Memories of My Maternal Grandfather’s Home: Freedom, Rivers, and Childhood Joy
Introduction Childhood is made of places, people, and emotions that grow stronger with time. For me, that place was my maternal grandfather’s home. Today, standing in the noise of adult life, I realize that my grandfather’s village was not just a location—it was my first taste of freedom.
A World Without Rules
Visiting my maternal grandfather’s house felt like entering a different universe. There were no strict rules, no pressure of school, and no fear of time. I could climb trees and eat any fruit I wanted—mangoes, jackfruit, guavas—without permission. That freedom shaped my soul.
The pond was the heart of that home. Sitting by the water, touching lotus leaves, and running barefoot in mud were everyday joys that city children may never understand.
Learning to Swim
I learned to swim in my grandfather’s large pond. My uncle stood beside me, holding my hands, giving me courage. Slowly, fear turned into confidence. Even today, water reminds me of that pond and those lessons of trust.
My Grandfather and His Love for Fishing
My grandfather loved fishing deeply. With a fishing rod in hand, he would often head out—sometimes to the pond, sometimes to the river. When he brought large nets, the entire house felt festive.
The most exciting moments were river fishing trips. We rode large wooden boats into deep waters. Sometimes we sat on banana-tree rafts, floating gently. The endless water and open sky made me feel small and alive at the same time.
Fear Mixed with Joy
When fish like pangas or tengra came out of the water, making strange sounds, I felt scared. As a child, they looked enormous. Yet, within that fear lived pure joy. Those moments taught me how emotions can coexist.
Grandmother’s Cooking and Family Bonding
After fishing, the catch went straight to my grandmother. Her cooking had a warmth no restaurant can recreate. Sitting together on the floor, sharing food and stories—that was my first lesson in family and belonging.
Fields, Kites, and Golden Rice
After meals, we ran to the fields—flying kites or watching farmers harvest rice. The golden fields and hardworking faces became permanent images in my memory.
Conclusion
Those days are gone. The place remains, but childhood has moved on. Still, the memories live inside me. This story is my truth—my roots.
I am Nasir.
