MY CITY, MY RIVER
“I’ve been staying in this place for over six decades,” I would say in a boastful tone, similar to how a dutiful husband praises his devoted wife. I’m firmly grounded in this city of fifteen lakhs as deeply as divinely as the surrounding hills seen holding this spiritual center in its serene embrace.
I’m speaking about Vijayawada in the south Indian state of Andhra Pradesh, where I was born and raised in this temperate coastal fertile belt basket. I feel lucky as I grew up here from a childhood of innocence to a teenager full of passions, dreams, and interests. And later found an identity as a teacher and administrator in this vibrant place. What more would any aspirational young soul ask for?
As a teenage brat, the roads allowed me to ride on the rented by-cycles on the narrow streets, uncluttered from traffic. Much earlier, while walking down to reach the school, I shyly gazed at the movie wall posters holding a school bag in one hand and a lunch box in another. For any good deed at home, I received five paise as a generous reward, and I remember how I used to treasure in the pocket of my knickers. Back then, radio was a rarity; with no telephones, rationing, and long queues, the town seemed remotely alone, with no beauty and character to feel proud about.
Recollecting those distant memories, I wonder now about the variety of electronic gadgets my grandchildren play with. Nothing less than a car, they demand to move about and skim over a hundred channels to settle for an animation fantasy.
Five decades later, I see myself evolving with the city, and I can speak as much of its glory with a sentiment that we usually save for our children. I love the place as if it belongs to me. It has become a part of my personality and my interests, and I trust this city that has given me all the talents and gifts, all the good treats I feel grateful ever. I had been to bigger cities and seen more affluent avenues, bigger homes, parks, and wild spaces, but all the cityscapes combined couldn’t hold my fascination beyond a fortnight. I had to fly back to my hometown as hurriedly as the family does in the movie ‘Home Alone.’
I’m glad I was born here, in the city of music, art, and culture. I hear its beat, rhythm, and swell breathing in its beauty every day. On weekends I walk along the river beds, touched by the calm winds as I cross the multiple bridges, and drive up the hills where my camera craves and clicks and try not to miss an inch of the city’s rich landscape. I keep alive the magic of my intimacy with my city fixed in my photographic images as I visually weave the simple beauty of the city, which has become the central theme of my retired life’s narrative.
