As a child, I fondly recall frolicking in the expansive garden, adorned in my favorite frock. The garden, bordered by a winding gravel path sprinkled with tiny pebbles, surrounded a grand Victorian house boasting a staggering count of 13 or 14 rooms, adorned with majestic Byzantine pillars. Despite the vastness of the house, only a handful of rooms were utilized by us, though the specifics evade my memory; after all, I was just a child – perhaps five or six years old at the time.
          
Amidst this grandeur, one memory stands out vividly: the enchanting red poppy flower. I delighted in delicately arranging its petals, folding some upward and others downward, transforming it into a doll wearing a floral skirt. Though I was merely a child of five, this simple yet magical act remains etched in my mind, a cherished remnant of my time in Bankura.
         
But it wasn’t just the poppies that captivated me; the garden harboured other delights as well. Beneath the shade of a towering cashew nut tree, I savoured the pleasure of cracking open freshly harvested cashews, savouring their delectable taste. And amidst the lush foliage, I recall the presence of a towering Imli tree, a ber tree, a mango tree, and even a chandan tree, each adding their own charm to the idyllic surroundings.
These memories, woven together with the scent of blooming flowers and the taste of ripe fruits, transport me back to that enchanting time of innocence and wonder in Bankura.
