The steps of memory
Tracing meanings in spaces
Memories do not follow the laws of time. They float in a sea of current thoughts, slipping into each other as they see fit, newly morphed each time a creaky tune, a familiar face, an off-guard feeling, the rainy breeze, a well-used object bumps it ahead of the current thoughts. A repository of occurrences valuable to our being – we remember only what is important to us – at once stale and fresh.
Which spatial experiences have made it to your memories? Which incidents can you not recollect without their spatial settings?
Today's newsletter is about a few of those memories of mine that relate to steps. I'd like to think of this as a meaning-making exercise – what can steps, one of the most common architectural elements, connote beyond their inherent meanings? My well-sifted memories seem to be a good place to begin.
One | Foothills of warmth
The beginning of chilly winters in Jammu, the beginning of winter vacations.
The smell of naphthalene balls from our sweaters fades as the enticing fragrance of potatoes being coal-roasted in our neighbor's angeethi fills the air. Three women sit patiently around the angeethi, warming their hands and chatting as they keep rotating the potatoes over the coal with a stick for an even cook. I am here with my mother, who is one of the three.
The scene takes place at the base of the common staircase of the cookie-cutter defense apartment buildings, with two apartments on each of its three floors.
A warm embrace of community wraps us curiously in a vacant space designed only for the usual thoroughfare.
Two | Mountain of growth
Grandma's ageless home in the summers of Marathwada. Elders taking an afternoon nap in the aangan in front of a cooler whirring beside the TV set. Right behind the TV set, at a small distance, stands tall a solid staircase that has been climbed by four generations. With each step almost as high as a third of my height at eleven years old, the staircase is bound by a wall at one end, and has no railings on the other. Yes, people have fallen and bones have been broken here.
Every afternoon we spent there, these steps were inevitably climbed – they led to a room with cards and board games, and beyond this room, a small door opened into what was the kitchen before grandma's knees couldn't let her reach there. The kitchen in turn had another small door, so small that adults had to crouch, opening into a backyard with hilly terrain and neem trees and trees with white flowers that grandpa picked daily for his praying rituals. The terrain also housed creatures of its own – birds, snakes, rats, and wandering cats.
Being allowed to climb up these steps without adult supervision meant I was a grown-up kid now – one who could be counted upon to play card games other than the basic jod paan, and be trusted with the flower-picking responsibilities for grandpa.
Three | Seat of conviviality
One of our recent years in the new city of Pune, of being a Maharashtrian in Maharashtra. Dad was still on the waitlist for the army quarters, we were 'civilians' for the first time in our lives.
In an unknown land, mom found her grounding in religion – our first sightseeing trip as a family in this city was to the Chaturshringi Mandir, a temple perched on a hilltop in almost the middle of the city.
The steps leading to the temple are wide, at least in my memory, with large landings and shady trees, perfect for lazy lounging on breezy evenings. On that day, the steps were a communal plaza. Cozy enough to offer a private spot, open enough to cherish the outdoors. And most importantly, you got to pick your spot! After the darshan, a mat was spread on the floor, laughs and anecdotes were shared along with instructions to not trip or let our younger brother trip, and dabbas with snacks were opened – the stony steps to the divine abode became the perfect site for earthly pleasures – a perfect picnic spot, a bright seat of conviviality.
What do steps mean to you? Feel free to share your fondest memories with me.