The rooms smell like charcoal
Bustling with household tasks
Song of a bard (baul) floating in from afar
The throaty call of a wandering vendor
the laughter of running children
the honk of an impatient cyclist
in the usual alleys of
the barely changed rough and ready continuation
of village life.
Dames, wrapped in traditional fabric
Vermillion mark amidst scrappily parted oily hair
Rattling red and white bangles
Coarse palms clutching the sacred platter
Bare footed, heading to the temple.
Green fields are seasoned for sowing
Cloudy sky- a propitious indication
Mildly amused men, their rough hands
already at work, to reap
the fruit of their incessant labour.
Garrulous elderly neighbours
in vociferous exchange of their fortunes and misfortunes
of past and present ventures
children cackling and cooing
plummeting and plundering fervently
the mucky village pond, and then…
night falls on the deserted alleys
kerosene lamp pursuits to raze the darkness
folklore and dream grips the village
as it drifts to world unknown
the homogeneous flow of life
with extraordinary zeal for survival
reveal the absurdity of their life’s truisms
and their subjugating power.
Simplicity the norm of their minds
Latticed with superstitious and ominous belief
not yet accessed by rapid clip of modernization,
folksy and fantasy of village life.