There are summers, and then there is that idiotic summer.
I was interning with an organization studying tribal arts in the Rathwa tribe dominated Chota Udaipur region of Gujarat. In a constantly sweltering Sun, which was seldom in mood to bend itself below 45 odd degrees, we roamed across villages exploring styles of Pithora Paintings and scouting opportunities to work on other tribal art forms.
There are summers, and then there is that romantic summer.
I remember squeezing out time to go through multiple books at the same time. I fell in love with Arwen from Lord of the Rings and the landscapes of Shire as described by Tolkien, before the book eventually consumed me. I fell in love with villages, with the way Indians lived, took pride in our deep heritage and diverse art forms, and developed a significant admiration for tribal women with their shiny skin and confident demeanor.
There are summers, and then there is that delicious summer.
From the 10 year old kid who took me behind his hut at night to mix Gin for me in a earthen pot, to the old uncle who showed me the distillation process for Mahua made liquor, I discovered the existence of Alcohol. I remember taking the first sip, and it was hot, as hot as the Sun on top, it burned my food pipe for a second, but left a deliciously hot aftertaste. Then there was my new found addiction for soft-drinks (the one I always regretted), to unbelievably and brightly colorful Re. 1 shaved-ice candies, popularly termed Jaundice flavored candies by my Professor. But the taste which stayed for me forever was having Huge Makai Rotlas (Maize-Flour Bread, almost 10 inches in diameter), served with spicy hot red-chili garlic dry chutney.
There are summers, and there is the one that comes alive.
“You look like a Yamraj”, my friend shouted.
“I am one, bwhahahaha”, I replied.
Here I was on one of those idiotic summer days sitting comfortably on a buffalo-back, rekindling my romance with my sense of freedom, with a couple of delicious drops of water flying from the pond and vaporizing of my parched tongue.
Earlier in the day we had helped our host in the village with some clean-up of his house and then offered to help him take his buffalos for a cleanup. But as I cleaned the buffalos in the village nahar, I slowly soaked in the mood, and didn’t even realize when it became a little adventure involving me and my friend, our host’s son, his friends and the friendly buffalos. We all took a dip in the small pool which had formed at the side of the village stream, saving ourselves from the occasional burst of energy by the head banging buffalos. It was even better with them laying in pool with us climbing on backs, playing “desi” cowboys, or enacting Yamraj and feeling awesome about acting stupidly.
And suddenly in that one moment everything I did that summer came together, all those images of intense summer heat, beautiful paintings, the earthen pot distillation unit, that spicy chili garlic chutney. And my summer came to life, with a bit of spice, and lovely Buffalo dip.
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Have you ever gone dipping with Buffaloes in a village pond? Or Elephants, maybe?
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beingdesh 