villages

The village tap

Travel Tales

Picture an evening in a dusty village. With dusty roads, cows and languid walks. Not to forget the the local tea stall with its share of newspapers and ofcourse..tea.

In a corner picture cows coming home after tilling the land. With farmers and their wards, returning to thatched huts that sprout cable TV.

The local radio playing. The odd bicycle plying. The village girls and boys running home from the municipal school in reckless abandon. Unmindful of dust or dreariness !

Picture mud walls with posters on them. Announcing the latest arrival of the star studded movie. The stars have to bite mud !

Old village grandmas sitting on the steps to their homes. Grating tobacco and chatting incessantly.

Well, you wonder, how long has it been since you visited an Indian village ?

And in a corner, you notice a tap. A tap which seems to have gone silent for a while. You try and yank the tap alive. It hisses like an inebriated cobra but comes to life. Sputtters and coughs, but then spews some water. Clean water. Hopefully, there will be some flow.

Ah ! To comeback !

The merry-go-round deal !

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Children scream. Half concealing a laugh and a spirit that seems to come alive when the man with big biceps heaves all his might on to the ‘merry-go-round’.

For 25 paisa, there they are, sitting on red cars. With stationary wheels that spin in air and a steering wheel that needs no steering. The man with the big biceps moves them well ! For two minutes or for such time till the man with the big biceps gets tired, the kids spin around.

In seemingly countless whorls. Seemingly in control. Giggling. Screaming. Some crying. Some closing their eyes in sheer fear and great fright. And there they go. Round. And round. And round.

When their turn is done, they alight.

Slightly heady. Perhaps longing for more. Sometimes looking at their parents for ‘one more round’ ! This merry-go-round is a prominent feature of local fairs and any decent gathering in the villages.

The name says it all. Merry-go-round ! Be merry while going around. Wind in the hair. Screams. Laughter. And all that. For as long as the man with the big biceps desires. Generally its equitable. Sometimes he gives some kids a few more turns. Thats part of the deal.

The merry-go-round deal. The man spins the kids around. As new kids climb on to old cars. Cars with wheels that dont run on the ground and a steering wheel that doesn’t steer.

The same deal, that gives kids a heady high, to think that they steer while knowing that they dont. The same deal that the man with big biceps plays along. The ‘Merry-Go-Round’ deal !

Think about it. Merry-go-round. Man with big biceps. Heady high. Spin. Scream. Scare. Loss. Seeming control. Joy. And so on.

Life.

Isnt it ?

Life…seems to me, to be one big merry-go-round !

Whatsay ?

In awe of a plastic pot

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I am in awe. Among other things, At the number of snaps of plastic pots that i have clicked.

There are many aspects of small town and village living that the ‘sophisticated’ cannot understand.


Amongst them, is the plastic pot. A very important lifeline to many. They come in different colours. Bright pink. Yellow. Orange. Green. Of course, the pot had to be identifiable in a sea of pots waiting for that trickle of water.

Getting to the tap, before anyone else can is important. At the dead of the night. Sometimes earlier than that. And take a place in the queue.

But that’s not where it ends. That’s where it starts.

It really ends when a pot full of water gets balanced on the head. And another on the hip. And gets home by walk. When home is a perhaps a kilometer or two away. And a flight of steps to climb, by the way. Careful that not a drop drips. For each drip means more trips to the tap.

And as this is getting written, there are other folks in big cities of the world. Who think water and such else, are in perpetual supply like a television soap. And the worst water woe is parked at the doorstep of the municipal corporation. But then, this post is not about them.

This post is about awe. And the plastic pot. The pot that helps carry water. With much love and such else.

I truly am in awe. Of a different life on the same planet. Of daily struggles. Of people. Of water. Of pots.

And of course, of mothers. Especially, one that i know, that carried many pot fulls, from the community tap. And climbed the stairway, many times. As her young sons fought over the plastic ball that each wanted for himself.

And she let them be. And they played, watching their mother amble along for more water in thirsty summers. Those were different times.

And so, the plastic pot opens a dam of memories.

And now, indeed there is awe. Now that i see.
What it would have taken to raise my brother and me.

And so you are back.

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And so you are back. After many miles of journey. Roads. Hills. Air. Air pockets. Fields. Villages. Malls. And all of that.

You are back to where you live. And you wonder how right they were. When they said ‘time flies’. You feel this time around, time took the expressway !

But then, its still isn’t long off your memory. One look at the 2500 plus snaps clicked over the 15 days, and your mind rejigs and brings to the fore the exact feeling at the moment captured on camera. You realise you itch to tell the world as many stories as there are photographs. And then you choose some in random.


Like this one. When your heart skipped a beat to see a seeming synchronicity in randomly arraigned coconut trees set against a blue backdrop on the banks of a spanking new highway. Made on agricultural land.

Or to see this man pedal his bicycle, with a lady seated behind. And wonder, when last you saw this scene. And then have your taxi driver tell you that these villagers pedal 17 kilometers one way, to reach the nearest hospital. And your eyes auto squint, thinking of life.


Or to see a far away temple set in the middle of banana plantation. And look towards the sky in awe and wonder about this concept of the ‘faith’ ! And think of the tall towers of Meenakshi temple. And then the small precincts of the family temple. And see faith standing on firm foundations.


And then, you saw stern faces stare at you as they traveled in a lorry meant for goods. And think of the stern face & heaps of abuse hurled by the passenger sitting next to you on the flight, because the air hostess didn’t respond ‘in time’


And you think of this boat. By that lake in Berijum. And reaffirm. That nature soothes a lost soul. Like no other.

And as the memory still is fresh and tumble in one after another, you realise. You are back. With new respect. For life. For living. For people. For dreams. For mother Earth. And your own self.

That you saw what others saw. Yet saw what many others didn’t.

And as you type that line, you wonder, if that sounds boastful. And then, you recall conversations with many here. Those stoical faces and ‘ah-there-you-go’ smiles. And you let that line remain.

And you know. You can go on and on. But you realise. You have got to stop somewhere, somehow. You are thankful for many things. And one of them, is for the love of readers of this blog. For that, you realise, you ought to be immensely thankful.

So you quickly end, where it all started. By stating, ‘And so, you are back’.