Vikram
Joshi was born in the quiet, leafy suburb of Pashan, Pune, in 1948. His early
years were filled with the simple pleasures of village life—chasing butterflies
in the fields, swimming in the pristine waters of Pashan Lake, and listening to
the elders' stories under the banyan tree. His family had lived in Pashan for
generations, and their roots run deep in its red soil.
"तुला
ते
झाड
दिसतंय
का,
विक्रम?"
his grandfather would say, pointing to the sprawling banyan near the village
temple. “तुमच्या पण‌जोबांनी
ते
लावले
होते.
हे
आपल्यापैकी
कोणापेक्षाही
जास्त
काळ
येथे
आहे.
ते
झाड
आमच्या
कुटुंबासारखे
आहे.
मजबूत,
खोल
मुळे,
लांब
पसरलेल्या
फांद्या,
पण
मुळे...
ती
आपल्याला
जमिनीवर
ठेवतात.”
Little Vikram would nod solemnly, not quite understanding the full weight of
the words, but feeling a deep connection to the earth beneath him, the soil
that carried the stories of his ancestors.
As
Pune grew, so did Pashan. Roads that were once dirt paths turned into asphalt,
and homes made of stone and mud slowly gave way to brick and concrete
structures. Vikram watched as the once-rural area transformed into a bustling
suburb, but his love for the place never waned. He finished his BA from
Fergusson College and married his college love Neelima, and they had two
children, Anuja and Sameer. The old ancestral house, with its creaky wooden
doors and cool stone floors, became their home. Even as the world around him
changed, Vikram remained rooted in the traditions of his family.
"मी
आता
ओळखत
नाही,"
Vikram would often say to his wife, Neelima, as they sat on the porch, sipping
evening tea. “पण हा
अजून
पाषाणच
आहे.
तलाव
अजूनही
आहे
आणि
टेकड्याही
आहेत.
मला
वाटते
तेच
महत्त्वाचे
आहे.”
Neelima
would smile, knowing that while her husband struggled with the changes, he
would never leave. "बदल अपरिहार्य
आहे,
विक्रम,"
she'd say softly. "पण काही
गोष्टी
तशाच
राहतात,
जसे
की
तलावावर
सूर्य
मावळतो.
तुम्ही
ते
रोज
बघता,
नाही
का?
हे
अगदी
लहान
असतानाच्यासारखेच
आहे."
Vikram
worked as a schoolteacher, nurturing young minds and instilling in them the
values of honesty and hard work. He was beloved by his students, who
affectionately called him "Masterji." He had a way of making lessons
come alive, often drawing on his childhood experiences in Pashan to explain
concepts.
"
मुलांनो,
कल्पना
करा"
he’d say, standing in front of the chalkboard, "तुम्ही
पहाटे
तलावाजवळ
चालत
आहात.
धुके
वाढत
आहे,
आणि
तुम्हाला
समोर
दिसत
नाही.
पुरातत्वशास्त्रज्ञांना
सिंधू
संस्कृती
असेच
वाटले
असावे
- जोपर्यंत ते
खोदण्यास
सुरुवात
करत
नाही
तोपर्यंत
ते
रहस्याने
झाकलेले
होते.
हे
जुन्यामध्ये
काहीतरी
नवीन
शोधण्यासारखे
आहे.”
The
children would sit spellbound, transported to a time long past, even as they
sat in a classroom surrounded by the noise of construction outside, the modern
world pressing in on their quiet corner of Pune.
For
years, he took his children on walks around the village, showing them the same
fields and hills he had explored as a boy. "तुझे
आजोबा
मला
इथेच
घेऊन
यायचे",
he’d say, gesturing to a small grove of trees near the lake. "आम्ही
इथे
तासनतास
बसून
पक्ष्यांना
ऐकत
असू."
As
they grew older, Anuja and Sameer would roll their eyes, though they still came
along out of a sense of duty. "बाबा,
आम्हाला
ही
माहित
आहे,"
Sameer would say, smiling. "शंभर वेळा
सांगितले
आहे."
"पण
तुम्हाला
आठवन
असू
अशीच
माझी
इच्छा,"
Vikram would reply gently. “एक दिवशी,
तुम्ही
तुमच्या
मुलांना
इथे
आणाल
आणि
ते
या
जागेबद्दल
विचारतील.
