A village is referred as ‘Gaan‘ in Orissa. Consciously or not but i have started missing my village these days. During my childhood days I developed a strong bond with my village(BALABHADRAPUR) , the fondness is such that I am pouring my thoughts into text today.
My Father and mother were working at a small town (BARIPADA) of North Orissa.
Both of them were teachers at college. Me and my elder brother (here in after referred as Nana) were having our school days. The Best time to visit village was summer vacations,
although my parents made it sure to visit on Festivals, functions and other occasions.
Our village was around 30 Kms from our place of stay. The primary mode to commute
was our Bajaj Chetak Scooter. Nana used to sit in between Bapa and Mama, my only option was near the speedometer.
The journey to village was breathtaking. Out of the crowd, pollution, technology and everything. Rich in tranquility and serenity It was a whole new world. The Best part was that Mama could not push us to books. While crossing lush green paddy fields alongside the road, Bapa used to share his acts of bravery of yesteryears. Sometimes I used to feel drowsy in between the discussions, Bapa used to awaken me by his pinching. I would scream loud.
Now sitting at my office I want to scream, but “Bapa you are not here to pinch, or mama to sympathize”. I think I have lost the roads far behind and its only nostalgia now.
Names of places en route were ‘Baisinga’, ‘Betnoti’, ‘Badasahi’, ‘Bad kerka’, ‘Aarpota’,’Singtia’.(Only Few of them which I remember). The place called ‘Mulia-sahi’
(English meaning: Worker’s locality) was the alarm that we are not far.
Then came house of ‘Dibba’. Bapa used to always halt there and press the horn.
Dibba being a duteous Servant of our family would jump out of his hut.
He used to give a warm welcome smile and say”Babu, so nice that you are here”.
There was no electricity, food or comfort for him. No education for his children, still he would never ask or complaint for anything.
Finally when we arrive at our village, all of us develop different kind of emotions.
Mama being the ‘Bahu’ (daughter in law) start to pull her sari to cover up to fore head.
Nana and I used to stare at teenagers as if we are kids of Akbar and they are ‘praja’ (Public). Bapa would be exchanging smiles as a righteous son of the village.
Any individual who has earned a good living will carry this pride to back home and so did Bapa.
Entering our house was so exciting. Our family residing was my Jejema (Grandma), Kaka (Uncle), Khudi (Aunt) and my Cousin Brothers (Paplu and Tutulu).
Jejema and khudi made sure to serve us our favorite dish ‘chitau pitha’(A cake made from powdered rice mainly in Rural Orissa ). All of us together would sit near the ‘chulha’ with freshly taken cow milk and pure ghee. This part was awesome.
If it was a summer vacation our entire family would be present, making the experience lot more lively and arousing. Waking up early and Sibun dada (one of my cousin) would be ready to lead us to mysterious woods.
He was a like a born detective. We all would start searching for traces, Sibun dada always managed to be the first to find out a skull or a bone. Then he would explain us how ghost arrived last night, and we are the first to land up at the undisturbed site. It was so terrifying, we used to get more energy from his tales and continue our mission ‘Ghost’.
My Grandfather passed away when we were very young, so there was not much of time
we could spend with him. He was a school Headmaster, a much disciplined, hard working, honest in a nut shell he was a man of honor. He was the middle one among three brothers. All three of them had continuous residence separated by fences.
We were also close with them. But somehow we could not bond much with all family members.
Another attraction was the river ‘Budha balanga’. The river has something which would attract you towards it. To reach there you have to go through in between woods, such dense it is even light can’t fathom
Midway comes a big banyan tree. People tell that souls have been buried inside the tree with nails all around to keep the village safe. In spite of all these odds we run to our lovable river. Bapa attempted many a times to teach us swimming but he failed. In his yesteryears he used to bet with his friends and swim end to end when the river was high with floods. Sorry Bapa!!! Could not match your expectations, you have set very high standards. But yes, once Nana and I were on the verge of drowning in the same river.
We ended up gasping; water was coming in from nose, mouth, ears. We felt very helpless. Mama got the news came with a brave young man who saved us. Thanks Mama for giving us life and protecting it.
Bapa and some other relatives would spill mustard oil all over there body a
nd jump to our pond at backyard. It was fishing time; all the kids would be holding the buckets and the elder brave hearts would throw their catch. It was something worth watching. 6-7 People spread all over the pond with nets in their hands and an audience to acknowledge their achievement. Every hunt of a fish was followed by applause. Although later it was used for lunch but it was more of fun and experience. This was the way Bapa and we went for fishing in contrast to foreign countries where fishing was a completely serene experience at countryside.
Although I cannot describe about every hero’s of my Village, there are some who must be mentioned. Babaji ‘kaka’. If mistakenly a kid look into his eyes he was sure to wet his pants. A tall man with wide moustache twisted at the ends, red eyes. Tales fly across villages that when he was young he killed a wild bear with his gun, one shot!!
He was the Shikari shambu of our village. He had a jeep too which was very uncommon for a villager in those days. His house had a mysterious ringing bell, a skull having blood LED bulbs as eyes. Although later on when we grew up we realized he was a good man but surely a unique one.
Cricket was surely different here. Cricket was an obvious choice as it flows in the blood of our country men. All of us, brothers, Bapa and kaka would have matches in between us. It was worth watching when all of us came out of the house. Neatly dressed, doing some stretching and jogging towards the field. Our dearest villagers used to share strange looks as if we have come from England or Mars. One day some of the young guys couldn’t resist and betted a match with us. We laughed and agreed to play, just for a change. Both the teams exchanged ‘don’t you dare mess with me’ looks. Finally game started, they followed no rules. You tell them you are chucking; the next ball would come from Sohaib Akthar. In spite all the odds it was not another Lagaan. We won, although they gave us a good match. That eased the air a bit.
After all this eventful days, returning was not that easy. But always we had to come back.
Those days at least we had a hope that next time is going to be soon.
Unlike now, when we are not able to make it to village.
Time changes, men changes so do circumstances.
Jejema is growing old day by day, she can’t stay there alone. Kaka and Khudi have moved to a more developed area for Kaka’s Business. Jejema stays with them for some time of the year and also with Kuni Nani(My Aunt) for some part.
Our Village has been abandoned. No occupants, but the fences between three houses are still there, standing firm. This is the irony of life.
Bapa & Mama try to pay a visit when time permits. With our new Swift Desire. But I believe they would agree that those Bajaj days were better. (Hamara Bajaj).
I will make sure that my kids will have a look of ‘Balabhadrapur’.
Although I realize what we have got and things they will miss out, still I will take them. Once with their Grandfather and Grandmother, they will walk across Dibba’s house, My River (Yes it’s mine), Our Pond, Babaji kaka’s House, the tube well chakka….
OH this nostalgia feeling is killing me …..I will stop now.
I woke up from my afternoon nap, still engrossed with the dreams. I thought looking out at the sky would help me to confront with reality. But i was mesmerized after seeing the delightful sky. The Kolkata sky was embedded with 'Kites'. Kites of contrasting colours and varying sizes were flying in trajectories that nobody can predict. I tried taking my eyes 
off the sky and concentrate on the ground. All roof tops were filled with teenagers, in shorts and tees. It was a battle field , everyone was trying to bring other one down. Kite runners , bit younger, chased the muddy streets in a quest to come back with the prey.
