A Snapshot Of Innocence

A grandparents’ home remains a treasured place in the mind.

- Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

I can close my eyes and be there in an instant. I am 12, sitting in the front seat of my grandparents’ powder blue classic Hindustan Ambassador, windows rolled down, sunlight and a steady, fresh breeze pouring in. The car ambles along narrow streets, cuts through lush rice paddies and then follows the railway tracks that lead into town, making its way to Dutta Bagan, my grandparents’ house in Dibrugarh, Assam.

The chauffeur, Nasim, is at the wheel, never going more than 40kmph on my grandpa’s express instructions. In the backseat are my mother and sister, sitting with Dadubhai (grandpa) who picked us up from Dibrugarh’s Mohanbari Airport. He is dressed in one of his signature grey safari suits that he wears on days he sees patients at his clinic. None of us is particularly chatty, but the smiles on our faces are a clear indication of just how pleased we are to be there with each other.

It was the summer of 2000, and we were on our annual break to visit my grandparents. None of us knew then that this would be our last time here.