The Lost Village: Candid Stories from Rural India
Biography & Memoir, Entertainment & Performing Arts
| Author: | Ashok Kabisatpathy | ISBN: | 9781301637867 |
| Publisher: | Ashok Kabisatpathy | Publication: | April 8, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ashok Kabisatpathy |
| ISBN: | 9781301637867 |
| Publisher: | Ashok Kabisatpathy |
| Publication: | April 8, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
As a child and a young adult spending summer breaks in my village, I had no shortage of excitements, fun, and life altering experiences. Life was enriched by the unconditional love of my grandparents, innocent friendship of village buddies, and shy looks from girls. Running around the yards, taking a dip in the river, playing on the swings, and riding bullock carts to and from the bus station while stepping on cow poop were routine. The cultural richness I gained during the village festivities was inspirational. Year after year, I experienced the traditions, and rituals in the simple setting of my village.
People grow up. They seek opportunities and change places. I was no exception. Weeks after receiving the great news about an opportunity to pursue higher education, I lost my grandmother. Far away from my village and without my grandmother, contacts slowly eroded and in a few short years became non-existent. Some twenty-five years later, during a road trip, I took a detour through my village and a nostalgic feeling for the place and its people emerged. It was difficult to fathom why my soul was still drawn to the village where the house I played in had turned into a pile of rubble and most of the people I knew growing up were gone. I guess, sometimes we love to live in the past.
After the trip, returning to the hum drum of life, I started reminiscing. I recalled the fire that burnt the village to ground, the flood that isolated it from the outside world and the animal sacrifice ritual that was performed to satisfy a goddess. On a personal note, I remembered the ordeal in which I almost lost my mother to a snake bite, the hardship while recovering from a rabid dog bite, and my mother’s pain after losing my sister to fever.
It was not all bad. I had some great memories especially of my grandmother. I realized how much I cherished her influence as I was growing up. What she taught me cannot be found in a school curriculum. Her gift of unconditional love is worth much more than everything I could own and earn in my lifetime. Her presence in my life was priceless and timeless. She is and will be cherished forever. I truly miss her love and affection.
I have come to realize that the village I grew up in is now lost. The manner in which I experienced the rural life in this remote Indian village will never be replicated. The world is changing, where children are still growing up and becoming adults. Their life experience will be different compared to mine. Yet, I am compelled to tell my stories as a reference point in history full of twists and turns. I hope your reading of my candid story telling will be as exciting and funny as it was for me writing it.
As a child and a young adult spending summer breaks in my village, I had no shortage of excitements, fun, and life altering experiences. Life was enriched by the unconditional love of my grandparents, innocent friendship of village buddies, and shy looks from girls. Running around the yards, taking a dip in the river, playing on the swings, and riding bullock carts to and from the bus station while stepping on cow poop were routine. The cultural richness I gained during the village festivities was inspirational. Year after year, I experienced the traditions, and rituals in the simple setting of my village.
People grow up. They seek opportunities and change places. I was no exception. Weeks after receiving the great news about an opportunity to pursue higher education, I lost my grandmother. Far away from my village and without my grandmother, contacts slowly eroded and in a few short years became non-existent. Some twenty-five years later, during a road trip, I took a detour through my village and a nostalgic feeling for the place and its people emerged. It was difficult to fathom why my soul was still drawn to the village where the house I played in had turned into a pile of rubble and most of the people I knew growing up were gone. I guess, sometimes we love to live in the past.
After the trip, returning to the hum drum of life, I started reminiscing. I recalled the fire that burnt the village to ground, the flood that isolated it from the outside world and the animal sacrifice ritual that was performed to satisfy a goddess. On a personal note, I remembered the ordeal in which I almost lost my mother to a snake bite, the hardship while recovering from a rabid dog bite, and my mother’s pain after losing my sister to fever.
It was not all bad. I had some great memories especially of my grandmother. I realized how much I cherished her influence as I was growing up. What she taught me cannot be found in a school curriculum. Her gift of unconditional love is worth much more than everything I could own and earn in my lifetime. Her presence in my life was priceless and timeless. She is and will be cherished forever. I truly miss her love and affection.
I have come to realize that the village I grew up in is now lost. The manner in which I experienced the rural life in this remote Indian village will never be replicated. The world is changing, where children are still growing up and becoming adults. Their life experience will be different compared to mine. Yet, I am compelled to tell my stories as a reference point in history full of twists and turns. I hope your reading of my candid story telling will be as exciting and funny as it was for me writing it.
