“If tomorrow will be the end of the world,I’ll spend my today by looking at the pictures of my past!” -Mehmet Murat ildan
In the Himalayan foothills, amidst vast forests, lies my maternal village, a place i fall in love with, again and again. I miss it so intensely that I find myself there almost everyday in my dreams.
I dream about this house we have, which is almost two centuries old. The fireplace, the traditional Indian mortar and pestle, the Himalayan view from the terrace, the balcony which is my favorite place in this world- the memories of childhood.
I dream about the enormous fields, and fruit orchards, my aunt cutting grass with a sickle, the water canals, and the smell of burning wood mixed with that of green leaves, and mud.
I dream of the school my mother attended, the one built by my grandfather. I visualize the stories my mother told me of her childhood, the pranks she played, her mischief and adventures.
I dream of the pet cat we have, the tiny one who is scared of rats. and the cows we own, the new born calf which would have grown up since the last time I saw her, almost four years back.
I see those temples in my dreams, the Shiva temple located atop a hill, the one I visited with a little girl, who by some complex relationship was my aunt.
There are places which become a part of your identity, a part of what you see yourself to be- my mother’s village is such a place for me. I can go places, see big cities and metros but I’ll always be a village girl in my heart. I long to visit that place, to spend quite evenings sitting at the terrace with a cup of tea, lay back and enjoy the beauty of nature, without worrying about the rest of the world.
I’ve a wish- to be able to live the last days of my life there, to attain peace as my life comes to an end.