There are now barely a few days to go before school reopens after the summer vacations. The first thought of living in a village was exciting and instilled in me a sense of thrill. Sure, there would be challenges I knew but I’d overcome them, I told myself.
Thinking about it from within the comforts of your home and actually living it are two different things. Internet connectivity, the cool environs of an air-conditioned room, chilled water from the fridge, and even, the frequent cups of tea had various times during the day were luxuries that I was accustomed to. Each of these are now a rarity that I can only use in rationed proportions.
After going thirsty for two nights in a row (I didn’t want to disturb my host family in the middle of the night when I ran out of drinking water) I finally managed to procure (thanks again to the resourcefulness of my host) an earthen pot for myself. Now I have stored drinking water that I can refill during the day and it will remain cool.
In all honesty, the earthen pot doesn’t chill the water as much as I’d like. And mobile data lasts me only till the time I don’t watch any movie trailers or make video calls to my family. But it suffices. And I am happy with it. At least, for now.
A city bred girl living in a village only sounds exotic in the books. And it did, for Nina in Jenny Colgan’s The Bookshop on the Corner managed fantastically. But I am barely surviving. Although, I am still confident something good will come out of this. Maybe all that’s needed now is a run-down van that doubles up as a mobile bookshop and a hunk who professes his undying love for me to make the transition easier.
Until then, I make do with swatting flies out of my face and chasing lizards out of my room. And go back to dreaming of eating sushi and sipping Cosmopolitans.
Maybe I should stop saying that I did this to bring about some change, to make a difference in my own small way. Because I don’t feel like I’m doing anything that’s any great shakes. Except that my whining surely must have set a record of some sorts.
Last night, I sat up till late, listening to the thunder in the distant skies and the pitter-patter of raindrops on the tin roof of my room.
The falling of almost ripe mangoes on the tin sheet was also not helping. For each time a mango got dislodged in the strong breeze, it would sound as if a thousand people were running to meet a real Harry Potter himself. If the insects wouldn’t cause my death, the falling mangoes sounding like the God of Thunder had personally come down for a visit would definitely cause my heart to fail.
I remember the time when in the middle of the night, I was rudely woken up by loud banging on my door. Upon querying about the identity of the visitor, when I got no response from the other side, I decided to not open the door at all. It left me mystified even as an eerie tune played somewhere in the distant. Or maybe in my head. I could have sworn I heard the howl of wolves too. Along with the trademark tune of Ramsay Brothers serials. Before I could further hear the hoot of an owl or the creak of a door opening mysteriously, I shut my eyes tight and turned over, with my back to the door. If someone had indeed come to murder me, let me not see them doing it, I decided.
I had reported the untimely and mysterious knocking to my hosts the next morning. A quick preliminary investigation resulted in the solving of the mystery. Unripe mangoes that had fallen due to the strong wind and had rolled away were recovered not far from the entrance to my room. (I still tell whosoever will believe me that there was someone outside my room that night and they probably panicked and ran away, leaving behind their own stock of mangoes, by mistake. We should have called the FBI and submitted the mangoes as evidence for fingerprint dusting.)
Another time I almost fainted when I came back to my room and spotted a monkey dancing on the roof. This time I made sure to gather witnesses. I called multiple people, in case I needed them to testify in court that they had sighted the animal too. The only thing we didn’t seem to agree on was its size. I could vouch my name on the fact that the ape was huge-bigger than what Godzilla and King Kong would look like if they were to share a single costume. Others, however, vehemently disagreed and quickly dispursed. I think they were probably too polite to say that it was the chimp that was scared by my size instead.
One would think after living here for two months, I would have got used to it. But I jump up in fright every time I hear a knock. To ensure my safety I remember to report the knocking to my hosts. Alas! They simply tell me to pick up the fallen evidence and hand it over to them to make raw mango preserve.
As a result of last night’s thunder and rainstorm, there hasn’t been any power supply all day. Nevertheless, I managed to finish a book for some time and watch some more episodes of Designated Survivor. (The irony, or relevance, of me watching a series with the word ‘survivor’ in the title doesn’t escape me.)
I already know for sure that there is some secret murder conspiracy being hatched against me. Is there any way I can task the FBI to track the mysterious midnight visitor?
What has been your most memorable adventure? Is there anything you did that surpassed your own expectations? Share your feedback and comments on the above post using the comment box below.