All posts tagged: Rural India

Homeland

He woke up four inches below the snow like bed. But the day ahead was going to be as treacherous. He felt excited because travelling to rural India gave a smile to his face. Indian villages to a good extent still practice their civilisational old traditions. The air is different, the land for miles is green. But leaving Delhi behind is a lengthy affair. Their is an infrastructure push. Hundreds and thousands of trees that once gave beauty, breath and shade have now given way to expressway and highways and along with it empty, always being constructed high rise buildings. Slowly we start going past it. And we start seeing cow dung cakes kept for sun drying for kilometres. For centuries cow dung cakes known as “upla” in Hindi are used for cooking, cleaning homes and for homa- the fire worship. It’s smoke is known to purify the environment killing small insects and creatures. Many years ago someone said to Nara about India, when he was roaming in the river valleys of Kedar, that India …

LAST FLIGHT OF AN OWL

He kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Big round button yellow eyes like ever watching you do the doing. His death seemed such that at one time I felt he chose it. But would a predator or anyone can choose his own death? May be. But When Maharaj arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be he needed someone to close his eyes before it could be plucked out. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti  

The Wedding Song

In her wedding dress that one day she stopped counting years   I met J uncle on a very cold january morning this year. It was raining and we stood outside an empty swimming pool. His room – 705, is just beneath my room – 805, where i am writing this. J uncle had his own quiet world till he met my sister. My sister, Ruspsi is a kathak dancer(banaras gharana). J uncle would not know about it for a month till one day they meet in the elevator, she moved and her ghungroo rolled from her bag. J uncle and his lovely wife had come from Banaras. In a quest to live with their son, they sold their house. They used to sing all morning there, he told me. He disliked it here. Everything. But he never spoke about it. He was just visibly sad. In his walk, thats how mostly i saw of him. A singer coming from a gharana who doesn’t sing anymore. In the meantime J uncle grew fond of my …

A meeting with the Frogs

Writing from Kaushik’s village home in Jhargram. Its night. Light has come after nine hours. I have cooked six packets of maggie. We both will eat it all tonight. Kaushik has gone to get McDowell’s. Its my last night. We are partying. I posted that letter to m. Meanwhile, something happened. Let me share this. it was magical – I am fortunate to have spent a memorable time during west Bengal monsoons. The blue sky behind the clouds had slept and drizzling took a break from firmly falling for days. I found sometime and went out for a small walk. The air was muggy. Balconies were empty. Drops were still falling from the sides of the roofs. Yellow bulbs have taken a stand and sounds were coming out of televisions. A little late a sole cooker spoke. I took the right turn. Once football field where i played on my arrival day five days ago had nature-d into a full filled country pond. I was awed to see the amount in which the frogs have gathered here. …