the village boy
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
My village is awe inspiring -- pollution free and quiet. Different shades and colors of waving crops and trees - solitary, in groves or avenues - beautify the landscape. The scene changes after the harvest. The air is always fresh and fragrant with the smell of earth. The only sound is singing of birds, ringing of cowbells and sighing of wind or some youth loudly singing Heer Waris Shah, Sassi Punun or Mirza Saheban at night. One sees butterflies fluttering, ladybirds creeping and squirrels jumping around. To me the place feels like a paradise.
My roots are in the village where no body seems to be in a hurry; no OMG! or ROFL. Every time I go there, from the different cities where I happen to be living, I take small things like candies and toys for the kids of neighbors and my family in the village and they are so happy that the words cannot explain their delight. From the village I bring everything (from desi chiken to saag and makai ki rootian), and more than every thing I bring a lot of love.
From our village, a group of seven students used to go to nearby town for attending school (and then college). Ghulam Muhammad (from Gura Hashim Shah) was my buddy in the group. After completing the education, my dreams became out of control and took me on the darker roads of the life whereas Ghulam Muhammad, equipped with degree from Faisalabd Agricultural University, started progressive farming in the same village. He was a hardworking gentleman, economically very sound and ambitious. Ghulam Mohammed's father soon started getting proposals for the marriage of his son from many wealthy landlord families of the area. But, my friend married his cousin: uneducated daughter of one of his poorest uncles and is living happily ever since. Village society is still simple, cohesive and based on similarities.
Only there is big difference for me now. This time when I am going to the village, I am still eager to meet a lot of people - family members, peers and neighbors. But my mother wouldn't be there to welcome me, to take pride in me and advise me what to do and how. She would not be there to transfer heritage of life of which she was a custodian. My mother (the spirit of my life) is no more there because she has shifted her residence to heavens. Rest in peace mom. Rest in peace.
A cluster of memories - some overlapping, some isolated - of 'the village boy' I once always stay with me. I am a result of my childhood experiences. After having knocked on all the doors of opportunity that come in my way in life, I want to settle and spend my future in the village? My village is a place where I still get king's treatment; where I get a break when I need it.
posted by S A J Shirazi @ Wednesday, January 16, 2013,
- At 20:06, sardar said...
very informative article. Sardar Ajab,
- At 11:10, Sajini Chandrasekera said...
You made me fall in love with your village and though i also live in the city and have no experience in village life , i still think love and harmony is still in the village than the city and still the best place to life a peaceful and happy life.
- At 14:07, Kausar Bilal said...
A very touching article. Like Sajini ,I also couldn't experience the village life but heard about it in the same way.
Yeah, you are right about your mom. Actually, no matter how grown up we are, we always need our parents.
- At 14:12, Jalal Hameed said...
A very sentimental ending - yes parents are road maps without whom we find ourselves at a loss. But then we become maps for our children and the life continues, though the void remains unfilled forever.
- At 17:34, Saima Ashraf said...
Well-writ article. I like the genuine life of a village. I myself belong to a village but there is a far cry from 'seeing' a village and 'being' in a billage. It is really a hard nut to crack to permanently live there where are no basic facilities of life. Solace of some days becomes troublesome when one has to live there for long.
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