My people into ruins

One of my elder sisters is a bit talkative, she is the provenance of information about a home and village some 1200 km away. She, with equal spontaneity tells me both good and bad news. While others worry how I might react to those developement back home, her concern-while on phone- is only the telephone bill. Today when i called up, she was fluent as usual. But never i felt out of place so much as I did today.

Deaths are the important news in a rural area. Everyone, far and near is informed if possible, if anybody in the village passes away. Because everybody is a known face in village, and every name invokes memories of a past you cherise of. But a murder is something that rips off the last piece of sweetness attached to that memory.

I was always a non-resident of my village.

My home was aboout half a kilometer distant from the centre of the village. Not the geographical centre but a place of common acquitance. It was the bus stop, where the road sharply devided the village, where only heavily crowded passenger buses stopped and where small shops of various sizes and shapes did flourishing bussiness. It was at a perfect location having a post office, all three schools and the only bank at it's sorrounding and attracted good no of people at any point of time except in nights and dog day afternoons. There were many satelite settlements but my home was singled out being a lonely house standing next to the hospital. After the working hours the deserted small hospital without any bed would be lost into an eerie silence. Only in mondays there used to be a clamouring crowed in weekly market, driving us more uneasy.

So I grew up within the fortress of our big isolated house and strict administration of my ma. Of course, the only strict rule was going out of the house. We needed permission to go out every single time and were admonished if spent more than required time outside. It was a matter of grave indiscipline if she did not see us at home after sunset. Everything else was flexible and accomodating but that only rule made me a stranger in my own village. Even today I think i am giving an outsider's opinion only.

Rest of my life starting from class XII was in hostel....far away from village. With each passing years the number of my friends back in village, already dearth, declined. Many went away as labourers, some succumbed to bad habits but in fact the widening gaps could never be patched up. And slowly I retracted to ma's safe heaven with willingness, although in discomfort.

Ma's worries were not totally baseless. The village is now crippled with lots of un-employed, disoriented half-educated youths. Liquor is rampant and factional violence has taken over. A classmate of mine was murdered somedays back, (this is what the most saddening part of my 30 minutes phone call). It is not his killing but the current state of my village which is unnvering. Could there is be a solution to whatever happening there ? I have always responded to all sorts of these problems with the same diagnosis. The absence of a good reason. Youths, who i have refered to, are matriculates or college drop outs. After one or two years of trials there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel. They start spending most time in the bus stop-the centre of the village, first idly than actively. I know, an idle mind is devil's workshop but something beyond my comprehension is how come every single of them follows the suit ? Anything more on this topic would be a hollowed analysis. Most probably a detailed one warants more involvement than to rely on butterfly effect.