With
over 40 years of experience in education, I have always abhorred the typical
Indian learning by rote. So naturally, when Veer, my grandson would
mechanically rattle off: “a buffalo bellows; a cow moos and a goat bleats” my
heart would cringe. For the poor child’s only frame of reference was Farmer
Brown and his farm animals and the stories I fabricated around similar rustic
characters to keep him in touch with the reality of rural life.
Having
taught at Rai for 15 years; probably the best part of my life, I wanted Veer to
see and experience a real village. Here I find it difficult not to mention Mr.
S.K.Mishra—the fountainhead of the philosophical construct that defines Rai. It
was his dream that the MNSS Rai should uphold the true values of down-to-earth
rural living exemplified by qualities such as honesty, integrity, hard work and
simplicity.
So it
almost seemed like divine intervention when a friend of mine, Dr. Atmaram
Sharma, invited us over to his village ‘Amravali Khera’ in Jind district in
Haryana.
Throughout our 3-hour long journey my host kept on calling
continuously to find out exactly how far we have reached; almost as if he
couldn’t wait for us to get there.
At noon,
our car finally rolled onto the cobbled streets of the small hamlet hemmed by
the yellow-green hues of Yash Chopra’s famed mustard fields. The entire
village—of about 1200 odd—had been waiting eagerly for our arrival and swarmed
around with generous smiles, curious stares and colourful clothes. We were the
revered guests of honour for the day and they didn’t let us forget it!
We sat
on ‘charpais’ in the sunlit courtyard where we were served fresh butter milk ‘chaach’.
Soon, the village children trouped in and Veer followed them around; their
lovely innocence had won over the steely reserve of an impossibly shy boy. With
the ‘chula’ lit and the ‘bajre ki rotis’ well under way, the wafting
smells were competing with the effusive smiles that served the most scrumptious
sarson ka saag (with freshly picked leaves from the fields ) aaloo ki chatni,
gaajar ka raita, fresh white butter and of course the inimitable ghee shakkar.
It was a simple meal by any stretch of the imagination but made special by
touches that were all non-culinary.
If the
food was packed with dollops of affection; the entertainment was drenched in
true Haryanvi gusto with the village women breaking into an impromptu lively
Haryanvi jig replete with traditional costumes.
They seemed just as fascinated
by us as we were with them and followed us around on our tour of the village.
Each family insisted on hosting us and serving milk (apparently water or any
other traditional beverage simply doesn’t convey hospitality quite as
completely as milk). Naturally, every house is the proud owner of buffaloes;
the animals are extremely well-cared for and almost indulged like children. It
is a community that knows how to co-habit and that is part of their charm. They
may not have a lot but they love to share, whether it’s with each other, guests
or even their cattle.
Each
weather-beaten face is etched deep with a child-like simplicity, happiness,
contentment, love and warmth; ruddy from working in the sun, I may not
remember each face but the affectionate look is something I will never forget.
As we
were leaving, each family insisted on contributing little gifts for us—bottles
of buttermilk, fresh bathua and sarson leaves, white butter and of course,
loads of milk! As our car slowly moved on to merge with the ‘godhuli’(dusk)
colours, the village was soon lost behind us in a cloud of dust; tears welled
up in my eyes as if I was leaving loved ones behind. Overwhelmed by a load
of sincere love and warmth of hospitality, I wondered when and if they visit
us, what would I offer them? It made me realize, it’s not ‘what’you give but’
how’ you give that matters. And this is precisely the lesson I wanted my little
Veer to imbibe…exactly what our villages are all about—perspective that is not
prejudiced by the perversions of pretension!
