On Parthi….
The bus from Parthi to Bangalore weaves through kilometer upon kilometer of dry barren land. The sun sets on the horizon and a turbaned farmer stares at it, squatting in his dhothi, one hand on his left temple in contemplation. He is in the middle of a drought and the look he gives the sun is a confused cross between hatred, surrender, respect and philosophical aloofness…i watch him and then watch the sun, I can’t help but relate and mimic his stare, after all i feel the same way about Parthi, its at this juncture RA Scion and the Common Market poignantly make their entrance with Tobacco Road;
” I just had to go, had it with the status quo
They’re askin’ me if I’ll be back when I’m old
In fact, no – these are my last tracks along Tobacco Road
But I’ll forever call it home
And I feel it whenever I call home”
…..And like a little wave it crashes over me, this maybe my last trip here but it is not “home” like the poet describes, nor does it insight any feeling similair to “home”, if anything, it manifests an obligation that i feel has now melted away. It wasn’t like this in the past, in the past i had convinced myself this was the centre of the universe and coming here was the cliched “recharging of batteries”. I was to put it bluntly happy to play the part, but now its different. Maybe i’m older, maybe i’m bitter, maybe i just don’t fit in, maybe i finally understand that my place is distantly in the middle…… but Parthi and its people have lost me. It isn’t something tragic and it isn’t a deeply wounded loss, it is just what it is.
The true basis of Parthi i doubt will ever leave me though, it has gifted me what i have today and for that i am grateful. But i cannot be like they are… it isn’t me and i don’t think i can put the mask back on and play the part, if anything i’m happy to dig a hole, bury it and walk right away……
The bus chugs away even further from the villages and i realize that i haven’t left “home” behind……. if anything i’m heading strongly towards it…
-n-
