I am painting a love story based on the backdrop of a memory lane say of 1961-62. Mom inspite of her rural background was always fascinated to urban life. I remember one day she was saying her parents and she originally belongs to some kalyana area of erstwhile west Punjab of British India I have not uttered its new name as I have already derecognised its existence as a separate entity and have used my sciences that its a part of India only. Dad charted a plan to visit haridwar. We started on a fine early morning with a little rustic baggage I know kiran is very sophisticated but sophistication s of those eventful day s were not less defined. ( I will continue. ) Love kiran is a biologist too if I can remember. Just ask her draw a TS LS of mitochondria and tell the physiological functions of lysomes. She has forgotten that sanjeev mom was also a kiran too at one eventful day of the life. Any how I will continue. Sirsa was a sleepy town as life appeared as if nothing moves without a real wait. Dad knew it will take hell time for his i ternary so he took a long route via saharanpur of the yore. Railway was a shook shook aaja chali aaja chali ja. Now I am shifting the scenario to haridwar itself. Harkipauri was a desolate place at that time and hardly anybody was visible. Dad stayed in sarai that was a makeshift of private house. Dad was not a religious crank so he avoided any bloody panda type chap over there. I remember we were inside the waters at harkipauri with Dad mom and me. it was just like your any five star hotel hardly anybody to bother you. Dad was not a ritualistic either. We stayed at that place for a day and then proceeded to other areas. Laxman jhula was only a make shift bridge hardly significant to eyes. Mom told a little bit of the environment but Dad was always a silent and calm person to reckon with. I remember we visited the down stair waters too just to feel the space you can feel like. There was hardly any person to disturb about . Dad took us to the bhimgoda I feel if I am not failing at memory lane. Sometime I confuse it with bhimtal of nainetal but that is a separate place. It was a river and I could hardly cross it as water was coming to my nose itself. The scenario was too mystic as it could leave a searching engine in my software system. I remember Dad me and mom were standing along the river of some other name and waters were that speedy that there was no scope to interfere in its majestic might but the stream was profusely short in width. I could remember water was as fresh as say any filtered waters of the present day machine. Mom was telling a story line of that place but my brain is unable to recall those eventful days in complete some.
One day I noticed that I was going back to my school at mirzapur.
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