My Village Calls Me

My village calls me
in this changed environment,
those lanes and bylanes of my village
are calling me once again…

the farm house its platform and hallway,
flinging the self on the cot and snoring under the open sky,
plucking and tasting mangoes and plums
in the backyard garden of my village
are calling me…

every morning and evening the blessings
of the elderly Kakas and Babas,
clinking and tinkling of anklets
and their messages emanating
from the pond water
are calling me…

those childhood games
under the canopy of leaves formed
by Peepal, Banyan and Neem trees,
getting drenched and rowing
paper boats in the rain water,
playing with butterflies and fireflies,
joyfully tending of plants and flowers
are calling me…

peacocks dancing amid
the soothing greenery all around,
crowing and clucking of roosters and hens,
the fresh pure milk curd and lassi of cows,
the melodious duet of cuckoo’s koo-koos
and the buzzing of bumblebees,
the harmonious mix of temple bells
and mosque azaans of my village
are calling me…

the sweet aroma of mahua and mustard,
the raw sweetness of jaggery,
everything so simple, sweet and easy
in that village full of innocence,
mutual respect and love,
hospitality and belongingness,
away from arrogance and deceit
are calling me…

my village writes to me everyday,
and I’m busy with my own dreams
and the so-called struggles
the life my village seeks no longer
lives at the known address
which has shrunk
to the small id of the email
and the life within the four walls
in the realm of my mobiles and computers…

but my village still calls me
as fervently and affectionately as ever…

–Kaushal Kishore