I do not know how the village got it’s name. I recently visited this village. I visited ‘my’ ancestral village. Smelt the earth on which I played, roamed around the pillars on which I hopped, plucked leaves from the garden, and realized what I have missed all these years. Not that I have not done in the past, but this time it was with a different mindset, expectations and desire.

I had left my village some 24 years ago for education. I was surprised to see that not many things had changed since then. Life style remained more or less the same, except that there was a larger penetration of technology in the form of televisions, radios, mobile phones.

One of things that refuses to go from the memories is the uncountable number of nights that were spent with the lantern. Electricity would often not be heard for months, and we would end up sleeping early in order to save up on the kerosene (which again was hard to get). Metaphorically speaking I think even though the village has limited electricity today, one still needs a lot of progressing to happen for the village to come out of its actual darkness.

Three parts of the home

The home is divided into three different parts. The one on the left that you see is the pakka one, which was built later on after the one on which it was built collapsed in an earthquake. The central portion is the aangan or the courtyard, which holds a really special place in my heart, as some of the fondest of my memories of my childhood are about playing in this aangan. The one on the right functions as the storage areas now, but used to be bedrooms when it was in use.

A typical Chulha in a village home

As far as I can remember, this is exactly the same location of the chulha (earthern stove) in the aangan of my home in the village. Memories of meals cooked on big utensils, with the smoke filling the entire space, come rushing back the moment I see these. My favorite used to be the makki ka rotis, served with spinach, or the freshly caught fish from the nearby pond, deep fried in mustard oil and masala.

Tulsi Plant

A common site across most village homes is the presence of the Tulsi Plant in the aangan and mine was no different. It is worshiped, and the tulsi leaves also has tremenduous medicinal properties. The Tulsi plant at this location, has been around for at least 25 years that I know. Maybe more. I wonder whether its the same plant, or another one just grew at the same place.

Lend them an ear

One of the things that I always face when I visit the village home is when the neighbors come and sit around me. News of my arrival travels to almost every corner of the village faster than forest fire. There are faces that i recognize, some tell me who they are and then I try to make the connection with how they look today and how they looked some 20 years ago, the time when I left the villages. They are surprised to see me, and so am I.  There are some who according to neighbors will be my nephews or nieces. They all have a hope in their eyes. A hope of me doing something good for the village, for their children, for them.

Some tell their stories, some shed a tear or two at their misfortunes. Some tell of their lost children. Children who have left them at their miseries, and moved on to greener pastures. I listen to them aghast. I am loss of words. I do not know what to say. I make up my mind of doing something for the village. I decide that the next school that I am going to work on through my child education project is the school in my native village. The building is there. Unfortunately it’s a cowshed presently.

Verandah

Once upon a time, the village home used to be one of the very few pakka makaans in the village. With time, parents and my uncles moved out of the village. At present only my grandma lives here. And she does not want to leave the place and come to the town to live with her sons, no matter how uncomfortable it is to live in the village home. I make it a point to go to the village every-time I go home.

Grandma in her room

Most of my childhood was spent at my grandparents house, as my parents were in college. From the stories of my childhood that I hear, I constantly traveled between my maternal and paternal grandparents. I have been literally been brought up by them, till I understood things. And the year i started to do so, I went to a boarding school. This is my father’s mother, who does not want to leave the village home and come and settle with her sons in the town.

After I went to boarding school, my stay at home in the town, where my parents live, was very limited. I used to go there only during holidays, which was never much. So whenever I went home, my grandma used to come from the village to meet me. She never came empty handed. It could be either fresh corn, sugarcane from the fields, or home made fish curry, or rotis made of rice flour, or guavas and papayas from the garden in the village home.

Now owing to her age and health, her visit to the town is very limited. But mine to the village is not. I make it a point to go to the village every time I go home. And I do not go empty hand either.

Daadi Maa

My grandma’s diet comprises mostly of chapatis, due to her illness. She has limitations in the things she is allowed to eat. However the cravings for the things she likes is always there. This time, I spent a lot of time with her and talking about such things. Things that she misses. She mentions how in her heydays she used to thrive on milk, milk products, a non vegetarian diet, fresh food from the fields and gardens and an avid sweets eater. Of all the the things she misses eating the most is rice. She has been diabetic for over ten years now and is constantly on medicines.

Size

I am always amazed at the size of her fingers, her hand, her feet and the slippers that she wears. And these are the ones she is the most comfortable in. So where ever she goes, it is always these kind of slippers. One wears out, the other similar one comes in.

Source of Exercise

One of the things that has always had me awed, is the life expectancy of the people in the villages. Though my grandfather passed away in his sixties, there are others in the village who have gone on to be well beyond 80. While there are obviously a lot of factors, like less pollution, greener fields to walk to, purer air, I think there are other factors within the home too. for example this spice grinder. The females in the house grind the spices on this, everyday. By virtue of working out on this by grinding it, in a sitting posture, exercises the whole body. This definitely is another of those factors in the longer lives of people.

Running Around

Things being kept in different rooms, also results in people moving from one to the other very frequently. So there is always someone walking around. This almost inspires you to move around at all times!

Store and Puja room

One of the other common features in village homes are the multi utilization of a room. This room served as a store room and a puja room. The puja room often called the Gosain Ghar contained the idols that used to be particular to specific households. Often one would see plain stones, that served at idols too. The structure on which you see the pumpkin (which again was home grown) contains the crops from the season. My grandfather was a farmer, and the structure was always full of either rice or wheat.

One of them

I have always tried to make a visit to the village in my trips back home and I will continue to do so. I will never be able to get over the fact that I was one of them a few years ago and played the same games, wore the same kinda clothes, gathered around in aangans, and thrived on biscuits that were purchased for as low as 5 paise.

I see me

In the pillars that bear testimony to the time that has passed.
The steps that it has born, without a word being said.
Of the hopping from one pillar to the other,
The uncountable number of rounds and rounds around it.
I see me.

In the next generation kids, who stop by to see a stranger,
A stranger to his own home, his motherland,
Little knowing that where he stands,
Stood that very stranger who just appears larger.
And I see me.

In his eyes, in the shorts, in the slipper-less feet,
In the desires, the dreams and the ambitions.
In his inability to go to a school in the village,
And a life that resembles after effect of a carnage.
I see me.

I now wait eagerly to get back to my village again.