanic around the house all the time. “These people keep breaking everything”. When Charvi’s mother came out with tea, her father exclaimed- “ Why just tea? Join us for lunch!” — much to her mother’s annoyance. Charvi smiled.

“I have only 40 minutes left but I don’t mind eating whatever you have cooked. Maybe just one roti.”

And after a while her mother brought in the simple food that was made, dal rice, roti, kadhi and beans. Charvi looked at the food and realised it has been a while since someone has lovingly served her simple home cooked food. She tore a piece of roti, dipped it in the kadhi and put it in her mouth. At that point she couldn’t help but break down into tears much to the amusement of everyone. Even her younger baby brother came inside to take a peek.

Charvi’s mother held Charvi’s hand and asked her if she is ok and Charvi hugged her and wept.

“Let me cry. I came here to cry.” — Charvi said.

After a while Charvi realised she had just 15 minutes left. So she controlled her tears and finished the food quietly. After weeping a little she felt better and for the first time in years she felt safe. It was like finding a warm fire on a dark, cold night. This old, rickety, childhood home, on the verge of cracking — where very soon each of its pieces would be swirling away disappearing into the ether - was the only place she ever felt safe.

She hugged her mother again and thanked her for the food. She said goodbye to her baby self, her father and her brother.

The taxi was waiting for her downstairs when she reached.

“How was the trip?” — asked the man.

Charvi had no words, her eyes were still moist.

“Did you cry? Everyone cries.” — the taxi man said. “Once I took a very rich man, his childhood home was very small and poor. But even he cried. I asked him — ‘Why do you cry, you are so rich now.’ But the rich man said he was richer when he was a kid.” Charvi kept quiet.

“I hope you liked the day I brought you to?” — the man asked.

“Earlier, in the heydays, people would demand the date of visit, take us on that birthday or on a day when I won this prize but I think the most normal, uneventful days are the most magical days.” — he said.

“They signify the beauty of a still pond that is so content with itself that it waits for no pebble to be thrown in it.” — he added. “I crave for my simple, uneventful days. No accidents, no riders demanding to stay back, no unforeseen detours. Simple routine days are the most joyful.”

Charvi nodded as the car drove past her old neighbourhood.

“Put the blinds up Ma’m. It’s time to go home.” — said the man as the car started gliding.

When the taxi dropped Charvi back to her building- she looked at the time. It was 12'o clock. She thanked the driver and started walking back home, the sun was rising up. It was a regular day but the events in the morning had imparted a magical quality to it. She walked back, with a certain spring in her heart, a rekindled warmth in her spirits, and she looked forward to the rest of her day with a renewed desire to make the most of it. Charvi had seen the rainbow that comes on ordinary days.