Memoirs of Belagavi

Over the years, life undergoes changes and time passes by. We may age, but we don’t truly grow up. If you were to remain in Belagavi, you would undoubtedly long for the days that have slipped away.

The memories of our childhood create an indescribable sense of nostalgia. We were raised in Nanawadi, Tilakwadi, and Camp – places that still bear the lingering presence of the British era.

Each season held its unique joys for us. The year, filled with excitement and adventure, didn’t commence with the academic calendar but rather in March when the winds of exams blew through. These gusts, like small tornadoes, served as a forewarning of the impending exams. However, it wasn’t the exams themselves that we eagerly anticipated; they were merely a formality to endure before the much-awaited vacations.

The exams were not all that much tension too, plus there were plenty of hawkers with Karwandas, Tamarind jigli and Jambhul to ease the pressure. My personal favorite was the raw cut mangoes which made my exams easy to appear.

Chickenpox, typhoid, viral etc made their occasional appearances in friends during this period. Somehow exams were over in no time, we actually had two exams a day and no holidays in between, I wonder what today’s kids would do with that format.

Once the small tornadoes appeared, parents would plan vacations, but wait it was not foreign locations or themes, it was usually a grandma’s home or mama’s town. A place around two hundred km away yet visited only once a year and there would be so much excitement, sweets, pickles, and all the packing.

We would however be busy making cricket balls of some weird fruits we called cork balls, God knows what those shengas were. Somehow the grandma’s place seemed like the best destination and yes it used to relax the moms so much for the next academic year.

Soon exams would be over and there would be the last ritual football match before we went home for two full months, by this time there would be occasional showers and it was considered offensive not to get wet, although it would lead to the inevitable fever and cold, that was not a big deal.

Those who lived in the camp and Nanawadi would then go through the annual mango crusade, stealing mangoes and tamarind made us feel like pirates, and getting caught and reported to our parents was heroic. Desai farm and St Mary’s church were our favorite haunts. Those not visiting grandmas also had lucrative options, there were evening picnics to military Mahadev where you could see fish, and animals and play on the slides, biscuit Mahadev, there was Laxmi tekdi and the water used to flow freely there and then there was the queens garden with its magical mirrors in the garden.

We did not have chips and the best snack was churmura and chiwda. There used to be one cricket summer camp in Union Gymkhana, otherwise, our summer training was in every galli and playground. There used to be a competition to be first on the ground to get the best pitch, the games usually lasted till you could tan yourself no more.

Results came on the tenth of April and that was the only day we ever knew who our post man was. Results were usually pass for all and we did have ranks that mattered to the uncles and aunties around your house, getting a pass was enough.

Then came the mangoes and we never had to use the knife, mangoes of every variety from every tree were yours to have, there was no concept of organic and all that because they were all as natural as it gets. Eating mangoes was a competition and there were no pressures to lose weight.

By the time the Jambhuls came it used to be time to get back to school. It was time to get your uniform stitched, once a year if you were lucky and the cloth shop and tailor were fixed, you had to buy books from Salgoankar stationary and mama shop, that was the last you ventured into the city. Fresh books, fresh covers, fresh uniforms and heavy rains to drape them.

Kids today would never know the fun of crossing nalas full of water in heavy rains and yes we got holidays if it rained heavily, we miss the heavy rains so much. Paper boats and rockets were essential basic crafts for this season. This was the time to go after the crabs, which suddenly came into the field from nowhere and tasted yum.

The trees were so abundant that we did not need to plant, it was considered outcasts not to be able to climb a tree and you would get only the leftovers that were dropped down. Getting fruits from markets and eating like we do today was not fashion. With the rains coming to an end we started the second round of picnics Sogal, Dhupdal, Gokak, Hidkal, Vaijanath and if you were a little more adventurous Amboli were the happening locations, not very far but equally rewarding, the batata bhaji and chapati were the best companion for this and mom had the best recipe.

Kite flying was restricted to mid-term holidays alone during Dasara and Diwali and kites with long tails and longest tails was fun.

We also had our Swamy bakery if you wanted some hot and creamy buns and rolls giving a touch of the colonial past of camp. Memories would go on even in winter with Diwali and Christmas vacation as Belgaum would then be cold and cosy.

We played at the ground which now houses the Shivateerth, the BMS school ground, and the ground behind Laxmi Mandir near Nanawadi. All these grounds have now been either closed to the public or something else has occupied the same. In those days we also used to get the occasional entry into the lido tank used by the commandos.

Movies were seen in theaters and Globe, Rex, Balkrishna and Arun talkies were for those who had the money, well tickets were around ten rupees and we could afford a maximum of two in a year. Popins, greens, pawan and raswanti were the options if you had money to indulge in food and the dosas, misals, alipak was delicious.

The arrival of the circus during Ganapati was common and seeing those elephants, Lions, hippos, Camels, and Horses was a treat on the Station ground.

People used to gather for poojas and exchange wishes instead of going on vacations. It was a joyous time for every child, and I often find myself wishing that our children could experience such simple pleasures in today’s competitive world. It’s disheartening to witness parents fighting for grades even in kindergarten, making me question why children are subjected to such immense pressure.

Sometimes, I yearn to travel back in time and relive those cherished days in Belagavi. The freedom to go out and play with friends just for the sheer joy of it, without any professional aspirations. Eating fruits straight from the trees and basking in the sun, leaves us with memories that will endure, unlike the results we achieved in exams. I long to stroll in the rain once more, without a care in the world about getting drenched.