John Basho Pou
A country boy like me who’ve been away from native place and have enough experience of sunshine and sunsets of metropolitan city life would jump in to join John Denver’s famous nostalgic song, “ Country Road Take Me Home……..”. In the tinsel town like Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, and Bangalore or wherever it may be, you could be easily seduced by that sunny and man-made life. And Delhi is one instance. It’s a green pasture for dreamers, talents, campus for politicians, news, fashion, etc. on the other hand there are flip-flop side of life that could make you sick and down with nostalgia. 8-5 life, cut-throat competition, self-centered life, mad-race for bucks, quest for easy life, city cacophony, noise and air pollution, social division, aggressive attitudes of the locals, unforgiving summer heat and freezing winter breeze are few that can make you home- ward bound.
Although Delhi shaped me into a go-getter from a shy country boy, I still have that ‘Home, Home Sweet Home Syndrome’ for pretty good reasons. May be Ruskin Bond who ducks in his own native place Mussoorie and immortalize it through his writing and I, a poor struggling writer glorifying the simplest village life, have the same taste and passion to share with. You know I’m not another Narcissus, a beautiful Greek mythological youth who fell in love with his own image in the water. My experience says that leaves are not greener on the other side of the fence. For these reasons I can’t be a roman when I am in Rome. And that simplest and humble life in my native hamlet always holds dear to my heart.
It’s common experience. Things once found useless, worthless, uncared while you were at home become more beautiful and worthwhile the further you depart from you homeland.
Take Delhi, the city where I have been beating sweltering heat of seven summers and eight freezing winters. Just imaging, I spend 15 -20 bucks for a chilled fake mineral water bare the heat. Here in my native place, crystal cold spring water well feed me free all time. And when sick and bed-ridden, I have to go dragging myself and knocking every chemist to pop those hears- splitting pills that cure me only for a while and that too with side effect. But here at home, I am lying on the lap of my mum who nurses me with herbal medicines and treats me well in a way handed down by my great grand fathers. Believe it or not, I feel ok. And I strongly have faith and prefer that to those modern imported costly cures sold in the markets.
Being a poor village boy, born and grown up with traditional food habits and likings, that spicy and oily Southern and northern Indian food, Mexican, American, Spanish delicacies just slap my stomach and eventually drive me to my loo where I would blink away most of my costly hours. In my native home, those organic, simplest, healthy and natural cuisines have been darling of my intestines. And that put all sort of 5 star hotels recipes to shame worldwide.
Now come to clothing. I am more comfortable with traditional products dyed in vegetable colour with not side effect. Those costly showroom garments with smart brand names don’t bring me real pride and smile. It only fads away my real colour of identity and values sometimes. And this may sound very outdated, and many will say that I am blowing myself against the conventional tide.
Metropolitan city has all good and bad takes. Sometimes you are taught how to break those Ten Commandments and indulge in Seven Deadly Sins. There is not give and take culture unlike in my homeland. For instance, by my customs and nature, my door is always kept unlocked as long as we are around. My neighbors and even strangers come in and go out as they wish. In Delhi or the likes, we couldn’t get in side the main entry as a cruel and wild dog is on his guard. And people out there will think that you are another Micheal Jackson when you kiss a child out of affection, or saying Hi to a stranger with a smile, especially to opposite sex will land you up in the nearest hospital.
For a village boy like me, born and grown up with mountains and hills and who don’t believe in fitness regimen feels funny when city youngsters puff off their savings into Gyms trying to get their physics trendy and looked manly. My thigh and calves shaped by constant climbing and walking up and down mountains just look perfectly natural and in better shape than theirs. Owner’s pride and neighbor’s envy, after all.
I don’t need alarm clock to wake me up in the morning. Nor do I need anyone to tell me when and what should do. The birds in my windows will chirp me up and particularly Kungu (in Poumai), a small colorful bird that live upon the giant trees will tell me the time. It tells the farmer time to go to the fields, time to take mid-day lunch and time to go back home after field work. And I don’t need to extra bucks on alien western songs to unwind myself when feel bored or lonely. Those songs of cuckoos, birds, murmuring streams and roaring rivers, folksongs by my grannies will take me on Cloud Number Nine.
It’s also petty to see urban dwellers and thousands of tourist booking expensive tickets to romance with country side landscape and life when I am basking in my village with those natural gifts in plenty and freely available. And in my small dusty room, I am writing this ode to my native life with those natural beauties seen through my windows.
So here at my native place I am just living those dreams of urban nature lovers.
When in Delhi, I almost break my backbone once while trying my feet at Spanish Salsa dance at a dinner party. Those Jive, Jazz,Tango, Odissi, Kathak alien dance forms just drive my poor legs and feet crazy and nervous. They get numb when dancing to that stuff in a dance floor. But my feet and legs go well with my folkdances and cultural beats.
Cut to local wine vendors especially in Senapati Town, there is a buzz. An old Poumai music band ‘ THE HUNTERS’ rightfully sung as “ Beer Whisky Tyea tyea li shore. Ana bheili zao dei moe”. (I’ve tasted beer or whisky but nothing can beat local beer brewed in Oinam sacred). The song becomes the perfect anthem of drinkers everywhere now. Local made beer, as drinkers say, is second to none with lesser side effects than foreign liquors.
And I would spend years in a university to learn those epic stories of Greek, Roman Illiad and Indian Mahabharata or the likes, and adore their epic heroes if I am away from home. But here in home, old village folks will read to me and sing me those wonderful folk stories and songs with better values and morals during bed time, at bonefires, at morungs and anywhere and anytime I wish.
These are few reasons why I always write praises for my native place. Judging on my experience let those Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai or Bangalore be another “Yarrow Unvisited”. And you be another Dorothy, sister of William Wordsworth in this beautiful who told her, “ beauty heard of is better than beauty seen”.
Now spring is in the air. New life smiles every where i see. Cuckoos come calling resounding her sweet voice over the green dales and vales. i am still at home romancing with divine nature around me, not knowing when to back to Delhi.
The writer is a Delhi based Journalist
