Trip to Dinu's village during my last Doon visit was a revelation. Even though I am born and raised in Doon, I realized how little I had seen of the valley. Nestled far away from the noise & toxic pollution of the city, it was a beauty that strengthened your bond with Doon further. Then, you realize why you are not able to let go of this town even though you have lived outside more than here.
Another revelation was how bad my scooty had become. It became immediately apparent that it was a very bad idea to take it up there. The road is not that steep, but uphill anyway, and with Dinu on the back seat, it almost needed a leg push every now and then to keep it going. When it went, it went, but then it went dead many times on the way. We gave up hope of any revivial when the next kick eventually started it again and we got going.
It was partly cloudy that afternoon and the wind was just cool enough. Once we reached the village, we headed straight to Dinu's plot. The road to the plot was really narrow - good enough just to hold a small car. It was fun driving a scooty on it, though. On one side of the road were petty shops run by the locals.
By the time we reached the plot, the sun was out in full bloom. In the distance was a beautiful mountain peak.(Dinu, can you please share the name of the mountain) An image arose in my mind. It was that of a nice little holiday home with a sun room overlooking the mountain, and with lights just turning on at twilight, a bunch of old friends are just sitting over food and drinks, talking about life. After taking some pictures, we moved on to a little walking trail that opened up to a beautiful valley. We could see several flower plantations down there. We sat there for a while and let the serenity of the moment sink in. It worked much better than $30 massage in an American mall.
The trip back home was trouble-free. We glided down the slopes, bending the scooty around the curves, and speeding it up on flat roads somewhat. We embraced the cold wind on our faces; our hair flying; our shirts fluttering. Somewhere behind the trees, there was a stream of sparkling fresh water. Young women filled their pots and put them on their hips. As they walked back home, the sound of their anklets resonated through the air. A melody arose in the heart ....
Ek Rasta hai zindagi, jo thum gaye to kuch nahi.....
Yeh kadam kisi mukam par jo thum gaye to kuch nahi.
(Dinu, I have sketched this out from faint memories. Please correct and elaborate if you have to.)
9 comments:
Absolutely..its just as same..now its Mussorie bye pass..few beautiful farmhouses have come up.
I plan my own one in distant future, i added 1 bigha to ancestral land in 2003 and recently bought 1/2 bigha in Manduwala.
I do not intend to settle in NCR and neither in city of doon but to this village which is 15 kms from away.
My neighbour is Mayank who bot some land in upcoming good colony.
Mayank's plot is in good location, too. I went with him, as well, over there. How is it over there, now? Any construction began there, Mayank?
Mayank has age problems again, he's slept off in office again.
Well written piece for illiterate like me who understand simpler english and shorter sentences.
Plot remains a plot still..
....these women walking with pots on hips ...i think thats fiction..good..imagination..nevertheless
Now you have taken that to heart nobody called you illiterate , it just everyday knowledge that you are a bit challenged on reading front.
The Plot thickens!!!!!
"LAND GRABBER OF MANDUWALA"
You are right Mayank, this was ...ual frustation of Mr Jain when he imagined ' pitcher on hips' bearing ladies.
Anyways ..good job.
The Plot in Manduwala ..i think i bot it on a higher side.
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