Over the last two months, both the coasts of India saw cyclones hit them – Tauktae on the west and Yaas on the east. However, these have had no effect over the central Deccan plateau – the districts of Warangal and Nalgonda. A few clouds rising from these lands created irregular humidity and rushed to join the cyclones as their eyes pulled them. Throughout the last month, I found myself wishing for Monsoon to arrive soon to end the heat and replenish the earth.

Luckily, the Monsoon rains did arrive this week. Despite some good overnight downpour thrice in the last week, there has barely been any increase in the water-levels of the village lake. The regular logging on the roads which creates quicksand-type puddles have been absent, perhaps, due to water easily percolating into a thirsty crust. Nevertheless, the rains are a relief to cherish.

Before the pandemic hit, I have never lived in this village for more than a week at a stretch. It has always been our distant second-home only to celebrate the three Eids. Any plants we would plant during these visits would disappear by the next visit, often due to lack of regular watering. This time, however, has been different. The lemon trees have shown a full bloom which bent the branches with the weight of juicy lemons. The guavas have been too many to count, although monkeys make a good feast of them. The rose plants of various colours bloom so much that my mom has made Gulkand out of them.

The daily life of the residents around us keeps them busy with their routine. They sleep before 8 PM, barely after the dusk ends, and wake up even before the dawn, by 4 or 4.30 AM. By the time I fall asleep, the people around me would’ve had finished half their sleep. And unfortunately, by the time I wake up, they’d be done with half their day. I know that they all have judged me to such extent that it is almost impossible now to change their impression of me.

The rural-life is often called ‘simple’. But that’s a relative term and does not really reflect the truth. If that is simple, it is only because our urban lives have been complicated. Having said that, neither are their lives simple nor our lives complicated. What lacks in these villages is the expression of suffering and pain. Much of what they feel is felt in silence, and most importantly, patience. Our supposedly educated asses have figured out a way to articulate every low we go through. The problems of livelihood, relations, domestic disturbances, etc. are found in both these worlds. It is how we react to them that makes us define whether it is simple or complicated.

In the long run, once the pandemic is in our past, whenever that might be, this village is not going to be my place to stay. The pre-Covid routine of visiting it thrice a year for a few days each to celebrate the Eids will be restored. Until then, it is on me to cherish this lifestyle that I haven’t had, and probably, will never do.