आणि
तुम्हाला
काय
म्हणायचे
आहे
ते
कळेल.”
In
his early fifties, Vikram faced a dilemma when a prominent Pune-based real
estate company approached him to redevelop his house. The city was expanding
rapidly, and developers saw potential in turning old family homes into sleek
apartment complexes. Vikram was torn. On one hand, the house was aging and in
need of repairs. On the other, it held the memories of generations.
"तुला
काय
वाटतं,
नीलिमा?"
he asked one evening, the letter from the developer sitting on the table
between them. Neelima looked at him thoughtfully. “आम्ही
बदल
थांबवू
शकत
नाही,
विक्रम.
घर
नेहमीच
आपल्या
हृदयात
असेल,
परंतु
कदाचित
काहीतरी
नवीन
करण्याची
वेळ
आली
आहे.
मुलांनाही
त्यांच्या
भविष्यासाठी
घराची
गरज
आहे.”
Reluctantly,
Vikram agreed, knowing the family needed a modern home. For three years, he
moved to Bavdhan, another suburb of Pune, while construction took place. Though
Bavdhan was nice, with its clean roads and new buildings, his heart longed for
Pashan. He missed the familiar streets, the sound of birds in the morning, and
the sight of the banyan tree that still stood tall near the temple.
"बावधन
छान
आहे
बाबा,"
Anuja said one day, noticing his melancholy. “पण
पाषाण
नेहमी
घरी
असेल.
आपण
लवकरच
तिथे
परत
जाणार.”
When
the redevelopment was completed, Vikram returned to Pashan with a sense of
relief and joy. The new house was modern and comfortable, yet it retained the
essence of the old home—preserving the memories of his ancestors.
The
first thing Vikram did after moving back was to plant a new sapling in the
front yard. "पुढच्या पिढीसाठी,"
he told Neelima" त्यांना कळेल
की
त्यांची
मुळे
कुठे
आहेत."
He spent his remaining years tending to the garden, teaching his grandchildren
about the flora and fauna of Pashan, and visiting the lake that had been his
childhood playground.
One
afternoon, he took his granddaughter Maya to the lake, the same way he had
taken Anuja and Sameer so many years before. Maya, all of five years old, ran
ahead, chasing after dragonflies.
"हळू
माया,
हळू"
Vikram called, smiling as he watched her. "तू
त्यांना
घाबरवशील."
"पण
अजोबा,
मला
एक
पकडायचे
आहे!"
Maya laughed, her tiny feet kicking up dust as she darted through the reeds.
Vikram
chuckled and sat down on a rock near the shore, watching her play. The lake was
as beautiful as ever, though the surroundings had changed. Tall buildings
loomed in the distance, and the once quiet waters were now dotted with
paddleboats. Still, the sight of the sun setting over the hills, casting a
golden glow over the water, brought Vikram a sense of peace.
As
Maya finally returned to his side, panting and empty-handed, she flopped down
beside him, resting her head on his lap. "मला
एक
गोष्ट
सांगा
आजोबा,"
she said, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.
Vikram
smiled and stroked her hair. “ठीक आहे,
मी
तुझ्या
वयाच्या
असताना
मी
इथे
ड्रॅगनफ्लाय
पकडला
त्या
वेळेबद्दल
सांगू...”
The
story flowed easily from his lips, as though the years had never passed. And as
Maya listened, her eyes fluttering shut in the fading light, Vikram realized
that no matter how much the world around him had changed, the essence of Pashan
remained the same. It was in the stories, the memories, and the connections
between generations.
Vikram
Joshi passed away peacefully in 2023, in the very house where he had been born.
His family gathered around him, and as the funeral rites were performed, the
banyan tree near the temple stood tall, its roots entwined with the land that
had nurtured generations of Joshis.
Anuja
and Sameer stood side by side, looking out over the hills. "बाबांना
हे
आवडले
असते,"Sameer
said softly. "तो घरी
पोहोचले."
Anuja
nodded, wiping away a tear. “तो नेहमी
म्हणत
होता
की
पाषाण
बदलेल,
पण
मुळे
कायम
राहतील.
आता
आपणच
त्यांना
मजबूत
ठेवायचे
आहे.”
Moral
of the Story: ज़रा
सी
बावधानी,
ज़िन्दगी
भर
पाषाणी
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