A BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY
May 23 2008 | Views 705 |
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Tags: banana plantations faint glimmer gabbar singh beautiful dawn
Tags: banana plantations faint glimmer gabbar singh beautiful dawn
A BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY
When the passenger train chugged in to the sleepy little station, the long dreary night was giving way to a beautiful dawn. Stepping out of the compartment I found porters lugging my monstrous luggage in to the van. The faint glimmer of the twinkling lights far away reminded me of the destination ahead, the road to which turned out to be bone breaking . When we reached our place the sun was blazing in all its glory.
My marriage to to an engineer, whose work was to oversee projects all over India, saw me journeying with him to this God forsaken place in central India - my first stint, away from my near and dear ones. Having been born and bred in a city, I was quite apprehensive about my future in a strange town with strange people and language.
The van came to an abrupt halt in front of our quarters where a middle aged Maharashtrian lady in her typical attire stood with an aarti to welcome us along with her three children. The kids, shouting “Aunty Aalee” happily ushered us in to our house. It had a front yard, a courtyard with a common compound. A long winding country road separated the vast banana plantations on the other side from the residential quarters.
Wanting to perform a house warming ritual, I turned to the kitchen and started hunting for a stove . After an hour I found a contraption that looked more like an object from Mars. With neither gas nor electric stove, my neighbour came to my rescue by lending her coal fired choolah. Thus my experiment with gastronomy started on a rustic foundation and taught me the first lesson in survival.
The place being infested with dacoits and snakes, loud warnings given by my husband and neighbors, had put the fear of life in me. Even the rustling of calendar sheets would set me in a panic mode.My dreams were haunted by the likes of Gabbar singh and his henchmen riding in horse backs. The midnight knocks by my husband (he was on shift duties both night and evening) saw me waking up in a sweat. My husband resorted to slipping secret codes under the front door to assure me of the safety of opening the door. With no security, surveillance cameras or even windows we found our innovative methods effective to check the authenticity of a midnight visitor.
When time hung heavily on me, the empty front yard beckoned me in to taking up gardening as a hobby. With a few cuttings of roses offered by my neighbor, my gardening started and with additions of hibiscus ,jasmine, and sun flower it started expanding.
Me and my husband used to walk in the night on the lonely roads - more for the cow dung and goat droppings to be brought back for our house plants than for cooing sweet nothings. Thus our garden became the centre of attraction with the blooming roses - the envy of many onlookers.
With neither hotels nor shops near by, the residents had to depend on the town for all their needs which was thirty miles away and connected only by a lone bus service once in the morning and once in the evening. My husband’s weekly offs which fell on any week day saw us escaping to the town on that bus, with marathon movie seeing sessions and grocery shopping for rest of the week.
Sathyanarayna poojas were events which saw the conglomeration of women of different classes. I managed to get in to the circle with a smattering of Hindi and English but mostly the poojas would end with advices coming in every direction about making babies .
When I settled down to hard realities of a rustic life and started liking its innocent charm, news came that my husband was to be shifted to another remote corner.
So once again the packing started. The colourful roses, sweet smelling jasmine, multi hued hibiscus - they beckoned me not to leave them shaking their heads in unison. Tears welled in my eyes as I bade fare well to my wonderful neighbors and my unborn children - the wonderful plants for whom i gave my life. As our vehicle picked up speed, the township faded in to oblivion till it became a small dot merging with the sky line. Getting in to the train, I said a silent prayer of thanks to the warmth of strangers. Carrying sweet memories of a beautiful experience, I moved along the train in to an unknown future.
'' Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives.'"
When the passenger train chugged in to the sleepy little station, the long dreary night was giving way to a beautiful dawn. Stepping out of the compartment I found porters lugging my monstrous luggage in to the van. The faint glimmer of the twinkling lights far away reminded me of the destination ahead, the road to which turned out to be bone breaking . When we reached our place the sun was blazing in all its glory.
My marriage to to an engineer, whose work was to oversee projects all over India, saw me journeying with him to this God forsaken place in central India - my first stint, away from my near and dear ones. Having been born and bred in a city, I was quite apprehensive about my future in a strange town with strange people and language.
The van came to an abrupt halt in front of our quarters where a middle aged Maharashtrian lady in her typical attire stood with an aarti to welcome us along with her three children. The kids, shouting “Aunty Aalee” happily ushered us in to our house. It had a front yard, a courtyard with a common compound. A long winding country road separated the vast banana plantations on the other side from the residential quarters.
Wanting to perform a house warming ritual, I turned to the kitchen and started hunting for a stove . After an hour I found a contraption that looked more like an object from Mars. With neither gas nor electric stove, my neighbour came to my rescue by lending her coal fired choolah. Thus my experiment with gastronomy started on a rustic foundation and taught me the first lesson in survival.
The place being infested with dacoits and snakes, loud warnings given by my husband and neighbors, had put the fear of life in me. Even the rustling of calendar sheets would set me in a panic mode.My dreams were haunted by the likes of Gabbar singh and his henchmen riding in horse backs. The midnight knocks by my husband (he was on shift duties both night and evening) saw me waking up in a sweat. My husband resorted to slipping secret codes under the front door to assure me of the safety of opening the door. With no security, surveillance cameras or even windows we found our innovative methods effective to check the authenticity of a midnight visitor.
When time hung heavily on me, the empty front yard beckoned me in to taking up gardening as a hobby. With a few cuttings of roses offered by my neighbor, my gardening started and with additions of hibiscus ,jasmine, and sun flower it started expanding.
Me and my husband used to walk in the night on the lonely roads - more for the cow dung and goat droppings to be brought back for our house plants than for cooing sweet nothings. Thus our garden became the centre of attraction with the blooming roses - the envy of many onlookers.
With neither hotels nor shops near by, the residents had to depend on the town for all their needs which was thirty miles away and connected only by a lone bus service once in the morning and once in the evening. My husband’s weekly offs which fell on any week day saw us escaping to the town on that bus, with marathon movie seeing sessions and grocery shopping for rest of the week.
Sathyanarayna poojas were events which saw the conglomeration of women of different classes. I managed to get in to the circle with a smattering of Hindi and English but mostly the poojas would end with advices coming in every direction about making babies .
When I settled down to hard realities of a rustic life and started liking its innocent charm, news came that my husband was to be shifted to another remote corner.
So once again the packing started. The colourful roses, sweet smelling jasmine, multi hued hibiscus - they beckoned me not to leave them shaking their heads in unison. Tears welled in my eyes as I bade fare well to my wonderful neighbors and my unborn children - the wonderful plants for whom i gave my life. As our vehicle picked up speed, the township faded in to oblivion till it became a small dot merging with the sky line. Getting in to the train, I said a silent prayer of thanks to the warmth of strangers. Carrying sweet memories of a beautiful experience, I moved along the train in to an unknown future.
'' Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives.'"
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