The village boy
Monday 15 February 2021
There are lessons in the first landscapes of every one's life. Mine was a vista of green paddy fields, smoking with Salt Range mist, against a setting of ribbon of River Jhelum which from distance looked like a shore of another land altogether. The rough, rugged hill range appeared uninviting against a sky withering with the morning, interrupted by the dawn's red and blue brush strokes. My first learning in life was also in the village.
In villages, people still live without roads or other civic amenities of this modern age. No telephone or the Internet (now smartphone works in my village), even the electricity is the recent phenomenon; some are still without it. You see one village and you have seen all. This was the setting where I spent first twenty year of my life savoring the freedom of adulthood. It is where I decided what (and how) I wanted to do with life. It is where my brothers and friends live. It is where I return whenever my active (and now urban) life allows me to. It is where I want to settle and spend my future.
My village is awe inspiring -- pollution free and quiet. Different shades and colors of waving crops and trees - solitary, in groves or avenues - beautify the landscape. The scene changes after the harvest. The air is always fresh and fragrant with the smell of earth. The only sound is singing of birds, ringing of cowbells and sighing of wind or some youth loudly singing Heer Waris Shah, Sassi Punun or Mirza Saheban at night. One sees butterflies fluttering, ladybirds creeping and squirrels jumping around. To me the place feels like a paradise.
My village is awe inspiring -- pollution free and quiet. Different shades and colors of waving crops and trees - solitary, in groves or avenues - beautify the landscape. The scene changes after the harvest. The air is always fresh and fragrant with the smell of earth. The only sound is singing of birds, ringing of cowbells and sighing of wind or some youth loudly singing Heer Waris Shah, Sassi Punun or Mirza Saheban at night. One sees butterflies fluttering, ladybirds creeping and squirrels jumping around. To me the place feels like a paradise.
My roots are in the village where no body seems to be in a hurry; no OMG! or ROFL. Every time I go there, from the different cities where I happen to be living, I take small things like candies and toys for the kids of neighbors and my family in the village and they are so happy that the words cannot explain their delight. From the village I bring everything (from desi chiken to saag and makai ki rootian), and more than every thing I bring a lot of love.
"I help my neighbors and my neighbors help me", is the philosophy of life in our village. Faith, sharing, contentment, grit, hard work and humor are few others. There are no marriage halls or other renting places. Daras (community centers where cultural diffusion takes place) are very useful 'institutions' for functions or for elders to sit and teach irreplaceable heritage of ideas to the younger generation. The learning that passed on to me in Dara turned out to be very precious: it was the legacy of the fable. Tandoor (Oven for backing bread) is still a meeting and talking place for women.
Guests of one family are shared by ever one at the time of marriage (or death). Hospitality is like one of the cultural benchmark, as villagers strongly believe that a guest comes with the blessings of Allah Almighty. Pull a hay cart into the shad, to rest, to dream. You shall be served with hookka (Hubbell-bubble), water and food. Cooing crows are still considered as a symbol for the arrival of guests in my village.
Village society is still simple, cohesive and based on similarities.
Only there is big difference for me now. This time when I am going to the village, I am still eager to meet a lot of people - family members, peers and neighbors. But my mother wouldn't be there to welcome me, to take pride in me and advise me what to do and how. She would not be there to transfer heritage of life of which she was a custodian. My mother (the spirit of my life) is no more there because she has shifted her residence to heavens. Rest in peace mom. Rest in peace.
Dr. Senta Siller (left) and Dr. Norbert Pintsch (right) with my mother and the clan
Village society is still simple, cohesive and based on similarities.
Only there is big difference for me now. This time when I am going to the village, I am still eager to meet a lot of people - family members, peers and neighbors. But my mother wouldn't be there to welcome me, to take pride in me and advise me what to do and how. She would not be there to transfer heritage of life of which she was a custodian. My mother (the spirit of my life) is no more there because she has shifted her residence to heavens. Rest in peace mom. Rest in peace.
A cluster of memories - some overlapping, some isolated - of 'the village boy' I once always stay with me. I am a result of my childhood experiences. After having knocked on all the doors of opportunity that come in my way in life, I want to settle and spend my future in the village? My village is a place where I still get king's treatment; where I get a break when I need it.
Labels: Personal, Profile, Rural Culture
posted by S A J Shirazi @ Monday, February 15, 2021,
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