Madhavi morning

Copper pod in a fine mood.











Charoli laughs at Yogi Nagar Road.






'17 years since I was married in a village off Solapur. I was 15. My son wants me to celebrate with cake cutting,' said Madhavi on Sunday. Married for five years, three children, husband dead; 12 years of non-marriage. Madhavi tale. Cold and crisp. She sat down, said, ' Uncle, bahut martha tha, peekey. Abhi main khush hoon.' Rama said, 'Cake kato.' In laws at the village karated Madhavi. Stress times. A youth time gone. An ancient norm. Yes. most women me knows including Rama, do not like drinks. But banning drinks (Madhavi is for a bandhifying liquor), does not help as illicit liquids and drugs fill the vacancies, making women more miserable. Concede Madhavi and Rama logic; but is there a way out of it all? Madhavi is on a short trip to her village to get a caste certificate for her daughter to get admission in a Kannada medium, nursing college; the young girl has finished Class 10 and wants to be a nurse (never heard anyone wanting to become a journalist) as doctors and hospitals will always boom; the medical community offers more prayers for new, unresearched diseases and less to solutions as they are not paying. The young lady does not want to study in Mumbai being weak in English; she is comfortable with Kannada and plans to live in a ladies hostel. Madhavi is proud. Her second son is in Class 10 and keen on farming; they have a small farm with a new borewell for watering vegetables and jowar. Madhavi showed us ipad pix of her green farm mostly looked after by her aged mother; the old woman puts in about 8 hours of hard work daily. Food is assured. On Monday, she took the train with her second son to Solapur and Rama prepared a hamper of lemon rice, Madhavi delights. A large hamper for the over-night journey to her gaon. Sunday she slipped in an akward query: Uncle, aap ka gaon kidhar hai? Two queries upset me: me gaon and me mother tongue. Me has not both and me told her so. Looking at me, Madhavi asked: 'Aisa kaisa.' For a reply said: Mumbai, mera gaon hai; Madhavi came back: 'Mumbai tho shahar hai.' And seeing me wan face she offered to take Rama and me to her village after rains when the brown earth grows a green skin. 'Gaon, kheti, phool, chidiya, achcha rahega. Gaon ka roti, sabji,', Madhavi was topping the offer. And open air on a khatiya. The last time on a open khatiya was a day and night on the banks of Narmada; eyes opened to a river flowing by with its many unsaid tales. On her trip Madhavi will plan the details as Rama has said YES.