When beauty survives the vagaries of time

LIVING in a north Indian city that has high-rise buildings and high air pollution levels, I often become nostalgic about my childhood in Kerala. There was a river near the village that flowed throughout the year in the absence of a dam. There was no bridge, and people crossed the river in small boats. Villagers bathed and washed their clothes in the river. Some men and children prayed at the Shiva temple before going home for breakfast. Later, the kids walked barefoot to school, about two miles away, on a sandy road. The road was hot during the afternoons, forcing them to run at times. In the rainy season, they used banana leaves to protect themselves from the inclement weather.

Though my village has turned into a town, I go there with my family every year by road to reassure myself that all is not lost.

We spend nights in hotels. The daytime drive with frequent stops shows us that most of the areas are not affected by the modern lifestyle. We see sleepy villages with a few tiled houses and hazy valleys as well as mountain ranges in the distance. Farmers plough their fields with bullocks, trailed by birds who feast on worms. We see acres and acres of paddy fields, with the crops swaying in the breeze.

Elders sit on culverts above canals and engage in a conversation. Trains with several coaches move slowly along winding rails in the distance, blowing the whistle at intervals.

Sometimes, a temple is visible from the road, and an old woman walks around it, her lips moving in prayer, wearing soaked clothes that cling to her body. Tethered cows, buffaloes and goats munch fodder leisurely. Dog and cats take a nap in the sun. Men lie on coir-woven wooden cots under the canopy of sprawling trees in the afternoon. Small tea shops serve hot beverages, while customers sit on the benches outside, reading newspapers.

We travel on mountainous roads with numerous bends. On one side, there are high mountains; on the other, gorges hundreds of feet deep. While passing through thick forests, we see frequent warnings to drive carefully as wild animals cross those spots. We cross several bridges over majestic rivers. When travelling at night before reaching the hotel, we are rewarded with the spectacle of countless fireflies emitting light in the distance.

We also pass big churches with colourful compound walls, mosques and temples with gold-plated flag masts in their front.

Nearer our village, there are narrow roads along miles and miles of undulating tea gardens peppered with tall trees. Women carrying cutting tools gather tender tea leaves in their bags.

The journey reaffirms that the beauty of yore has, to some extent, survived the vagaries of time.