Beneath the blue heraldry sky, streams of clear water flowed around the village. Huts made of gold colored thatch shined like golden castles surrounded by farms, orchards and paddy fields. The brown earth was ploughed in furrows with green glittering paths of needle shaped grass. Fields were planted of watermelons, paddy, capsicum and sugarcane. The stretching green pastures herds of cattle goats and sheep in flocking numbers grazed together. Ducks paddled with ducklings in the murky waters snooping for fish, chicken scratch at every hut and roosters fight displaying their power. Pigs roll in their insalubrious territories grunting and celebrating with new-born piglets they looked cute with pink snouts and wagging tiny tails.
Village life is so pristine it’s a fusion of harmony, equanimity and virtuousness. Indian villagers mark a profound devotion to their villages. The beauty of the village is highly captivating with views of numerous grasslands, overflowing streams, ubiquitous emerald trees holding various birds those sing so sweet at dawn the feel is unfathomable, the air is sterilized as the village is embedded in long lasted greenery. With every night that the moon waxes, the fields and pathways gradually become more and more bathed in soft sparkle. At nights around the full moon, the fields are visibly illuminated with tender radiance, the reflection of the moon looks more alluring in the lotus ponds when the waters get disturbed the moon starts dancing like a silver plate. But with the diminishing of the moon, the deepness of hours of darkness slowly thickens, revealing the enormity of the fantastic cosmography of stars.
The sandy village streets are scattered of dung and harvested grass that falls down as the bullock carts carry hay every evening from the paddy fields. Hungry dogs keep shuttling between houses checking their luck for a tasty meal or leftovers. Old men gather at the platform build under the umbrella like tree that brings shade, these men sit in groups and share fire and beedis discussing about the harvest and gossips those make no sense but the fun is too much. Women are busy engaged in house-hold work, some hurrying behind the multitude of buffaloes, some carrying pails over head from the tank after a long quarrel of filthy language. Women clean their houses with a mixture of cow dung and water kept in a bucket. Every morning they smear this mixture with a rag over the house, the verandah and the walls. Village women collect cow dung and shape it by hand into patties that they slap onto tree trunks and walls to dry in the sun.
The school girls wait on the dusty road that becomes worse as the tractors and trucks bring in all the dust in thick clouds. These girls are clad in dark colored skirts and white shirts plaited hair weaved with red ribbons, hair stained and smelling of coconut oil, books filed on the pad with a red Natraj geometry box with few coins inside and a picture of their respective Gods if they are poor with mathematics. Their worn sandals are sky blue holding few thorns as they scout all around the village but the pain would almost bring tears when stepped on a pebble. Then a green or red bus comes fully crowded like gibbons hanging to a ripe tree full of berries.
The old woman don’t keep themselves redundant or unemployed at home they walk down the surrounding with a machete in search of firewood, dried barks, or palm leaves they sit down at a place and chop these uneven branches into fine shapes desired by them and tie them up with a rope entwine made of hay. Then they stride home so pompous with firewood overhead and take pride when someone passing by says oh that’s too heavy. Children who do not go school are busy diving into the ancient well with small trousers of sun-burnt bodies, screaming on top of their voices as water splashes high on each dive they take.
Young girls are busy at the mud stoves tearing to the smoke with vegetables chopped with iron sickle scattered beside and oil is found in the liquor bottle with a dirty thread to hang somewhere in the roof sewed with bamboo to avoid spilling. These girls are very much fond of movies and television can see their favorite heroes glued to the mud walls or pinned to wooded blocks those hold the hut strong. As the food is being cooked the girls get busy getting ready preening into the broken piece of mirror eyes-lashes tinted black, face glowing white with talcum powder hair decorated with hand-picked sweet smelling jasmine as somewhere in the fields she might come across her crush and all the prettification would impress him. The girls are unique and intrinsic in the villages. Amazingly there are no break-ups as most of the marriages are arranged which are performed so ritualistic among the same caste, creed and religion.
The food is pure and comes out in the best and traditional value. The beast of burden oxen are almost found at every house and cows for milk the milk is so pure warm and smells of the cow. They make curd and butter-milk which serves the best in baking summers and probably ghee that comes out while curd is churned into buttermilk. Rice is the source of energy and a number of curries prepared to be eaten with rice. At occasions food is cooked in large copper utensils those have served for decades then served on clean green banana leaves that so traditional and hygienic the leaf plate looks so decorative with steamed rice and vegetable fries and petite pool of ghee sailing round the food. The aroma is just mouthwatering and tempting, guests are treated of great hospitality and respected so well where one can observe the purity and unblemished culture. Fish and chicken are lavish and easily available as they fish is found in the rivers and lakes around the village and chicken every house breeds chicken for eggs and flesh and roosters for fights at time of festivals as game and gambling. Domesticated village creatures are goats, cats, chickens, cows, buffaloes, donkeys and geese.
There is much more and the list is endless to be written about village culture. But village is probably is a reincarnation for people who live in the cities breathing unhygienic air in the meandering traffic. The villages are blessed with all essentials for healthy living innocence purity and uncomplicated saga makes the village’s mystique. There would no towns or cities or countries without a village as all the nourishment takes ground here in the villages. The people are hardworking, honest and ignorant with a number of beliefs that keep them to believe in themselves. Blessed are the feet those are pure and clean but more to be blessed are the broken feet those walk in the wet soils in the rain and burning summers to bring us rice into our plates. There is sweat and hard labor behind every grain we cook at our house. So let’s not forget the rich heritage and hard working citizens who always strive for the food for the nation.
