It’s a rainy day. I had plans to go out but I had to defer it as it’s the kind of rain that will drench you in 30 seconds. It is accompanied by thunder, lightening and hailstones at intervals.
The sound of the rain fiercely beating the tin roof is melancholic and nostalgic. I sit by the window of a room that used to be our verandah, and look out. This is where my granny, who never went to school, devoured all the hindi novels that once lined one whole wall of our store room. I am suddenly flooded with memories of my childhood. What a life we had back then! Unlike my daughter who is caught in the web of the virtual world in the adjacent room, we were free… in spirit and nature, quite like the petite warbler that I see perched on one tree branch shielding its diminutive head from the unexpected downpour.
The view of late is limited and is interrupted by a grotesque building. When I was little, I could see greenery and beauty wherever I looked. Now I see muddled houses and dirt.
Everything has metamorphosed. The tasteful, elegant cottages have transformed into hideous structures. Roads have narrowed. There are disproportionate, garish houses everywhere. There must be more houses and vehicles than there are people in this hill town. The highway in many places and almost all inner lanes and stairways reek of filth. I wonder where the civic sense of the people is… maybe gone with the wind taking along with it the charm and aesthetics of the place.
There’s been a significant climatic change over the years, like the rains and the harsh cold at this time which is not seasonal. It is almost May and I am still in my winter wear. I fear the ground beneath us will not bear the burden of this squalor and withstand this atrocity any longer. Will nature give up one day? And how? The ‘coo-coo‘ of the steam engine interrupts my disconcerting thoughts. I smile thinking that the train gets caught in a traffic jam here… I’m not kidding! And it’s remarkable that there are so many things unique to this small place, for one, the quirky sense of humour of its people.
I look outside again, the rain has ceased. It seems to have washed a little of the haze and I can see the hills far away resting on the lap of the majestic Himalayas. They are always gorgeous after the rain; blue and green and pristine. More so today as the late afternoon sun is piercing through the clouds, generously showering light beams on them.
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This blissful, heavenly sight gives me some hope!
But when will people stop exploiting this gem of a place for their selfish needs?
When will they realize that they are unsettling the earth not to lay the foundation for their gigantic houses but the graves for their future generations?
When will the sun break through this drab, shine upon us and awaken us?
When will my once beautiful hometown regain its stupendous glory and live up to its name, ‘Paahad ki Rani,’ (The Queen of Hills)?
Am I delusional?
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This blog post is a part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla
in collaboration with Monidipa Dutta.
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