The fields ahead are green. The little swifts are flying like gliders, riding the winds such that you can’t distinguish the bird from the wind and vice versa. The three little pups are having the time of their life, tumbling over one another. On the road, is a huge bull standing still, staring into the nothingness of everything. The cows are free in the fields, chewing the grass like an endless bubble gum. There is a silence here, broken only by the chirping of birds, the mowing of the cows, and an occasional call of a peacock. This is the view from my balcony. No, I don’t stay in a forest, but just adjoining a village, and this is the story of a typical village household from the eyes of an urban intruder.
The people to whom all these cows, and fields belong have an open courtyard kind house. They are almost 10-12 people living in the house. The men wear white clothes, adorned with a white turban. The women wear bright coloured shirts, skirts and a stole. As the morning breaks, all the people get involved in their respective duties. Some work in the field, bringing fodder for the cows, some get busy in taking out the weeds from the field, some have a huge flock of 100 or so sheeps which they take to the nearby areas in a very disciplined line. There are others who burn the fire for preparing food in their open kitchen on the courtyard. I have been witness to the lifestyle of these people, since past many months. Nothing changes. Be it Sun or rain, it remains the same.
I do realise sometimes that I am intruding into their privacy. But how can I tell them that watching them do their same old regular chores each day, brings a silence in me. My constant juggling mind, which is webbed with threads and knots, gets decluttered on watching these women feed their cows, the small kids frolicking and playing on the freshly ploughed fields, the men preparing huge fire by burning cow dung cakes and then roasting balls of flour in it. It is all so distant yet so close to me now.
As I type, it has started to rain again. The clouds are making thundering sounds, the winds are blowing, making the two feet high green grass sway like a woman managing her freshly washed hair. The kids have all come out in their courtyard, all set to dance under the rain. The fire in the kitchen has been put on and even the fire is swaying. The little swift is rushing for a shelter and the peacock is calling from faraway. All this while, on the adjoining road, cars are running in and out from our society, unaware of the music unfolding around them, just rushing. The boundary of our society seperates these two worlds, who are oblivious to each other’s existence. It is only the bull who has been staring at the two worlds, undeterred and unquestionably. The bull suddenly feels personal and intruding into my privacy.