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| Elders sitting at the temple and chatting whole day |
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| One of the colourful doors of a "haveli" |
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| Shops at market |
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| A beautiful edifice of a closed house |
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| Elders in the village sit for the whole day and catch up with passers by |
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| A silent stream by the village |
Last week, I went to Gujarat for some work and could not resist paying visit to Tikar, my hubby's native place. It is almost a ritual to go there at least once a year for thanksgiving to the family deity from hubby's side. Each time I go there, I am fascinated!
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. Life is strongly bound and playing quintessential host is an honour no one likes to miss.
It looks very
peaceful and so quiet that it can fill
up enough of a life that you don't have to spend your days thinking about the
things you'd rather not. I watched a farmer tend to his sheep and round up errant donkeys in his compound, his face
a slab with a couple features chiseled in. I wondered why he is even bothering. One glance at his house offered the answer: his father laid mouldering in bed, near his
end in the wooden bed ( Khatlo) under the stark Sun and women were cleaning soiled linens and utensils as part of the same
what-else-you-gonna-do grind.
There was little dialogue and even less incidents. Life is expected to remain slow and languid. It was all so quiet that the loneliness is captured and amplified subtly. Nothing was going to rush the old man leading his donkey up the hillock. The women untangling knots in their grand daughters' hair under the Neem tree had all the time in the world. A stream that was struggling to flow was so calm in the limited flow that it was hard to tell if it was moving at all.
Nestled near the desert with trace of its harshness, Tikar has an air of unflappable serenity. This small hamlet seems to have slipped through the net of history, preserving a way of life that is vanishing all over the world. The locals, mostly farmers, are usually friendly. This is not always the case in small, rural communities. But because of the village's remoteness, the ratio of people returning to natives is low enough for local people not to feel threatened or overwhelmed.
The herons, wagtails, kingfishers, bee-eaters, parakeets, dippers, ducks, and so many more birds and insects charm you with their sheer abundance! Tikar has things you can't find in cities. Silence! Space! The beauty of nature! Light. Real darkness!
Architecturally, it is not really remarkable: it is the conjunction of people and
landscape, in a relationship which has not changed for centuries and that is what really seduces the eye.
When you see life taken at this serene pace, it alters your whole world view. You see things you would normally miss, take pleasure from the small change of daily existence: a dog barking at a cat; an old man lighting his pipe; a pine tree swaying in the breeze, children playing with moped tyre.
I spent almost two hours spellbound by the drama unfolding! Buffaloes, cows, pigs, goats, dogs, cats, villagers on mopeds, old women carrying heavy baskets on their heads with great ease and children playing, running around passed me by, first dishing out a dismissive look of comic curiosity and then smiling, laughing and a few trying to engage me in conversation.
The stillness of the air and jutting of trees in horizon, the beauty of the moment brought lightness that is beyond description. That invisible load that we urbanites seem to carry sometimes, suddenly evaporated, slowly getting un-tethered from my soul leaving in its wake an empty, light space. I returned home cleansed, rejuvenated in my body, mind and spirit engulfed with divine calm!
