Above pictures taken at @Mindrolling Monastery, Clement Town, Dehra Dun
Showing posts with label dehradun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dehradun. Show all posts
Life in a Village : The Long Lost Times
I had been thinking about writing this for a long long time.. to write about the current rage is much more easier and spontaneous than to write over distant memories that come at their own pace, sometimes of moments that were ordinary and yet still are their in your head for significance unknown among the mindless mambo-jumbo that modern city technology and finance heavy our lives have become. I still yearn for that easier life, though I am not so sure if it would be that fulfilling now. Probably I have outgrown it, but hey! everybody needs a crib. This is my crib.
My grandfather died peacefully sometime back. He was always a hands-on man. Always on to something, never tired and always restless. Never a thing he could not do. I surely had lot of fine moments with him specially on the fields that used be part of our old house (and later the newer house that was built beside it). I still recall what a wonderful green mini-forest we had and all the fruits and vegetable and trees we used to grow. I remember the festive mood that was when we dug out taedu (yams) during Shivratri. I remember the summers when the twirling toona (tunn) seeds would fall out of the sky like snow flakes and the terrace would be filled with it. I remember times when I (along with my sister) would be on the sehtoot (mulberry) tree plucking the sehtoot with our hands and mouth stained by its colors. I recall my grandfather on the big tutari tree (paper mulberry) cutting its branches for fodder of our cows. I recall those winters when we would devour on the sweet & sour chakotra (pomelo) in the winter sun. I remember the times when my grandfather and I sometimes would go to the other field down the railway line to bring the chari (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) grass for cow fodder. Sometimes we would bring a bag full of dal (rice bean) pods that would grow intertwined among the tall millet grass. The dal was used to make stuffed paranthas. I remember when we would dug the field to plant mandua (finger millet) and jau (barley) for fodder as well as flour. I remember the big dune the wheat chaff made when the wheat thresher bellowed. I remember the excitement at the great crop we had once of arhaar dal (pigeon pea). I remember the back breaking effort that went into planting the rice seedlings and then later he extracting the seeds from the crop. Sometimes we went to the nearest mill for milling rice and couple of times we went for milling mustard. I remember the very green and gentle barsi (berseem,clover) grass that was grown for fodder. Sometimes our dog (mili) would be running in big leaps having the fun of their lives in those clover fields. I remember when we used to roll the wodden handle (sometimes jointly) of the grass cutting machine. I recall the everyday breakfast of green vegetables mainly rai (rapeseed),meethi (fenugreek) and chaulaai (amaranth). I remember that season when we had so much aeskos (chayote) that it was cooked for our cows. I remember the tall tree of jamaun (jambul) whose fruit we hardly had as it was too high. I remember the vegetable creepers of pumkin, karela (bitter gourd) , cucumbers, loki (bottle gourd), chachinda (snake gourd), tori (ridge gourd) and many other beans that would cover the trees of nashpati (asian pear), mango, tunn, guava, gular (fig racemosa), bedu (fig palmata) and many unknowns. I remember so many days when we both would pick the ladder to pluck the vegetables from these creepers that went straight into the kitchen. I recall when we used to go to break waters for our fields from the bigger canal and in those overflowing fields sometimes a white heron could be seen. I remember the arvi (eddoe) pakodas that were made from its giant green leaves by my mom. I recall the summer season's aam (mango) picking that was a summer holiday must do activity. I can go on and on for a long time for those memories would not stop.
I miss those days. I really do.
My grandfather died peacefully sometime back. He was always a hands-on man. Always on to something, never tired and always restless. Never a thing he could not do. I surely had lot of fine moments with him specially on the fields that used be part of our old house (and later the newer house that was built beside it). I still recall what a wonderful green mini-forest we had and all the fruits and vegetable and trees we used to grow. I remember the festive mood that was when we dug out taedu (yams) during Shivratri. I remember the summers when the twirling toona (tunn) seeds would fall out of the sky like snow flakes and the terrace would be filled with it. I remember times when I (along with my sister) would be on the sehtoot (mulberry) tree plucking the sehtoot with our hands and mouth stained by its colors. I recall my grandfather on the big tutari tree (paper mulberry) cutting its branches for fodder of our cows. I recall those winters when we would devour on the sweet & sour chakotra (pomelo) in the winter sun. I remember the times when my grandfather and I sometimes would go to the other field down the railway line to bring the chari (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) grass for cow fodder. Sometimes we would bring a bag full of dal (rice bean) pods that would grow intertwined among the tall millet grass. The dal was used to make stuffed paranthas. I remember when we would dug the field to plant mandua (finger millet) and jau (barley) for fodder as well as flour. I remember the big dune the wheat chaff made when the wheat thresher bellowed. I remember the excitement at the great crop we had once of arhaar dal (pigeon pea). I remember the back breaking effort that went into planting the rice seedlings and then later he extracting the seeds from the crop. Sometimes we went to the nearest mill for milling rice and couple of times we went for milling mustard. I remember the very green and gentle barsi (berseem,clover) grass that was grown for fodder. Sometimes our dog (mili) would be running in big leaps having the fun of their lives in those clover fields. I remember when we used to roll the wodden handle (sometimes jointly) of the grass cutting machine. I recall the everyday breakfast of green vegetables mainly rai (rapeseed),meethi (fenugreek) and chaulaai (amaranth). I remember that season when we had so much aeskos (chayote) that it was cooked for our cows. I remember the tall tree of jamaun (jambul) whose fruit we hardly had as it was too high. I remember the vegetable creepers of pumkin, karela (bitter gourd) , cucumbers, loki (bottle gourd), chachinda (snake gourd), tori (ridge gourd) and many other beans that would cover the trees of nashpati (asian pear), mango, tunn, guava, gular (fig racemosa), bedu (fig palmata) and many unknowns. I remember so many days when we both would pick the ladder to pluck the vegetables from these creepers that went straight into the kitchen. I recall when we used to go to break waters for our fields from the bigger canal and in those overflowing fields sometimes a white heron could be seen. I remember the arvi (eddoe) pakodas that were made from its giant green leaves by my mom. I recall the summer season's aam (mango) picking that was a summer holiday must do activity. I can go on and on for a long time for those memories would not stop.
