Two colours of green. Shades of yellow gold. Turmeric . The vibrant violent ochre of marigold. On either side of the road, fields stretch as far as I can see and then give way,unwillingly, to stubborn rocks and hillocks. This is verdant country, lush and turgid. A study in contrasts, it is bustling with the activity of commerce, but also invitingly lazy. A mongoose darts across the road. The odd squirrel ponders the question. The inevitable cows and goats that seem to dot every rural tableau. A game of cards is in progress at the back of a little truck. In another scene, cows are being carted off, cattle class style. Trucks and trucks of these hapless beasts, foaming at the mouth, exploring the fast disappearing roads under them. As I write, the images tumble in my head. Bright red saris of the devout. Dusty black of the fervent. A ride, in a bamboo saucer, watching the river closer than I want to get. A trek that wasn’t a mere climb but more, much more.
On the road now, there are unexpected shimmering waters. A patchwork of earth and grass, arid and rich, brown and green, hope and more hope.
There’s music in my head and a smile on my lips.
I’m going home.
I’m going home.
