I will never forget my first sight of Assam. Driving through the night to my very first garden as a new bride, the journey seemed almost like an adventure...into the unknown. Miles and miles of green... a brilliant viridian to a sap green, a lovely olive to a dull bottle green, all the different hues mingling and fusing into a sense of timelessness in that never-ending sea of green …. creating poetry in green.
And then, it's night time and it is only in Assam that one can sit and look into the night - to see the colours of the night change from a dark grey to a smoky black to a charcoal black. It's almost like watching a painting being made...that too in slow motion.
And very soon I came to identify the peculiar little sounds that are so much a part of Assam. The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, the scuffling of rats, of the curiously grating buzz of an insect, the peculiar ‘kat-kať sound made by the lizards, the screeching of the monkeys as they frolicked in the front lawn of the bungalow and fought over the over ripe 'kathal', growing so profusely in the ‘Mali Barhi'.
In the clear light of the day, I saw creepers and bushes, and plants and vines so lush, so vibrantly alive, I could almost feel them breathe.
And soon I was busy opening boxes, setting up house in a charming, rather small bungalow at the foothills of Seconee Hills. And while I was so busy playing house, the ‘Pokhas' too were busy, at what they do best. My first reaction to this hard-shelled snail had been one of delight, at having seen something that had come straight out of the pages of Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales, but there was no fairy-tale ending when they ate up all the 'Puli' the maali had so painstakingly planted.
And very soon I came to identify the peculiar little sounds that are so much a part of Assam. The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, the scuffling of rats, of the curiously grating buzz of an insect, the peculiar ‘kat-kať sound made by the lizards, the screeching of the monkeys as they frolicked in the front lawn of the bungalow and fought over the over ripe 'kathal', growing so profusely in the ‘Mali Barhi'.
In the clear light of the day, I saw creepers and bushes, and plants and vines so lush, so vibrantly alive, I could almost feel them breathe.
And soon I was busy opening boxes, setting up house in a charming, rather small bungalow at the foothills of Seconee Hills. And while I was so busy playing house, the ‘Pokhas' too were busy, at what they do best. My first reaction to this hard-shelled snail had been one of delight, at having seen something that had come straight out of the pages of Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales, but there was no fairy-tale ending when they ate up all the 'Puli' the maali had so painstakingly planted.
And so, "Operation Eradication" began with the chowkidar collecting this never-ending tribe in a tin, to be dumped into a 'nallah' outside the bungalow.
This was one of the many firsts I experienced.
Another first I can vividly recall is of a herd of elephants that crossed the fencing outside our gate in the early hours of the morning. It was a cold, misty December morning when I first saw this herd of massive, yet strangely graceful creatures. As I watched, I saw a little baby elephant stuck in the fencing being tenderly trunk lifted by its mother to the other side of the fence for their journey to the hills. It was a mesmerising sight!
The day goes by in a frenzy of activity, to make the most of Apollo, the Sun God, who has condescended to emerge after days of constant rain. The house buzzes with the activity of the 'maalis' frantically digging to make beds for the winter flowers, the 'bera' airing out the lumpy old mattresses, the bawarchi airing out the 'dals' and ‘masalas' to get rid of the musty smell.
And so the days go on... ambient and warm, and even when my new 'chokra' chowkidar comes panting to me, stuttering about having seen a “bara sarwala” (cobra) snake, I just smile and shush him off...after all, it is also a part of the 'meagre' bungalow inventory.
And my mother, on a visit here, marvels at this new me...a me who till two years back would have hit the roof at the sight of a baby cockroach, smiling benignly at the news of a cobra. I tell her then, patiently, in a tone peculiarly like the one she used with me when I was a kid, “You see Mom, this is Assam”.
And my mother, on a visit here, marvels at this new me...a me who till two years back would have hit the roof at the sight of a baby cockroach, smiling benignly at the news of a cobra. I tell her then, patiently, in a tone peculiarly like the one she used with me when I was a kid, “You see Mom, this is Assam”.
👌👌👍
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