Thursday, November 28, 2002

Village life...

India is a country of villages and in my view village life is the best. It’s a calm, content life. My village is called Sarathy, which is about 30km from Davangere, the town I live in. Our family have been the village heads for eons. My grandfather, who was an accountant in some British office, moved to the town because it was easier to commute. In those days buses didn't ply to my village and much of the journey had to be by walk or bullock carts.

We still have a major part of our lands in the village. We grow paddy in the irrigated lands and groundnut in the non-irrigated lands. Off late we have been thinking of moving into commercial crops (like curry leaves or vanilla) but my brother and I are both busy to give such a major change the full attention it deserves.

Initially I hated going to the fields and watching the labourers’ plough and weed. I found it too boring. But time passed and slowly I fell in love with the simplistic life. I used to spend from dawn to dusk in the fields either riding a tractor or standing behind the plough pulled by bulls. Lunch often used to be in the field itself with one or the other servant bringing it to us. It was nice to sit with all the workers, listen to their jokes and woes. A small siesta followed the lunch and if I couldn't get sleep I would just lie in the shade and watch the steel blue sky and daydream.

We always used to get a cool breeze because our village and the fields are on the bank of Tungabhadra River. By late summer, the river would have depleted to such a low level we could wade across it without the help of the round bamboo boats. You could see small fish, almost stagnant as they swam against the current. Naked little kids swimming and fighting. All this is such a far cry from the life in London.

I know there is no flow in what I have written... but I'm just thinking of home. I miss home.


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