Village fair, once upon a time

Rajesh Sharma

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Once driving through a fair, I went down the rabbit hole of memories.  Our house  was on the hillock, and a few hundred feet below was a flat area of land with a pond. With two huge peepal trees, it was my bliss, my wonderland called ghodi ka khet — an area for grazing the mare of my grandfather, the village lambardar. Whenever my nonagenarian father reads out parts of his father’s diary — roz-namcha — I imagine my grandfather galloping on a horse.

Vivid are the memories of the annual village fair held during monsoon. My day revolved around jalebis, aloo-chhole, pakoras and lachhe. An athani (half rupee) was enough for a tryst with the sins of taste. Watching the halwai frying the batter into enchanting round shapes, and then, giving it a sugary dip was enchanting. One didn’t bother if the karahis were washed in the muddy waters of the pond. Even the water for making sweets was sourced from the nearby shallow well — normally used for washing clothes and bathing animals. Such mundane worries had no place in the logic of a child eager to savour the delicacies. Jalebis for four annas was enough to satiate you for the day.  In between was a plate of aloo-chhole with tamarind chutney. Candy floss, locally christened ‘budhi mai ka chaata’ was the icing on the cake.

Pakoras came next. Stories of some village elders getting inebriated were heard. Had they partaken of bhaang-pakoras? That I learnt later on. It was in this fair that I had the first glimpse of a drunkard.

Jhoolas on both peepal trees made girls and boys indulge in their shenanigans. Another festivity was ‘chidan sagrand’ — a bonfire of ticks and mites! 

A big attraction of the fair was wrestling bouts. The captivating part was that whether you won or lost, a child wrestler was rewarded with 10-20 paise. Once I challenged a more stout friend, and contrary to my own expectations, pinned him down really fast. Many onlookers declared the bout ‘not fully relished’. However, the master of the ceremony declared the bout as completed and left the decision to re-engage to the winner. The child in me decided against any such misadventure. Proudly, I walked away a winner. My childhood prudence allowed me to bask in the glory of the moment. Now I believe that I should have taken up the challenge, even if I were to lose. Not then.

The fair is still a part of the village calendar, jalebis too. But with the boys preferring a gymnasium, the wrestling bouts are now only a symbolic handshake. My childhood bliss now serves as a parking lot and delivery area for online orders — pizzas and all.