I often think of my early life in my village. There was no electricity or protected drinking water or even a motorable road. As such, the village was not connected by bus service. Only a couple of people owned a bicycle. At that time my only aim was to become a graduate, find a suitable job and leave my village for good. I fulfilled my desire. I got a job in the city. But the anonymity of city life brought me the pleasant memories of my village. There were enough vacant lands which served us as playgrounds. In the evening, the shepherds returned to the village from the forest and the hills where they had taken the cattle for grazing. We assembled at our village temple. The shepherds had a fund of stories about their encounters with the denizens of  the forest – how they chased the wild animals and saved their charges. Undeniably, some of their stories were true. The bite marks of a leopard were visible on the skin of the cattle. Their stories continued into the night. Forgetting my home work, I continued to listen to their stories. Imagine a village where there was no electricity and we listened to the horror stories in pitch darkness (There was an oil lamp in the temple. But that only helped increase the effect of darkness). Those stories by the shepherds kindled my interest in the hunting stories of Jim Corbet, Kenneth Anderson and many other hunters. Now I visit the village once a year. The shepherds are not there. The tractor has replaced the farm animals. Farming as a calling has failed miserably. People have left the village in search of other work. There are no known faces. Most houses are either in ruin or have changed hands. Only the pleasant memories of the good old days are left with me.


21 thoughts on “Nostalgia

  1. Tough man. It seems that people’s misery is the same wherever you look. Something similar have happened here too. Our youth is trying to get out of the villages, cities and country, hopping for better life, but then, when their dreams are shattered, they crave to come back, but the corporal chains can’t be broken.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Sir, your story takes me back to my own summers in my native village. Whereas I went there only for recreation, your story of your struggle in the village and yet the ease with which you navigated it all made me reblog one of your posts on my blog today. Your post ‘No impediment it was’ has been posted on my blog. Thank you for allowing me to do so and I hope you’ll check it out.

    Have a great day!


  3. I grew up in the province and worked in the city too. I grew up in the time where technology wasn’t a blast yet, I now have a daughter and I always tell her stories about my early age. Playing on the street, story telling, bonding with my cousins and sleeping in the afternoon. And now they are just memories.. Great post! I have had the same memories as any other kid from the 90’s. Keep it up! Xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I often look back to my teen years in the ’70’s, life seemed simpler, folks were more social and polite. Although we were not equipped with computers and information via the internet (google), I believe I preferred it that way somehow. Social media seems to have been positive in so many ways, yet a huge negative in others.

    Liked by 1 person

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