Growing up I stole burnt sugarcane from the fields in the backlands of our village.
When I visited my uncle during the August vacation I milked his neighbour’s cow and left poor Uncle Cha-cha wondering why she had no milk.
Well he knew where the milk went because my uncle would always take it back.
And once I landed myself in the “scalding hot dhal pot”, as my Nani (maternal grandmother) would say, when I stole Uncle Cha-cha’s guinea pigs one day. I remember those guinea pigs well, all five of them, because after I returned them my mommy gave me the whipping of my life with a sturdy stem from the Jamoon tree. I never liked jamoons after that whipping and I still don’t eat the things even now.
The next day it rained and I walked through all the mud and opened Uncle Cha-cha’s fowl pen. Chasing fowls in the mud – well let’s just say it isn’t exactly easy to do. Mommy didn’t give me a whipping for that one. She told me that I was a bad girl; that I had hurt poor old Uncle Cha-cha’s feelings and she made me feel rotten.
Uncle Cha-cha and I became friends after that particular trick and a few Augusts later he took me to the cane fields with him. I love it there; the green, green plants stretching on for acres, the breeze, and the naturalness of it. The fields are no longer there but the place is just as beautiful.
And whenever I suffer a bout of nostalgia I go walking along the dam that leads to the place. Even if it’s raining I let my toes squish through the mud. There’s nothing quite like life in the country.
These days 1 find myself listening to some snob or the other talk about “country people” and their crude activities. I wonder if they even realize that I’m a member of that particular group. I fantasize about picking up a piece of dry cow dropping and plopping it into their coffee and telling them, “there! that’s how we do it in the country; it’s good for your health”.
I wouldn’t though. I no longer play silly pranks on people like Uncle Cha-cha.
I’m cultured. Well when I want to be anyway.
Late last year I had coffee with acquaintances and I was shocked at the image they had of us country people. I cannot remember the exact words now but I know that they basically said that we country lot are still totally lacking in culture. I attacked my sandwich with a little more energy than needed and I smiled. At least I could eat without spilling ketchup on my shirt!
But now I don’t mind so much anymore. People like that will never have the great memories I do. Seriously, it’s quite an experience getting your butt warmed with a jamoon whip. I turned out pretty alright, didn’t I?
Perhaps I’ll suggest to my acquaintances that they try stealing someone’s guinea pigs. Like the saying goes, it’s never too late to start. But these days farmers in country areas are more inclined to shoot trespassers. Especially if they’re a few decades past the childhood stage!
