Wednesday 7 December 2016

Not just another day

Living in the rural hinterlands of the country could seem dull to many, especially if they’ve lived in urbanized places. No matter how lacklustre such places might seem each of them has a concealed beauty, to observe which, one needs to keep preconceived notions aside and fathom the inexplicable richness of the place. Be it the vistas of sylvan charm, the sights of people toiling hard with a smile on their faces or the simplicity with which people lead their lives, it’s all emotionally rewarding.

Our college being located in the remotest of areas is totally disconnected from urban life, so much so that even finding a small restaurant nearby is rather dubious. In such a scenario, where our temptation to eat delectable food overpowers our concern for hygiene, we scrounge up dhaabas in and around our campus.

When I joined the college, I found it irking that the place was so isolated from the city, in spite of it being supposedly located in ‘Kolkata’ (which it’s miles away from!). My friends often asked me to come along to the local tiny eateries that they had been commonly going to. For long I was adamant. The thought itself of eating in such dhaabas made me feel queasy. I decided to stick to the bland dishes of the canteen. After abiding by my resolution for about a semester my taste buds decided to concede defeat and deaden. I couldn’t let that happen! I surrendered too. I decided to be a little less stringent towards my taste buds and try eating in one of those dhaabas, though the sceptic in me constantly shouted “No!” One evening my friends said they’d be going out to eat and as customary they asked me if I would be coming along, expecting the same old answer. To their surprise I gave a nod.

It was a pleasant spring evening. We boarded the half-empty bus that would drop us somewhere five kilometres away from the college and then we would have to walk about a kilometre to reach the dhaaba. I hurried to grab a window seat. The blue coloured threadbare seats of the bus were slightly dusty and the conductor kept yelling, for some reason, at irregular intervals of time. The sun was peeking into the horizon, conferring the soft spring twilight. After about a kilometre the roads seemed to lead into the woods and it was a different sight altogether. The bus wobbled on the narrow pebbled path. After a while the farms across the not so well laid asphalt were visible in the faint light of dusk. I was lost in the sheer beauty and was also wondering why I had failed to perceive this for so long.

We got down where the bus was supposed to drop us and walked for a while. I reckon it started getting cloudy. As we continued walking through a dimly lit lane the faint insistent honks of vehicles grew louder. We reached what seemed to be the only settlement around. Crossing the relatively busy road, we reached the tiny eating place, the dhaaba. A well-built, dark man in the corner, supposedly the cook, was tossing and flattening the chapatti roll in the air showcasing his expertise in the field of cooking. We decided to sit on the grubby plastic chairs kept outside, as the tiny hall inside seemed to have a claustrophobic setting. I ordered what the others did, giving the sceptic in me some rest. I waited and looked around.

The cook passionately started making what we had ordered. A few women in sarees chuckled talking to each other as they passed by. The air was infused with a mixture of aromas, of incense sticks burning somewhere around and the strong smell of the food being cooked. Adjacent to the dhaaba was a small shop where the shopkeeper was seemingly waiting for customers. Just opposite was a sweet shop, where an old man was seen stirring milk in a huge container placed over a clay hearth, lit by firewood. Local buses and trucks passed by. In about fifteen minutes our order was ready. It was as if my taste buds came to life, instantly gratified by the first bite! It was by far the most delicious meal that I’d had during my stay there. We relished the scrumptious food.

Contented by the meal, we roamed around a bit. Then we started walking at a leisurely pace, towards the place where we’d find the bus that would take us back to the campus. On reaching the place we found no bus there. We waited for about thirty minutes. There was no sign of any vehicle around. It was dark and suddenly there was a crash of thunder that broke the silence. Without any transport the only choice was to walk all the way back to the campus! Disappointed, we started walking with leaden steps.

After a while, we saw something moving away from us. It was a cycle cart, with a frail man riding it. The cycle carts (not even the cycle rickshaws), are one of the most prevalent modes of local transportation here, even now. We ran towards it as fast as we could and yelled “Stop!” at the top of our voices. After all, it was the only thing that could save us from doing all the walking. It stopped. The frail, hollow-cheeked man looked stunned. He was wearing a loose, ragged shirt. His wrinkled face was drenched with sweat, even in the pleasant weather. He was perhaps returning home after a day’s hard work. One of us asked him if he could drop us to the hostel. He wiped off the sweat on his face, looked up at us and smiled. He asked us to sit.

We made ourselves comfortable on the wooden plank of the cart. We passed through a few old buildings, probably the only concrete buildings nearby, as the frail man laboriously rode the cart. The ride seemed beautiful. There was nothing like it I had ever travelled on. After a while it was dark as we entered the woods. At times the moon was just visible through the dark clouds and the gaps of the trees. We could almost smell the petrichor. The other light was that of the fireflies, visible at different instants. It was truly enchanting. I felt deeply connected to nature. After a while a white streak of lightning gave us a glimpse of the paddy fields. And then after sometime, there was light coming from a small array of little houses. The man looked exhausted as he continued to ride along the uneven path. Seeing him put in so much of effort we felt pity and also guilty at the same time. We asked him to stop and said that our hostel wasn’t far and that we would walk now. His reply will remain etched in my memory. He said in his language, “This is my work, it’s my worship. I won’t leave you mid-way.” He insisted that he’d drop us to our campus and continued to ride. Reaching the gate we asked him to stop. One of us asked him how much we had to pay him. He said we could pay him as we liked. We gave him the money not sure if it was sufficient for the amount of effort he had put in. He took the money with moist eyes and had a broad smile on his face, a smile that reflected his contentment and a sense of achievement. He joined his hands and thanked us. He turned around with his cycle cart and after a while disappeared in the dark. We walked towards our hostel as a light drizzle of rain fell, gradually picking up speed. 

9 comments:

  1. awesome writing!! how you survived one semester without the dhabas and small eateries???

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    1. Thank you. And yeah, I actually did not go to the dhaabas for a Sem. Indeed,I know what I was missing.

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  2. This is really good. Its delighting to read a positive article in midst of mostly negative news. Keep up the spirit.

    Possibly, make it a habit to pen such reflections. I will be a sure reader.

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  3. Dear Pranjal.your writing is a testimony of your creative thought where you have penned down your experiences The presentation is very lucid and engrosses the reader. Our best wishes to you. Keep on shaping your thought which will help you to be a positive thinker. The purpose of being a learner is to see how we can spread our learning all around. Sharing and caring help us to be distinct in the crowd. May Almighty shower choicest blessings on you.

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  4. A very interesting and apprehensible article. Loved the way you explained each and every detail. Keep up the good work.

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  5. It is a bit emotional for me. We went to the first class late here in a 'tela' with 6-8 Chandrahaas sized people from apc hostel! The driver struggled that day too and didn't take too much money. These people are satisfied with the small sized life they lead. Good that you are penning things down, I wish I did the same. This is going to be a gift from yourself to the older you!

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