The
salt-pans are not visible anymore; they have given way to high rises. The
yellow whistling flowers are not to be seen anymore; a BP petrol station came
up few years ago where they once had flowered.
Vasai has
changed; is changing. Better and wider roads came hand-in-hand with rising real
estate costs. Basic infrastructure woes had reduced with every passing year:
water supply and electricity improved. I did not get to see any hand pumps
where they once stood in limelight as people, especially women and children
rushed to fill their daily quota of potable water.
St. Augustine’s High was getting higher and the
Ayyappa temple grander.
The
horizon and skyline, as seen from Vasant Nagri, changed. The Giriz hill was not
the only structure that stood between the railway line and the setting sun;
there were newer buildings that were being built on lands that once were salt pans. The picture postcard sunset and its changing hues on the hill can’t
be viewed anymore. Nor can the Sun be seen playing hide-and-seek behind the
hill during its annual Uttarayan and Dakshinayan journeys.
Vasai is
in the process of becoming the next Bandra; the next 'queen of the suburbs'. Because just like Bandra, Vasai too
has still retained its idyllic charm and rustic life that will rapture
you when you travel towards Vasai Gaon, or its beaches, or the fort.
This
weekend may have been one of those nostalgic, sepia-toned trips to Vasai… and I
would be dishonest if I say that during my two-day stay there, my eyes hadn’t
welled up.
It was
only while driving back to Pune that this dawned – our Vasai house has been sold.
Ani, our house, which was like a crevice where our bittersweet memories found a common hiding place all
these years, is sold. Ani, avarka okha avarde kaash,
avarde kanakh… nammalku nammalde nostalgia!
Sob, sniff, sob.
