Play Zone

            I got an opportunity to visit my village, my native place. I was going there after a long time. Thanks to the development, the journey began smoother and quicker. Travelling in a train, I was also travelling back in time to the fond memories of my childhood. We, i.e. my parents and my sisters would come to the village during our summer and winter breaks. We all looked forward for it. It was a culture that every one flocked to these small tiny hamlets and each of the household boasted of “chakarmanies”. I don’t know what the men did , but the ladies became part of the cooking and cleaning machinery which ran throughout the day, which included non stop ferrying of water from the nearby well. The children especially the boys had a great time. Off the hook, no studies, no nagging and vast space to disappear. Fruit laden trees of mangoes, cashews, jackfruit provided much more than shelter in the blazing sun The open fields would turn into cricket grounds and everyone from Mumbai was no less than Sachin and was treated with respect and adulation.

The matches were no less than the world cup matches, fiercely competed. Each year some new fast bowler or a big hitter would make his debut and make his presence felt. The ground was a huge one and it appeared endless to all of us who came from Mumbai. It was outside the village and along side the main road and a foot track. Eventually at critical junctures the spectator strength would swell up and the cheers would get louder and boisterous. There was a huge mango tree at far end of the ground touching the eastern boundary of the field. It was our pavilion. The cool shade of the tree and the mild breeze kept the next batsman cool and lot of fruit for snacks and quick bites. The batsmen getting out early never sat in the dugouts biting nails but were prompt to pick up a bicycle on rent and would do rounds along the boundary of the field. There wasn’t any dull moment and apart from the action on the field, expert comments, cars, bikes and a plethora or hot topics kept everyone’s interest alive.

            Thanks to the new railway line, the journey back to the past was smooth in the ac compartment. I wanted to go back to the small hamlet, pure and untouched by the pollution of the cities. Wanted to be in the trees and the open fields and dissolve myself in the nostalgic moments. Wanted to pluck the wild berries, may be try and attempt to climb the easiest tree. Wanted to breathe pure oxygen.

            Early morning the train eased into the station. I was eager to catch on the morning freshness and the sweet smell of the mango “mohur”. The auto rickshaws had replaced the bullock carts and the red dusty roads wore a fresh look with a shiny black tar with white markings. The tiny hamlet had outgrown in to a small town. School vans and pickups were busy in the morning hurrying towards their destinations. That of the burnt diesel replaced the smell of the morning dust.  What a fool I was that I was expecting to go back to the same hamlet that I left years back.

            Good roads and new buildings were giving a fresh look. I was enjoying the stroll. I wanted to avoid the afternoon sun and my fond memories of the yester years were moving me. The small temple had grown in to a much bigger one, the tiny shops replaced by the big ones and the development was visible. I moved towards the playground, the place where we spent our vacations. My steps quickened as if some beautiful damsel was awaiting me with open arms and I wanted to melt in her arms and travel back to the golden past.   I was restless as there wasn’t any ground in sight and I had to navigate myself from the fresh concrete jungle. I started feeling something amiss as I neared the hills cross the village. When I reached the far end, I realised that the concrete jungle had eaten up the beautiful ground. My heart broke as my memories of past lay buried beneath the concrete.  The playful shouting and the cheers were lost forever. The mango tree, which looked tall and beautiful, vanished in the clutter.

            Nothing comes free. Development has its price too. For me it were just memories but for someone else that piece of land was gold. Never ever will there be any laughter heard, nor will the cheers resonate from the hills. But who cares. The so-called new development erased out the play zones from the lives of the new generation and caused an irreparable damage. May we wake up soon before its too late.