Missing the colour, fragrance, and music of my village. The golden glow of the morning and the late afternoon. The gold of the mustered fields. The fragrance of the flowering fields of peas and mustered. The tree-lined canal banks, the long shadows of late afternoon and early morning. And the gay singing of my villagers herd across the fields during day and Jhal-kuttan from the neighbouring villages at night. The mango-garden, the temporary eden garden, the bazaar and the village alleys are all making me nostalgic. Naubatpur’s visit seems inevitable, but I’ll miss few cunning, few crooked and few very loyal chums, who now have engulfed India like the Monsoon this year(and they are not wrecking havoc).
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