It's About Time

This was going to be his last trip to his parents’ ancestral village, he was going back to finalize the sale of their house there. He hoped he would be able to make the outbound train the next day, that would still give him a couple of days more to spend in the city before he flew back home. 3 weeks of vacation had zipped past at breakneck-speed, a familiar sensation that crept in at the end of each visit, was now nudging it’s way back in. But he needed to get back, there was way too much to do. His world was beckoning, his wife was waiting and his Manager was hysteric as usual. But most of all, he had promised his son. The apple of his eye had made him promise he would be back before his birthday. And if he was a well behaved boy for the 3 weeks and his Mom vouched for it, the Disneyland trip would follow the next weekend, the promised reward. The little fellow had waved like a maniac and when he had turned back one last time before heading to his gate, he saw him nudge his Mom and they both waved one last time.

It had stopped raining and he struggled to open the 3 different shutters which had all proved useless in stopping that trickle of water that still made it through to the sill and then down to the edge of his narrow berth, flowing down to settle in the little pool below. He looked out of the window at the passing countryside, at the fields and fields of green paddy and the occasional splash of a plot of bright yellow mustard and sometimes the taller, paler patches of sugarcane. The rotation and variety of the crops keeping the soil fertile and the bellies of the farmers’ families full, a safety catch for the times when markets were as unpredictable as the monsoons themselves. The dull brick-red of the window framed the scene, which was like an ever-changing canvas. The horizontal iron bars were too close to mar the picture, and it was breathtakingly beautiful. The scenery was at just the right distance, like an artist would have planned it. The dark frame, the right rain-washed medium and the positioning close enough to catch the true colors and yet far enough to mask the hard lines on the faces of the people working it. They stood knee deep in water in the paddy fields, barefoot and mostly bare-backed. The women stood behind the men, bending down with their hands deep in the water, occasionally walking the proportional, narrow dividers that marked the boundaries of their fields, balancing baskets on their heads, their dark brown skin glistening with sweat or rain or both. Children worked the land too, though they would inevitably stop what they were doing and would stand and wave at the passing train. But then the train slowed down at the signal, and a few of them clustered around the train. He could see their faces now, grubby and brown, teeth bright, matching the whites of their eyes. They waved and he waved back, and they nudged each other and pointed at him, delighted at his response. Their delight at being a part of his world for that fleeting moment was mirrored in their shy smiles. There were no promises here, no rewards, yet their eyes shone with hope. How? What kept them going? When would their Disneyland happen?