Those were the times when every colony simply had to have a park. It did not matter whether it had a market or not, a school or not, a bus stop or not…but a park, yes — that was a must. It could be a simple plot of land where everyone gathered in the evenings or it could be a posh looking one with swings and benches. We were living in Delhi for a few years when I was still in junior school. It was a joint family at that time. My Daadi was the head of the family and all of us, uncles, aunts and cousins lived in a house which faced the park of that colony.
It was a rather special park — a huge, sprawling one with four equal sections divided by cemented walks. It was surely the centre of our lives. From Daadi’s morning walk to our playing time in the evening, from the gossip session of the aunts on the benches with their friends and neighbours to the lovely leisurely after-dinner walks I accompanied my Daadi and Bua at night — it was all about the park and us. Winters and summers, we were at the park the moment we finished our work at home. It was an extension of our homes. People met each other at the park instead of going to each other’s homes in the evenings. It was just a minute’s walk from all the homes that surrounded it on all four sides.
Ayahs brought children in prams and we made friends with these little ones, pop-cornwallahs and peanut-sellers roamed the park in winters while kulfi and ice-cream were available all around the park in the severe Delhi summers. In the monsoons, we went looking for mushrooms in the park and often came back with toadstools which I believe are poisonous. On holidays, we would be at the park all day. The swings that looked like cages were quite exciting as we kept hanging from their bars like monkeys, thinking that it would make us tall.The see-saws were also very popular as were the slides. When our mothers called out from home for us to come back, we could hear clearly as there was hardly any distance between the huge park and our homes. Women brought peas on winter forenoons to shell them in the park while talking to each other, they would sun their pickles at the park, cut vegetables and clean the daals. Once the ingredients were ready, they would come back to their kitchens and cook. The colony cricket practice and matches provided great excitement in those days of only Doordarshan and All India Radio. One segment of the park was informally reserved for these sports, one had the swings, the third was for elderly people and the fourth was more for the housewife groups. These divisions had formed themselves and stayed that way, mostly. On the cemented walks, there were walkers and joggers and in the very centre was a colourful water fountain that looked lovely when the lights were put on at dusk.
Each resident of the colony felt that the park belonged to him or her. There was a feeling of belonging to a community, to a group of people who were far more than neighbours. They were like an extended family and knew about each others joys and sorrows, sharing them, caring for each other. In the privacy of the park, people communicated with their friends and this was a great stress-buster. Just expressing oneself at leisure could solve most of a person’s problems. Sitting on the benches or on the grass, people listened carefully to what the others had to say. There was no rush, no hurry to get back home to catch one’s favourite soap or get hooked to the internet. It was a great place — that park. It still stands there but looks quite deserted most of the time as people are all away at work and in the evenings, they remain in the air-conditioned homes with their laptops, phones and television sets. A few walkers can be seen at night but no longer is this park a meeting place for hearts and minds. No longer do children spend hours on the swings (the swings have now disappeared). I could not see the prams and the babies. The park seems to have lost its magic. Or is it that the magic has now gone out of our livesIJ Forever.