The village boy
Saturday, 4 May 2024
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.People in villages still live without roads or other civic amenities of this modern age. No telephone or the Internet (now smartphone works in my villages), even electricity is a recent phenomenon; some are still without it. You see one village and you have seen all. This was the setting where I spent the first twenty years 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 the singing of birds, the ringing of cowbells, and the 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 the singing of birds, the ringing of cowbells, and the 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 nobody 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 chicken to saag and makai ki rootian), and more than everything 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 everyone at the time of marriage (or death). Hospitality is one of the cultural benchmarks, 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 hooka (Hubbell-bubble), water, and food. Cooing crows are still considered a symbol of the arrival of guests in my village.
Village society is still simple, cohesive, and based on similarities.
Only there is a big difference for me now. This time when I go 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 the 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 the heavens. Rest in peace, Mom. Rest in peace.
Dr. Senta Siller (left) and Dr. Norbert Pintsch (right) with my clan in our courtyard
Village society is still simple, cohesive, and based on similarities.
Only there is a big difference for me now. This time when I go 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 the 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 the heavens. Rest in peace, Mom. Rest in peace.
A cluster of memories - some overlapping, some isolated - of 'the village boy' (paindu) I once was always stayed with me. I am a result of my childhood experiences. After having knocked on all the doors of opportunity that come 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 @ Saturday, May 04, 2024,
0 Comments:
