The real India
“India lives in its villages”. Every now and then I get an opportunity to experience this first-hand and I couldn’t agree more - the real India definitely lives in its villages.
Having born, bred and living in a metro, whenever I get a glimpse of the real India I feel the metros are like cosmetics applied to the real beautiful face- to give others an impression ( and ourselves) that we are more beautiful. What we fail to realize is that most people look their best without any make up.
Every time I manage to drive down to any of the villages deep south, I am mesmerized by what I see - The roads capsulated by water bodies on either side giving you company for miles together, the stretch of coconut trees right next to the water body and next to the trees are acres and acres of lush green fields that extend till where your eyes can take you, and finally a distant hill somewhere faraway with a cloud for a crown. The only activity that seems to happen is the wind swaying the trees and causing ripples in the water. The only sound you will hear is the birds chirping and water splashing when they collide against the pebbles or rocks. Such a stark contrast to the dust laden life of a sophisticated metro where you will long for a minute of tranquility and strain to hear your own voice drowned among the honkers and hawkers.
Call it a stroke of luck or nature’s own little mercy towards me, I get tucked deep into mother nature’s womb atleast once a year. Sometimes it is an all-boys trip to a pristine beach resort in “Suryalanka”, sometimes a trip to an undiscovered gigantic water fall in “Kunthala” in the midst of Adilabad’s forests, a priest’s ordination in one of many Kerala’s exotic villages, and more recently a very dear friend’s wedding at “Paatha Reddy Palayam” somewhere off the roads of Tenali.
The recent trip to “Paatha Reddy Palayam” was the closest I got to experience a real village atmosphere. If the drive along the coconut grooves where a delight, the time spent at the village was the icing on the cake. The narrow mud roads, the palatial houses crowned with perfectly aligned brick tiles, the heavy wooden doors, the 20 feet under the ground storage area, the women folk lazing around the spacious sky-facing backyard, trees lined up all along the boundary of the house, the village temple right next door, and if you are one of the luxurious few in the village then you have a “man-Friday” ready to work at your beck and call.
I’m not sure if I found all this fascinating because neither me nor my earlier generations ever belonged to any village (what a pity) or just because I have a fetish for the scenic village atmosphere but it surely took me into a different world. A world that embodies India’s real culture and legacy… A world where most of India lives in and yet yearns for city life... A world which finds recognition and appreciation only in books, documentaries, or blogs like these
Having born, bred and living in a metro, whenever I get a glimpse of the real India I feel the metros are like cosmetics applied to the real beautiful face- to give others an impression ( and ourselves) that we are more beautiful. What we fail to realize is that most people look their best without any make up.
Every time I manage to drive down to any of the villages deep south, I am mesmerized by what I see - The roads capsulated by water bodies on either side giving you company for miles together, the stretch of coconut trees right next to the water body and next to the trees are acres and acres of lush green fields that extend till where your eyes can take you, and finally a distant hill somewhere faraway with a cloud for a crown. The only activity that seems to happen is the wind swaying the trees and causing ripples in the water. The only sound you will hear is the birds chirping and water splashing when they collide against the pebbles or rocks. Such a stark contrast to the dust laden life of a sophisticated metro where you will long for a minute of tranquility and strain to hear your own voice drowned among the honkers and hawkers.
Call it a stroke of luck or nature’s own little mercy towards me, I get tucked deep into mother nature’s womb atleast once a year. Sometimes it is an all-boys trip to a pristine beach resort in “Suryalanka”, sometimes a trip to an undiscovered gigantic water fall in “Kunthala” in the midst of Adilabad’s forests, a priest’s ordination in one of many Kerala’s exotic villages, and more recently a very dear friend’s wedding at “Paatha Reddy Palayam” somewhere off the roads of Tenali.
The recent trip to “Paatha Reddy Palayam” was the closest I got to experience a real village atmosphere. If the drive along the coconut grooves where a delight, the time spent at the village was the icing on the cake. The narrow mud roads, the palatial houses crowned with perfectly aligned brick tiles, the heavy wooden doors, the 20 feet under the ground storage area, the women folk lazing around the spacious sky-facing backyard, trees lined up all along the boundary of the house, the village temple right next door, and if you are one of the luxurious few in the village then you have a “man-Friday” ready to work at your beck and call.
I’m not sure if I found all this fascinating because neither me nor my earlier generations ever belonged to any village (what a pity) or just because I have a fetish for the scenic village atmosphere but it surely took me into a different world. A world that embodies India’s real culture and legacy… A world where most of India lives in and yet yearns for city life... A world which finds recognition and appreciation only in books, documentaries, or blogs like these