It was
one of those afternoons last week, when it weighed on me that it has been over
a year of living in the villages. As it happens, living in a village entitles
one to enjoying many leisure afternoons, unlike much in the city when lunch to
evening means just another session of the same old work. And as it is in the
Ghats here, the afternoons are typically serene and gives one the choicest of
moments to savour the many wandering thoughts of the idle mind. Sometimes, the
thoughts wrap themselves in colourful expressions and that is how, I am told,
that most of these farmers' songs come about. After a hard morning's work,
while they rest under the shade of some tree by their field, ruminating on
maybe the beauty of nature, or the struggles of the poor or just the amount of
salt in their food. Yes, I have heard all such songs.
That is
when it hit me, there have been several experiences in the last one year that
have been unique to the village and in that, promising a novelty of lifestyle
and habits. So counting them one afternoon after another (yes, there have been
quite a lot of those post-lunch sessions!) I came up with this. And look how
different life has been!
Peace: Not once in the past year, did I land up
late at work or a village meeting because of traffic, late breakfast or mundane
such things. There could be two reasons for that. One, the timings are
flexible. Like how a farmer knows no Sunday and turns up at his field everyday,
there is no scheduled time for visiting a village. It is either dawn, morning,
noon, afternoon, dusk or night. There is no hassle to rush through activities.
There is a definite rhythm in the work though. Conversations are not hurried,
each one speaks to be understood and listens to understand. There is no time
limit to what one wishes to do. How much quality that adds to life! Second
reason, there is simply no traffic! Or "breakfast", in the
conventional sense of the word. Of course, there are a couple of cars and bikes
that whizz past you on the lonely road, but nobody is beeping horns on a
bumper-to-bumper highway. There are only two meals a day, one when you set off
to work and the other before you go to sleep. There is no concept of rushing
out the door with a stuffed parantha. There is definitely no concept of rushing
through a meal. You take one, you feel grateful for it.
Gratitude: There are enough people to look out
for you the whole while. Be it when you are precariously hanging by an
overcrowded tempo or just lost in a sudden downpour by some old run down
building. There is somebody ready to hold your bag, somebody to wait with you
until the rain stops. And to think of it, somebody else, who would have
thankfully brought in the clothes that you hung out to dry. Can't think of a
neighbour who would do that in Chennai! And definitely, the whole world awaits
to share its meals with you. Be it the immensely filling half a litre of lassi
in Haryana or the half a cup of extremely bitter-sweet black tea of Odisha, I
have never been left famished anywhere. And it is definitely not about
impersonal meals at cafetaria, or walking away on a rainy day without a care
for those left behind. It was just this feeling that during all my travels,
stays and interactions I did not once feel that I was alone or a stranger.
Ironically, something that I have felt many times in the over-crowded metropolises.
Even if people of many colours, dresses and languages fit into a city, it is
only because the rest are indifferent to your uniqueness. It takes a rural life
to understand, how big the arms of the world are, ready to embrace you as you
are.
Trust: In the city, our lives grow independent-
we have individualised everything and fiercely protect what is considered the
"private space". Everybody strives to carve a "me-time", a
"me-place" and a "my-people". In the process, it has grown
increasingly difficult to trust in the other person. To trust that they have
your wellbeing in mind. To trust that they will be capable of doing a job
assigned to them. To trust that they will bring no harm to "your"
time, space and people. In my time in rural India, I have hitch-hiked, I have
talked to random people on the roads, in the markets, revealing a lot of
personal details. Just as they did, too. I can not imagine any interaction in
the city that has been both short-termed and personal in nature, because
we no longer trust the other person's
intentions. With trust, a whole baggage of insecurity, fear and anxiety can be
thrown out the window. Living becomes, simple, easier and harmonious.
 |
| It is so easy to get a conversation going in the villages. Everybody is forthright and simple in their talk. Just the last week a random stranger after a 5-min conversation while walking on the road said, "What do I have to give to you and what do you have to give to me? Nothing. We might as well enjoy the few words that we speak." |
Austerity: Really, extravagance is a
characteristic of the city. There are rich landlords here, too. But they are an
exception. Simplicity is the natural lifestyle of the villagers. Nobody here
bothers to see if a dress has been repeated once already in a span of a week.
There is hardly any demand for a gym or a beauty parlour or spa. The best of
clothes, jewellery and food is reserved only for marriages and festivals. The
concept of parties and "hanging out" are added complexities of an
urbane lifestyle. Though most of the lifestyle choices in a city come from
societal pressures, it is indeed possible to cut down on excesses. I have
managed a whole year with about 10 sets of clothes, no weekend at the movie
theatres and definitely no pasta/pizza/cappuccinos. That would have been
unimaginable a year ago, but I sure did it. My other items of regular use only
consist of a bare minimum of books, stationery and toiletries. My entire living
can be packed in 3 bags! And to think of all the unused, unwanted and
ostentatious purchases that lie in a locked wardrobe at home, I wonder if I
really need them all?
Awareness: The zombie-like routine of my city
life was discarded from the very first day. Everyday seemed so new and unique,
that it was impossible to go through it with practiced nonchalance. There was
so much abundance in nature- the birds, the insects, the dawn, the dusk, the
rivers and the hills- it would have been a shame to ignore them. My sight and
hearing, smell and touch all of it has been sharpened just by gauging the
various patterns, designs and symmetries of the environment around. The city
never inspired an opening-up of this sort. Though I am sure, I could see, hear,
touch and taste a new city when I return. This new 'consciousness', if you may,
has had spillover effects too. I am minutely aware of the time that I spend
waking, the (value of the) resources that I utilise in a day and the non-verbal
signs while talking. Trust me, this can change the entire way of looking at
one's life.
 |
| I have written several times that the birds and insects abound the villages. There is so much to look around and enjoy. But it is an art indeed to be observant of the smaller beings, but no less magnificent creatures themselves. Like a spider. I have spent several moments fascinated and awe-inspired by the dexterity and persistence of a spider in spinning its web. Or the common blue terrestrial kingfisher (in pic). Often found perched in solitude, keenly eyeing a target somewhere. A silent witness to the Grand Scheme of Things. |
Would I
have found these values, not activities, in the city? Yes. In their own unique
ways, all these virtues could be imbibed in an urban lifestyle too. However,
there are several materialistic impediments that hamper such holistic living in
a city. To beat them all would be a challenge worth undertaking. Just that my
rural exposure has carved these valuables into an indelible relief on my
character. Now if I could just treasure and keep them alive throughout my
life….until then I am the better for savouring my silent and blissful
afternoons!
