I loved Stairs

He was sitting in the courtyard, when I passed by he called for me and slapped me asking, “What were you doing?...”

I was in full merry mood for it was summer vacation and we were playing games of twilight; I was 10. The world changed, I didn’t cry but I wept.

I loved stairs. It was summer vacation and like every summer vacation we went to our village, to meet our grandfather and grandmother. Adding to it was the fun of spending the whole afternoons in mango orchids; we had large mango orchids. It was a total change in style of living; we came from a small town but with decent amenities to a small village with none.

No electricity to start with made the days hotter and nights darker. But the hotter days could be spend in shadows of trees and the darker nights on roof tops gazing at clear starry skies.

The summer vacation extends to nearly one month and we made a point to spend the last week at our maternal grandfather place in Begusrai.

That is were the stairs were. The apartment was a two storey old building. It was difficult to understand what color it use to be, but now it was pale yellow.

The building might not have undergone maintenance for about 10 years, may be before my birth. But it did have that cozy feeling that attracts peoples to live in a neighborhood where you know who your neighbor is.

Now I hardly know what the surname of my neighbor is that also because everyday I see the sign board on their closed door while passing on stairs on my 2nd floor flat, I hate climbing these stairs. I used to love stairs.

We were playing hide and seek, the other kids were from neighborhood I can hardly remember one name now but there were at least ten then. On the terrace there was a dried water tank, cemented and large enough to cater to the whole building must have been abandoned due to leakage problems of that old building. The tank lied at one edge and there was only one way to go in there that was to climb the sidewalls and hang to the end of the tank and pull self up and then jump in. It was a dangerous ordeal, if I think of it now, but it provided a good hiding place and who cared to think deep those days of thoughtlessness.

I did hide myself with great dexterity and I did win the game as no one found me, but then with win came the price, when I came out of the tank some kid have already told my “Nanaji” (my maternal grand father) of where I was.

It was getting dark and the game was over so I rushed downstairs and at the doorstep in the courtyard, there was Nanaji sitting in the armchair. I skipped his mood but he asked me to stop, I don’t remember which happened first me turning to him or his hand coming for my cheek. It was a shock for me till he said “What were you doing? Where were you?...”. I do not remember what he said next but with my trembling feet I stood there. He must have made me aware of the danger of climbing the tank before dismissing me but the unusual slap was enough for me to not remember anything afterwards. I don’t remember if he ever slapped me or even raised an eyebrow ever again. And I went in it was dark outside and darker inside, I went for my bed lied on my stomach with my head concealed in the pillow I wept. I didn’t cry but I wept.

To this day I still cherish those stairs and the sweet slap; I wish I could have had more of such memories.

I used to love stairs; I use lift now.