Nostalgia time

Today, a lunchtime conversation with a colleague who had visited the UK started me off on a nostalgic trip of my stay in the country. I always knew I loved the experience of living there, but as I mulled over my memories, I found that there were a lot of moments that I truly treasured, so many experiences that I cherished and held close to my heart.

So I thought I will share some of the things that linger in my mind from my 2-year stay in High Wycombe, a beautiful town in Buckinghamshire, some 45 kms from London. The town was recently in the news for being home to the suspects in the Transatlantic aircraft plot in Aug 2006. But my memories of the place are as a serene, welcoming town that had a huge diversity in its population including Asians and Carribeans. So here is the flashback..

One morning soon after I landed, I decided to walk to the town centre on a Sunday morning. After having been used to the milling crowds in India, I was astonished to see a deserted town centre. I remember Walking on the cobbled pathways in the High Street on that wintry morning, listening to the echo of my own shoes.
There were the long solitary walks I used to take across the park along the river Wye. The grass was such a bright green that it would almost hurt my eye. Sometimes I took bread with me to feed the ducks.

My apartment was half-way up a small, beautiful hill. That area, called Downley, was one of the typical quaint English villages, with beautiful avenue-lined roads that wound up the hill. I would often walk up to the very top of the hill on evenings and watch the sunset. That was one of the most beautiful sights ever and every time I did that, a feeling of calm would descend on me. The beauty of those surroundings was almost therapeutic.

Weekends were lazy times when I did not have much to do (I could really do with one such weekend now!). I would walk to the town centre, sit in a coffee shop that was strategically located at the entrance of the Octagon Centre (the Mall) and watch people. There would be all kinds of people going about their business - fighting couples, dating teenagers, Asian families doing their weekend shopping, old ladies fussing over their pet dogs. And I would sit watching them sipping my cappuccino and a munching on a fresh blueberry muffin, for as long as I pleased.

One Sunday morning, I got up and found I had nothing to do. So I boarded a bus from the starting point in the Town centre and sat on till the end-point.. and came back in the same bus!

Whatever culinary skills I possess, I picked up when I was there. I used to try out new recipes and had a band of good friends who used to invariably land home on Saturday mornings after their weekend shopping. All of them were bachelors and whatever I made, was manna for them. I used to receive adulation even for a simple gobi masala and yes, I lapped up all the praises.

A few of my Indian colleagues decided to learn French and I joined along. We took lessons from a French lady, Martine. She is one of the most warm-hearted and kindly souls I have known. Our classes were early in the morning on weekends. Since Martine knew we would skip breakfast to come to our classes on time, she would always bring a whole lot of French breakfast with her - and we would learn our French while feeding our growling stomachs on petit-pain-au-raisin and the likes. Her warmth and friendliness made my French sessions memorable.

I stayed alone for most part of 2 years in High Wycombe. And the best part of staying alone was perhaps that it left me with more time to be with myself. Looking back, I think it is one of the best periods in my adult life.