I remember it a little too well , the winding dusty road, now have a gentle crust of tar
The ration shop, the three temples, I know them inside out
Only one has a pond adjacent to it, the other has a pond further away, and one has a river
Non-perennial, The Gayathri , she even has a lovely name
I saw the house that had a klin to make lime from bi-valves was broken down
Modernization, or trying to weave unwanted maxims into village life
Saiju has a home in the Gulf, then why is he breaking this one down? I ponder
I remember the Shivan Kovil priest smiled at me, I asked him 'Kidhar se ho' in my impeccable Mumbai dialect
He said 'Banaras se, pandey hoon'. I bowed from a distance, we don't touch priests, nor are they allowed to touch us, Pran-Prathista et al
The chandana kuri still smelt like it did fourty one years ago, from six in the morning
I think the years have passed
I am still, Tatthama's Raju, looking at the village, and they all look back and wave
Like they did then too
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