Finding big joys in small places

BENGALURU : If you have something rise from 1 to 10, you get a 10 per cent increase, right? But what if the hike is from 0 to 10? Math whizz kids will get it in a jiffy, but since I am far from being one, I relied on Internet search, which told me that the answer is infinity. But why am I talking numbers? For the same reason that everyone else has been doing these past months — Covid-19 (ok, I know, GDP is another reason, but I am no economics whizz either). Coming back to the rise from zero, well, that’s how much my unease has increased since Sunday, when I landed in Bengaluru from a place that has not seen a single coronavirus case so far. 

My short vacation took me straight to the good ol’ Hindi movies, in which the family doctor, stethoscope firmly folded and dangling from one hand (the black bag being, of course, carried by the man of the family), recommends some fresh mountain air for the despondent heroine. Not that I am a heroine (confession: secret hope lurks there) or was distressed (actually, some say I was born that way) before I took the flight from namma ooru, but the fresh mountain air is heavily recommended for anyone who can take a break from the oppressing regimen of washing the imagined-or-real protein spikes off the skin several times a day.  

Ah, the joy of waking up in the cradle of the hills in a small village! For once, to hell with the happiness brought about by the glorious sunrise, the sound of crickets breaking the silence, the expanse of the clear sky in the truest sky-blue shade… The real happiness now lies in spending days together without the worries of using the mask or hand sanitiser, and being able to wash hands without reciting happy birthday twice. 

The hill folk have now got another reason to smile about in front of the big city people — rub it in, actually. In my over a decade-long association with the residents of this Himalayan village in Uttarakhand, I have never seen them this pleased with their life. The youngsters are now in no hurry to head to the city to experience its razzmatazz. The commonly-considered basic ‘comforts’ of urban life — television sets and satellite dishes; washing machines, even if they are semi-automatic; cars and bikes (there’s even a `1.5 lakh worth KTM bike in the village) have become a common enough belonging in households, and add to that electricity with good voltage and running water, and it’s easy to understand the pride behind the big smiles. 

Also, for once, it’s easy to disregard the ills that come with ‘development’. I didn’t mind the sight of an odd mask thrown away on the rocky tracks meandering through the step-farms; it’s good to see people taking precautions even in remote areas.

The villagers may be annoyed for having had to buy smartphones for their children to attend online classes, but they are also relieved that they have so far managed to stave off a big danger in a place where good medical facilities are a two-hour drive away through hairpin bends that come every few hundred metres. And now that I am back, I have decided not to pester my domestic help any longer about her plans to return from her village in Chikkaballapur. 

Pallavi Srivastava Editor, City Express   spallavi@newindianexpress.com