Essays

Villages, said Gandhiji, are the soul of India. It is where the real India resides. About 75% of the population of India resides in villages. As I was born and brought up in a city, 1 had never seen what a real village is like. All I had known about villages were from books and newspapers. So many times reading wonderful descriptions made me curious about villages. I always wanted to visit a village but never had an opportunity to see and experience it first hand.

Last month my friend asked me to visit his ancestral house in a village. I pounced at the idea like a cat pounces on a mouse. I happily agreed to go with him on the ensuing Sunday. The village was at half an hour journey from the city. So we decided to leave early morning on Sunday and return by the last bus on the same day. I could hardly wait for Sunday now.

We left early on Sunday as pre-decided. The bus was jam-packed, mostly with village people. All were colourfully dressed and full of energy. There was loud clamour all over. I was excited for their day's adventure. All the people were talking in the native language which I could hardly understand at their pace of talking. I kept on asking my friend what they were talking about.

After leaving the city, the bus turned to a bricked up road on the left side of the highway. The road was extremely narrow and rough. But 1 did not mind that at all. 1 saw a few villagers on their cycles, bikes and carts. The village was not so far but it was the ride on the road that actually took half an hour. After sometime the bus came to a screeching halt at a crude bus station. It was a few metres outside the village- In fact, it was a makeshift stop on the roadside where the bus halted for few minutes for the passengers to get down and it moved ahead to the next village.

My friend and I had left our seats a few minutes before the stop in order to stand at the gate. As soon as the bus stopped we got down and waited for the bus to roll ahead. We were left in a smoke of dust for a moment, then we dusted ourselves off and crossed the road. I could see the village houses and huts a few yards away.

A sense of thrill passed through my spine. At last I was here, seeing and visiting a village for the first time. The way to the village was dusty. We hurried in excitement towards the village. A five minutes walk took us there. It was very quiet at this hour but no one was sleeping, it seemed. All the days are same here. No difference between a Sunday and a Monday. Work is important. People were working in the fields, A few women were at the village well drawing water out of it. Children were playing and a few elderly men were sitting on their khats outside talking or just staring. Cattle were grazing on one side.

Everybody turned round to see a stranger with Ravi. He went and greeted a few people. The people were very friendly and simple. The village was a mixture of pucca houses, mud houses and even a few straw huts. There were a few shops here and there. As we passed the sweet shop, I suddenly felt hungry.

After passing a few more houses and huts, we reached a very big house. I was thinking that the person living here would be someone of real importance and it turned out to be my friend's ancestral house. We went inside. The house was simple and very clean. It was the largest in the village. We washed ourselves off firstly and then were served with hot milk and jalebis, i relished the pure fresh milk of the village.

I met the grandparents of my friend. They were very cordial and warm. I spent a whole day with them. We had fresh vegetables and hot chapattis for lunch. Then my friend's grandfather took us for a walk around the village.

After the walk, we returned home by the evening bus. I was glad I accepted my friend's invitation. I was struck by the loving simplicity of the people and the simplicity of life in the village. It was so calm and quiet—unknown to the hustle and bustle of the city life, in which lay its true charm.