I had clearly misconstrued the condition of the bus, I realized soon. I tried hard to contain myself every time the bus jolted on the multiple fractured roads. The window kept rattling as the bus shuddered on the uneven track, the sound annoying but somehow in unison with the song I was hearing on my phone. My seat became my partner for the journey. It bumped with me on the roads and we both sprang out together every time the bus screeched to an abrupt halt. I later learned that this bus was an old hand on this route, a vanity clearly reflected on conductor’s face.
I was heading towards my native village; I was to bless it with my presence after almost four years. The visit was obligatory as it was my some distant cousin’s wedding, the existence of whose I came to know only when the wedding was announced. I was hardly enthusiastic with the visit but could do nothing to flee the fix. ‘It’s important to maintain relations in life, you will learn with time’, I have been told. As if this visit would rekindle the dying embers of our bonds!
The austerities of life in a small rural community have always touched me. The milieu so bland and monotonous, how do people survive there? Life there always appeared a stalemate too me. Or rather it was an attempt to cover my own self-conceit. I had drawn my own sense of comfort over the years and was hesitant to break it by meeting new people, for I didn’t know about life in their side of the world. May be, I won’t get well with them. May be I won’t understand their way of working and I may err. I was happy in my own space, may be.
The bus made its journey along the path flanked by green pastures on both side with cattle grazing on them and had a few huts at distance on both sides. The hills formed a perfect backdrop, a panorama that could have been every cameraman’s delight. The weather had turned pleasant as it was probably to rain. And it did. The first drop of rain filled the bus with a pleasant fragrance. It had taken me by surprise. My supercilious city life couldn’t bestow me this moment. I tried to remember the last time I enjoyed such splendour of nature, but in vain.
The next few days of my stay took me by surprise, slightly incredulous. Even though the houses were simple, they never lacked any of so called ‘modern needs of survival’. The village had an aura of freshness and unfading enthusiasm. There was never a check of time when you visited someone’s home, nor were there any formal invitations and permissions. Welcomed by everyone, I ended up eating my lunch and dinner all at different places each day. The best part in the day would be when the elders would meet before retiring to bed at someone’s place. They would chat about the daily chores, about life in their side of the world which was nothing different as I presumed it to be. Their conversation, important still jocular, was always delightful.
The marriage never seemed to be an affair of a single family in the village. The entire village seemed in celebrations with everyone busy in preparations in his own way, with each day a jamboree. The marriage mayn’t have been lavish but it was definitely grand and extensive, as far as the blessings and love of people was concerned.
I am now on my way back to the “superior city life”. The same bus greeted me on the station. I can’t help recollect the pleasant memories of my stay. I am listening to a song on my phone which says:
“It's something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right.
I hope you had the time of your life. “
Well, I had.