I miss those days. I really do.
Summer Rain In A Doon Village
I am trying my hand in poetry these days and here is one for the start. This is about the summer rains before the harvest season begins in Dehra Dun. The sights and sounds are all from doon. It is called "Summer Rain"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
somewhere in clouds above, there is intrigue in the air,
the summer sun has taken refuge, hidden in it's lair.
the lands are parched, the winds are dry and dusty,
with his cracked hands, the farmer look above lusty.
dancing with the winds, the salsify tries to keep the tune,
there is electricity in the air, in this animate noon.
the heavens shudder, nearby strikes a blot from the gray,
signifying power & fear, but somehow only my dogs gets sway.
the shiny and mighty eucalyptus, swaying to kiss the earth,
and in this chaos, a million toona seeds escape with the mirth.
in this madness, the tree-stuck kites flutter wildly and toss,
wishing to be rescued, before rains crucify them to the cross.
from my window i see, the fallen wheat crop in fields below,
as if the heavens tried crop circles, with its mighty blow.
the beetles & the bees are long gone, for their work is done,
their labor nearing fruition, which started in early spring sun
the kids are elated in the street, as if they completed high school,
maybe the power lines are down, that's why all these kids misrule.
outside the money-plant is shiny now, and dahlia is pepped up again,
all seem invigorated, i can from my watering job some days abstain.
i tell my sedated dogs, that all this will get over soon,
probably they also like this small relief, from the summer June.
i wait hurriedly, for all this blitzkrieg to be over fast,
for in my mind, is only to collect the fallen raw mango loot.
the rains were intense & muddy,as brown as if the First Curse,
ask the Maker, this is just the beginning of the first verse.
it smelt strangely pleasant,some say as if first rains on burnt lands,
i say it smells like redemption & hope, i say it smells like desire.
perched high up in the air, i wish i was a rainmaker,
bringing life to everything below, acre by acre.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
somewhere in clouds above, there is intrigue in the air,
the summer sun has taken refuge, hidden in it's lair.
the lands are parched, the winds are dry and dusty,
with his cracked hands, the farmer look above lusty.
dancing with the winds, the salsify tries to keep the tune,
there is electricity in the air, in this animate noon.
the heavens shudder, nearby strikes a blot from the gray,
signifying power & fear, but somehow only my dogs gets sway.
the shiny and mighty eucalyptus, swaying to kiss the earth,
and in this chaos, a million toona seeds escape with the mirth.
in this madness, the tree-stuck kites flutter wildly and toss,
wishing to be rescued, before rains crucify them to the cross.
from my window i see, the fallen wheat crop in fields below,
as if the heavens tried crop circles, with its mighty blow.
the beetles & the bees are long gone, for their work is done,
their labor nearing fruition, which started in early spring sun
the kids are elated in the street, as if they completed high school,
maybe the power lines are down, that's why all these kids misrule.
outside the money-plant is shiny now, and dahlia is pepped up again,
all seem invigorated, i can from my watering job some days abstain.
i tell my sedated dogs, that all this will get over soon,
probably they also like this small relief, from the summer June.
i wait hurriedly, for all this blitzkrieg to be over fast,
for in my mind, is only to collect the fallen raw mango loot.
the rains were intense & muddy,as brown as if the First Curse,
ask the Maker, this is just the beginning of the first verse.
it smelt strangely pleasant,some say as if first rains on burnt lands,
i say it smells like redemption & hope, i say it smells like desire.
perched high up in the air, i wish i was a rainmaker,
bringing life to everything below, acre by acre.
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