A moment, a glance, a look, an expression can get etched in our memory forever. It makes us think, introspect, philosophize and at times, it makes us smile. I do not know how many fleeting moments like these one experiences in life. I myself can’t recall many and the most profound of these few was the spark in that child’s eyes. I can still see it, I can still feel it lifting my mood, I can still feel the regret of not stopping the car. But had I stopped, it wouldn’t have remained such a special moment. A conversation, a minute or two and the moment might have lost its sheen. It is the noiselessness which keeps such moments pristine and unforgettable even after years have gone by.
The trip itself was nothing less than an unusual experience. Being god-neutral (not an atheist), I did not travel towards the holy places of Gangotri and Badrinath as a part of a pilgrimage. I was assigned to get the topographical surveys done of three airstrips in the vicinity of these regions so that our firm could advice the state government regarding the mountain airports they wished to build. I didn’t even volunteer for the job. I was simply the only undergraduate available at the time who could be thrown around under the pretext of exposure and who didn’t really have either a privilege or a reason to say no.
So off I went, with two Bengali surveyors from Calcutta, on what would be a weeklong trip. Upon reaching the first airstrip at Chinyalisaur (near Gangotri), we lodged ourselves in a Motel with the cleanest beds and least bedbugs. The sum of INR 200 per night without even negotiating should give you an idea of the place. The electricity being moody, the market closing at 8 PM (including the STD booth with a real long queue which I thought of as impossible in 2005) and no mobile network made sure I had no way to stay awake beyond 9 PM. Essentially cut-off from the world, I for the first time was voluntarily waking up at 5 in the morning and by 6 the Bongs would be at their job. What would I be doing? Having an experience of a lifetime… day after day… for three days.
Sitting at that plateau of the airstrip, with cool winds blowing and even that small market miles away, I had nothing to do. No book to read, no music to listen to. It still bugs me if I am all alone and it was much worse in those days. I couldn’t stay alone for an hour without getting uneasy if I came home before my flatmate. I was worse than a wife calling up her husband to enquire when he will be home. But in those mountains, I was at peace. I was in no rush, no feeling of ‘doing something’ came to me as I sat there looking beyond the stream of water at a lone house sitting in a fold of a hill. I loved that house, wondered whether I will ever have one like that, and wished I have one like that. I still do. I imagined how life would be in such a case. Walking down to the riverbed, crossing (the most elementary) bridge, getting groceries from the market and retreating back to my own paradise. A little farm accompanied the house, which would continue inside the fold of the hill. What a secluded place! I would wonder the issues that would come up in living such a life. Even if I managed a way to earn a living from there, the education of the yet-to-be-born kids (wasn’t even married then), the healthcare especially in case of emergencies, the losing touch with friends and relatives. But despite it all, it attracted me immensely, it still does. Someday… I wish… though the hopes are fainter, almost gone… but still I wish…
I had never thought I would feel so much at peace with so few people around me and it astonished me. It amazed me that I sat there one night in the cab chatting with the driver while he drank a beer. It hadn’t really happened since I started drinking and hasn’t really happened in similar situations after that. The three days flew by, like they always do when we are having a good time and we packed our bags and headed for the next site near Badrinath. The road that would take us to the main Rishikesh – Badrinath road was one not often travelled and we saw maybe a dozen or so cars in the 30 km stretch. The villages on the way were beautiful. Not beautiful the way a foreigner would describe almost all villages in India. Beautiful in a sense someone who had seen so many of villages and had become indifferent would stand up and notice them. Even amongst these, one village stood apart. The weather I reckon, and maybe the vegetation too, gave it an almost ethereal feel. The shade by the low clouds, the red hue by the trees, the whistling sound by the wind and the left-alone by the tourists gave it the majestic feel it had about it. So now I had the perfect house and the perfect place to build that house. What was missing? Nothing really. A dream complete. And then with these dreams in my eyes I felt that moment, I saw those eyes…
In the middle of the road in what can be called nowhere (as an insult though), even some distance from that village, stood 3 kids. Couldn’t really figure out what they were up to so far from home. The car honked and the silence was pierced. It irritated me but the kids smiled and became more enthused. As we passed them, I saw what they were up to. They had these fruits they must have collected from nearby and they were playing and waiting for a vehicle which might pass, which might also stop, and which might buy their fruits. Also, I saw the spark in that little boy’s eyes which gripped me and we had gone too far before I realized maybe we should have stopped.
That spark was not of hope of selling a few bucks worth of fruits, it was of excitement which he felt when he saw the car, just the way we used to feel in our childhood when we would rush out waiving in our balconies and scream “Airplane Bye Bye!” It was of innocence… of immense innocence…
It has been four years and I can still see those eyes… I don’t remember the face but eyes, I can never forget…
P.S. - Why did I feel so gripped by it? Almost enchanted? Coz I personally feel the kids half the age of that one in our cities know how to change the wallpaper on mobile phones and what’s worse, they know the price of the phone. The information overload of the information age is ripping off the innocence from these kids… I wish I can save mine. The chances are slim… but still I wish…
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment