'A walk of nostalgia'

Walking down this old dusty road had never been so difficult for Jagath. It wasn’t an unfamiliar or unchartered path nor was laden with thick thorny bushes or weeds that prevented the free movement of people. It was a decent eight feet wide mud road with small pebbles spread all around. It was the same road that he used to take for school as a kid. The school bus would wait for him at the junction, a few hundred metres from the big banyan tree, in the morning everyday. The driver, a dark bearded youngster with a RayBan glass always skillfully balanced on his forehead, aimed his red paan spittle like a dart, to hit the milestone showing the distance between their village and the capital city of Mumbai. Though he would notice Jagath rushing towards the bus with his uncombed hair swaying with every movement and shoelace begging to be tied, he would repeated employ the services of his sound horn that was unique to his vehicle. A sound that proved what a big Rajnikant fan he was. Every time he pressed the button, it sang, 'Baasha…Baasha…' 

A smile escaped his lips as he thought of the speed at which he would run behind the moving bus before he finally leapt on to it, clinging to the door handle like a leech holding on to a human foot, with its suckers dug deep into the skin, balancing the weight of its body.

A few steps into his walk, this memory was soon replaced by another story from his childhood as he noticed the culvert that had stood strong against all odds for almost a century. During their long walks in the evening from the ivory white colored eight bedroom mansion that belonged to his grandfather, to the shop on the other side of the village, in search of a 'Bar One' chocolate that he insisted on having every evening, his grandfather would excitedly talk about this culvert. Built by a British officer who had visited the town during the pre-independence days, it was a result of his motor car getting stuck in the sticky mud due to the sparsely flowing tricklet water. "He immediately summoned his local troops and got it constructed", his grandfather would end the story with a laugh. On the way back from the shop, his grandfather made it a point to sit on the culvert for at least ten minutes, massaging his thick moustache and responding the problems of the youngsters of the village, who tried to pick his brain as a means of finding an amicable solution to their personal and political dilemmas. As Jagath walked by the culvert today, his legs felt heavy with all these memories.

On close observation, he couldn't help but notice the several cracks in the structure exposing the hard stones it was built with, back in the day. An evidence of the storms it had withstood over the years. But, his heart wasn’t ready to accept that it could break one day. His happy memories from childhood didn’t let his skeptical and analytical self take over, even for a second, from the time he stepped foot in the village.

He looked to his right. It was a familiar sight of the big red cherry setting behind the huge mountains that his grandfather had cheerfully and proudly called ‘the elixer of life'. He had explained on a chilly evening as to how every person in the village depended on the perennial water source that originated in those tall mountains, about how the agricultural practices would come to a stand still without the help of rains trapped by the wide spread rough rocky gigantic triangular heaps of soil, that housed lush green tall trees and a multitude of nature’s treasures both in the form of flora and fauna. Jagath felt the goosebumps of those familiar words of wisdom as he stood still for a couple of minutes, enjoying their simplicity and depth. 

His life had recently taken a huge leap professionally. He had been appointed as the member of the board of a popular advertising company. He felt that his years of hardwork had finally paid off. The long working days and the tiring all nighters had yielded the desired results. Yet, on some days he felt a void. A feeling of unfulfilment lingered somewhere at the back of his mind. The giant steps of success had made him the man he had always dreamed to be. Still, he felt incomplete. 

Towards the left of the school building he passed by, was the cowshed of the milkman, Madan, who delivered milk to the mansion, promptly at seven, everyday in the morning. His mind immediately plunged into the days when, he would see Madan milking his cow, on his enthusiastic walk back from the shop, with his tiny fingers firmly gripping his grandfather's index finger and his coat pockets heavy with the ‘Bar One' chocolates his grandfather had bought for him. Madan would reverentially stand up and with folded hands, greet the elder with a smile. Then, he would playfully tickle Jagath untill his fingers tired out and give him delicious sweets made of fresh ghee. Today, he was not milking his jersey cow though it was time for his routine. Jagath’s eyes search for the familiar sight of Madan walking towards his cowshed with a bundle of freshly cut green grass on his shoulders and a milk can in his hand. He was nowhere to be seen. 

