I remember sitting on my Grandmothers lap listening to stories of the good old days when there were no high-rises, no traffic and the view consisted of green fields as far as the eye could see.
Consider it a blessing or a curse but this is the memory Our Native Village awakened in me. It made me want to take my foot off the pedal and just gaze into the fields leading nowhere. I could imagine running a kite through the winds and scrapping my knees as I climbed trees, oblivious to Grandma's disapproving looks trying hard to camouflage her twitching knowing smiles
I was young and carefree once again with not a care in the world. I wanted to fly with the birds and jump into frog ponds with complete abandon. For all those who have forgotten their childhood stories, my recent visit to Our Native Village has made me realise that our grandma's sure knew what they were talking about.
As we leave the pollution and dust of city life far behind (Bangaloreans forgive me, but we must admit that the pure Bangalore of yore is not to be found nowhere) and drive 40 kms towards the unknown, the locale slowly changes from urban claustrophobia to natural beauty. There are fields of grains, coconuts and bananas plantations and no population. There is music in the birdsongs and enchanting rhythms in the croaks of frogs and crickets. This is Our Native Village where a return to Mother Nature is a promise.
Consider it a blessing or a curse but this is the memory Our Native Village awakened in me. It made me want to take my foot off the pedal and just gaze into the fields leading nowhere. I could imagine running a kite through the winds and scrapping my knees as I climbed trees, oblivious to Grandma's disapproving looks trying hard to camouflage her twitching knowing smiles
I was young and carefree once again with not a care in the world. I wanted to fly with the birds and jump into frog ponds with complete abandon. For all those who have forgotten their childhood stories, my recent visit to Our Native Village has made me realise that our grandma's sure knew what they were talking about.
As we leave the pollution and dust of city life far behind (Bangaloreans forgive me, but we must admit that the pure Bangalore of yore is not to be found nowhere) and drive 40 kms towards the unknown, the locale slowly changes from urban claustrophobia to natural beauty. There are fields of grains, coconuts and bananas plantations and no population. There is music in the birdsongs and enchanting rhythms in the croaks of frogs and crickets. This is Our Native Village where a return to Mother Nature is a promise.
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