This new place is not new, since I belong to it. And yet, it is strange and unfamiliar, because the only few years I spent in this region were at a time when I was drunk with teenage and didn’t have time to look around and see and observe the peculiarities of the place (except the ones I could laugh at).
This post is just to orientate you about my surroundings. So that when you imagine me sitting at this computer and typing out thousands of words in the near future (hopefully), you can visualise better. To be perfectly honest, though, the post that was due today is still incomplete. So, in a way, I am cheating and giving you a cheap substitute. But what the heck, I am pregnant. And I can take liberties. No?
We live in a small village pretending to be a suburb of a larger village-y place called Durg. The soil is dark brown, the sun is hot, the skies are full of the sun. For as long as I can remember, people’s leanings towards the mountains, oceans, cooler climates has been one of my numerous pet peeves. But now, when I sit down to describe this place to you, I struggle for the right words to emphasise its beauty. Beauty there is, mind you. But not quite the kind everyone can appreciate. No refreshing breeze, no snow-capped mountains, no lush green meadows. And yet, when I step out the in scorching heat, even though the last thing on my mind is staying out for more than is necessary, I feel a sense of cleansing. It’s like the dryness, the harsh sun have together incinerated everything that could be toxic. Evidence? The simple, sun-baked people, the resilient plants and flowers and trees, the baying dogs and mooing cows. The beautiful birds that tentatively approach my still-growing garden every morning. My still-growing garden. There is life here, after all. And in spite of the all-powerful sun and its wrath.