Many of us would know and might have experienced what connecting with one's root is like. Especially, if you live in a city and your native is in some remote village that was left almost half century ago by your forefathers and all that is left to it is nothing but remnants of history that once was part the family and a relative or two from the extended family who remained anchored there. The feeling of knowing that your bond is built on blood and history but no longer shares habit, context, values or enterprise is difficult to put in words. The encounters with those extended family members despite the warmth remains bit vague and uneasy for a simple reason that you realize you are neither a foreigner nor a stranger but mere misfit by design.
At a social gathering recently, everybody was immersed in prolific conversation on various topics, enjoying the flow. The moment subject of native place was touched the discussion took an interesting turn striking an emotional chord. Out of all the people present, a very few had been to the places where their roots were. So when I narrated our experience of visiting hubby's native place in Gujarat, last month, there was lot of excitement followed by questions and awe. Everybody had some stories to share about their native place that they had witnessed/heard and that made rest of the evening a bit sentimental.
Isn't it amazing how we relate to the places of our roots when we visit them? Native place is something that peeks through one's memory of abstract connections forged years ago through strange things, associations that feel very distant, through endless stories told by grandparents about the world so different and far away yet in some strange way our very own.
There is something about visiting our roots that leaves a compelling, indelible mark on one's psyche. And that is what I experience every time I visit my native place or that of my hubby. Last month, we paid visit to Tikar, a yearly visit for thanksgiving to the family deity from hubby's side. Since last two decades, I have been visiting this place regularly and the village still seems to stand still in time despite the subtle traces of urban influence that has fortunately not robbed soul of the place.
Withering under half empty, lonely homes, whose younger generation has long gone in search of better livelihood, the village has managed to carry on with its problems and adding a few more with great élan. There is immense potential residing within the village yet in its weave and warp, it has remained almost unchanged.
It is a home to simple, loving people with far less needs than most of us living in cities can ever imagine and still the people are much happier and have a pure, innocent smile! Life is strongly bound and playing quintessential host is an honour no one likes to miss.
While hubby was busy with people gathering around him at every corner inviting him to their homes with great reverence, I lugged my camera to capture the moments pregnant with great stories. Here are a few stories of the small village Tikar. So what if the world is not even remotely aware of its existence?