Village life is so pristine it’s a fusion of harmony, equanimity and virtuousness. Indian villagers mark a profound devotion to their villages. The beauty of the village is highly captivating with views of numerous grasslands, overflowing streams, ubiquitous emerald trees holding various birds those sing so sweet at dawn the feel is unfathomable, the air is sterilized as the village is embedded in long lasted greenery. With every night that the moon waxes, the fields and pathways gradually become more and more bathed in soft sparkle. At nights around the full moon, the fields are visibly illuminated with tender radiance, the reflection of the moon looks more alluring in the lotus ponds when the waters get disturbed the moon starts dancing like a silver plate. But with the diminishing of the moon, the deepness of hours of darkness slowly thickens, revealing the enormity of the fantastic cosmography of stars.
The sandy village streets are scattered of dung and harvested grass that falls down as the bullock carts carry hay every evening from the paddy fields. Hungry dogs keep shuttling between houses checking their luck for a tasty meal or leftovers. Old men gather at the platform build under the umbrella like tree that brings shade, these men sit in groups and share fire and beedis discussing about the harvest and gossips those make no sense but the fun is too much. Women are busy engaged in house-hold work, some hurrying behind the multitude of buffaloes, some carrying pails over head from the tank after a long quarrel of filthy language. Women clean their houses with a mixture of cow dung and water kept in a bucket. Every morning they smear this mixture with a rag over the house, the verandah and the walls. Village women collect cow dung and shape it by hand into patties that they slap onto tree trunks and walls to dry in the sun.
The school girls wait on the dusty road that becomes worse as the tractors and trucks bring in all the dust in thick clouds. These girls are clad in dark colored skirts and white shirts plaited hair weaved with red ribbons, hair stained and smelling of coconut oil, books filed on the pad with a red Natraj geometry box with few coins inside and a picture of their respective Gods if they are poor with mathematics. Their worn sandals are sky blue holding few thorns as they scout all around the village but the pain would almost bring tears when stepped on a pebble. Then a green or red bus comes fully crowded like gibbons hanging to a ripe tree full of berries.
The old woman don’t keep themselves redundant or unemployed at home they walk down the surrounding with a machete in search of firewood, dried barks, or palm leaves they sit down at a place and chop these uneven branches into fine shapes desired by them and tie them up with a rope entwine made of hay. Then they stride home so pompous with firewood overhead and take pride when someone passing by says oh that’s too heavy. Children who do not go school are busy diving into the ancient well with small trousers of sun-burnt bodies, screaming on top of their voices as water splashes high on each dive they take.
Young girls are busy at the mud stoves tearing to the smoke with vegetables chopped with iron sickle scattered beside and oil is found in the liquor bottle with a dirty thread to hang somewhere in the roof sewed with bamboo to avoid spilling. These girls are very much fond of movies and television can see their favorite heroes glued to the mud walls or pinned to wooded blocks those hold the hut strong. As the food is being cooked the girls get busy getting ready preening into the broken piece of mirror eyes-lashes tinted black, face glowing white with talcum powder hair decorated with hand-picked sweet smelling jasmine as somewhere in the fields she might come across her crush and all the prettification would impress him. The girls are unique and intrinsic in the villages. Amazingly there are no break-ups as most of the marriages are arranged which are performed so ritualistic among the same caste, creed and religion.
The food is pure and comes out in the best and traditional value. The beast of burden oxen are almost found at every house and cows for milk the milk is so pure warm and smells of the cow. They make curd and butter-milk which serves the best in baking summers and probably ghee that comes out while curd is churned into buttermilk. Rice is the source of energy and a number of curries prepared to be eaten with rice. At occasions food is cooked in large copper utensils those have served for decades then served on clean green banana leaves that so traditional and hygienic the leaf plate looks so decorative with steamed rice and vegetable fries and petite pool of ghee sailing round the food. The aroma is just mouthwatering and tempting, guests are treated of great hospitality and respected so well where one can observe the purity and unblemished culture. Fish and chicken are lavish and easily available as they fish is found in the rivers and lakes around the village and chicken every house breeds chicken for eggs and flesh and roosters for fights at time of festivals as game and gambling. Domesticated village creatures are goats, cats, chickens, cows, buffaloes, donkeys and geese.
There is much more and the list is endless to be written about village culture. But village is probably is a reincarnation for people who live in the cities breathing unhygienic air in the meandering traffic. The villages are blessed with all essentials for healthy living innocence purity and uncomplicated saga makes the village’s mystique. There would no towns or cities or countries without a village as all the nourishment takes ground here in the villages. The people are hardworking, honest and ignorant with a number of beliefs that keep them to believe in themselves. Blessed are the feet those are pure and clean but more to be blessed are the broken feet those walk in the wet soils in the rain and burning summers to bring us rice into our plates. There is sweat and hard labor behind every grain we cook at our house. So let’s not forget the rich heritage and hard working citizens who always strive for the food for the nation.
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