Of course, I think of her all the time morning, evening, at school, at home, everywhere! But all the more when I see these green and yellow paddy fields… And then I’m left with an aching feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I can sit here for hours! And then I think of Shirodkar. I have a favourite spot, a rock on the way down from the road, from where I sit and watch the fields. How happy and contented the fields look in the mellow sunlight-like a painting. The faint, sweet smell of ripening rice wafts in with the breeze. In the afternoon, the fields are empty except for Shankar’s father and a few egrets. His father knows me and greets me with a cheery ‘So, off to school, are you?’ Sometimes, he plucks a few young ears of paddy and shows me how to eat the milky grain without hurting my tongue. During the planting season, the entire family, including Shankar, is out in the fields. These fields belong to Shankar Bhoir of Tenth Standard. The air is cool and crisp, you can hear frogs croaking in the fields, and the sweet smell of ice-candy tells you that the paddy crop is ripe and ready.
It is fun walking barefoot through the slushy fields. The paddy fields are still water-logged and it gets quite muddy at times, but I prefer this route except when it pours really hard. Now, the rains are nearly over and the Ganapati festival, too, got over a few days back. In the month of Shravan, the skies are a lovely blue, scattered with white clouds, and the fields are drenched in warm yellow sunshine. In any case, these days, I prefer to walk alone. Pawar from the Tiloda building came along with me till last year, but has left school since.
Most students and teachers took this route to school. Back then, I’d take the road opposite Ganesh Provision Store which joins Kanhe Road near Mokshadham, winds past the railway station through Dattawadi and Pendse Colony, and then goes straight on to Nandi Talkies. Our school, till Seventh Standard, was at a different place.
The road to school begins beyond the rocks. On the right are paddy fields, overlooked by massive rocks, and on the left is Nana’s jungle. The village of Kanhe begins where the grassland ends. There is a long stretch of grassland behind our house, beyond the Mhatre chawl lines, barren except for a few date palms and tufts of grass growing between the rocks. The main road leads to my school, but I prefer the winding path through the fields.
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