Jagath's mind drifted towards comparing the milk delivery system in the cities to the Madan's delivery routine. Though he despised the packet of diluted milk delivered everyday to his doorstep in the city, he hardly had a choice. It was a core ingredient of his addiction, a cup of steaming hot coffee, first thing in the morning. As he compared the quality of the milk supplied in the two places, his eyes fell on a small potbelly that had emerged of late, an evidence of his unhealthy food habits and extreme work pressure which he felt, were collaterals for the position he had earned in his office over a period of time.

A few steps further and for some unknown reason, Jagath started counting the number of branches on the mango tree on the side of the road that had sheltered hundreds of travelers in its lifetime. The juicy mangoes he had eaten from the tree somehow left a sour taste in his mouth this time, for he remembered a tall handsome man, in his late seventies, teaching him how to use a catapult by felling five mangoes in three shots to prove his mettle with precision hits. That day, Jagath had run all round the village announcing his grandfather's prowess.

As he scaled peaks in his career, his affinity towards this village had weakened. The frequent trips had reduced to hardly one or sometimes once in a couple of years, that too, only for a day or two. The aged couple would treat him to a banquet of local delicacies every time he visited them and before he realised, it would be time to leave. His friends from childhood had made repeated efforts to keep in touch with him. But, his packed schedule left him drained at the end of the day. The days of loafing around on a bicycle with friends, swimming in the lake for hours, catching fish for dinner and running away with the others clothes were all a happy thing of the past. Memories he would give anything to relive again.

He had always been an outsider in every place he went. Never the one to possess the shrewd business mind of his father, he decided to find a future in the entertainment industry. But, he never felt at home there. The nepotism and favouritism was hard to deal with. To escape the harsh realities of his work, he would plan weekend trips to various places away from the buzzing life of the city. However, every visit to his village would often trigger a question from the villagers, "So beta, when do you plan to return?" Though it was out of general curiosity, Jagath felt a pinch everytime he answered it.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jagath turned to see a fair but bald man in a white kurta and striped shorts, staring at him with an expressionless face. His eyes were bereft of any movement and his face looked rather pale. His stout belly was protruding out of his tight kurta hinting at him gaining a few pounds of weight since the last time he wore it. His discomfort at wearing it was evident in the way he repeated adjusted it by pulling it from side to side. It was Sukhi, Jagath's escort and Ajji's loyal servent, who was strictly instructed to shadow her grandson at all times. Sukhi had been a constant companion right from his childhood. Whenever he went out for a stroll, Sukhi was promptly sent to keep an eye on him. She was concerned that her grandson would get lost. 

"I'm all grown up now Ajji, I know the place like the back of my hand..." would be Jagath's famed line of argument in protest, which, understandably, would be royally ignored. So, this time, he simply complied with her wishes.

Sukhi pointed towards the right from the junction, a route predecided for his walk by Ajji, prior to their departure from the mansion. Jagath nodded knowing fully the futility of making any other suggestion. On both the sides of the road were fields laden with lush green crops. Jagath's grandfather, a successful farmer, would often say with a pumped up chest and hands twirling his grey moustache, "A farmer forgetting to grow crops is equivalent to a mother forgetting to breastfeed her newborn child. We are the sons of the soil. It’s imperative for anyone, who is well-versed in any chosen field, to learn the basics of farming, so that he learns to value the food he eats." One of the few unfulfilled wishes on Jagath's bucket list.

As he reached a stretch laden with huge fig trees and thick lantana bushes, considered to be the fag end of his walk, a sense of fulfillment engulfed his otherwise incomplete self. The hour clock had covered a full circle and it was time for the evening pooja at the village temple. He felt at ease with himself, for a change. His shoulders felt unburdened of the constant pressure of deadlines. The tensed eyebrows had finally found a way to relax. Though his muscles hurt from the continuous travel and stiffness, he was at peace with himself. He noticed the women rushing towards the temple for the arathi. Their constant chatter and occasional giggles brought a smile to his face. He saw Madan walking towards the temple with a milk can in his left hand, a routine offering to the deity. As soon as he spotted Jagath, he waved with his other hand with the dreaded question, "So, Jagath beta... When are you going back?"