Smell of the Soil

Smell of the Soil

When I look inside, I hear an undaunted voice: I love my India to the moon and back. I miss the smell of the soil

By Mukesh Sharma

Living in one’s own motherland, one seldom realises the importance of the soil; it gives a definite shape. It gives specific color; it gives distinctive mien; it gives discernible countenance; it gives formidable thoughts; it gives typical expression; it gives coercive desires; it gives wishful wishes. The soil is one’s natural identity. The soil delineates one’s life. The soil is one’s whole existence. What soul is to body, soil is to life. Being a son of soil -  motherland India, I too miss that intoxicating smell of my soil here in Peoria, Arizona (US), far away across the globe.

Peoria, Arizona, US

 It is the third consecutive day since I am here all the way from Delhi, India, but still my body is struggling with the jet-lag, and the mind with the geographically changed time-zone. I have been sleeping during the day, and have been spending wakeful nights. It is said that it takes couple of days to get used to US time zone.

Surrounded by picturesque hills which are usually the home of Xerophytes – plants and trees of cactus family. Peoria is the major suburb of Phoenix, and is one of the cities in the state of Arizona (AZ). People are unknown to any kind of pollution here. Well planned city is inhabited by well-disciplined people.  Here I miss the smothering pollution of Delhi, the traffic snarls, road hogs and road rages. Nestled in beauty of nature, the place has quietness of countryside. 

The estimated population of Peoria is around 168,185.  With good physique, people are very hard-working. They follow the laws of land religiously. With reddish skin, there is glow on their face that exudes confidence and contentment. However, I miss here my fellow Indians brethren ever struggling on day-to-day basis for their survival. India is a survival society. And that makes the Indian rather selfish. Those who manage to survive successfully become rather egoist. Though India is multi-lingual and multi-religious society, all are true sons and daughters of the soil.

With golden brown hair and white skin, women here are very well shaped. They are self-dependent. They are respected career women. They have their individuality. They too perform their duties towards their families religiously. They are second to none. They are not second fiddle to their menfolk. However, in my motherland, I find women of my soil surpassingly  beautiful  -  mentally and physically. They are epitome of love and devotion. They grow up as a pampered daughter of their parents. They live as a faithful wife of their hubbies. They are the best mothers  who can make any sacrifice for their kids. I do salute the women of my soil.

To be honest, here I also miss the wily netas of my soil who remain busy in politics of self-preservation and self-aggrandizement. They continue to betray the trust of unsuspecting masses. They continue to cheat the populace  year after year in the name of religion , caste and region.

Frankly speaking, despite all the anachronism and anomalies, prevailing in my motherland, India, I miss my soil here. When I look inside, I hear an undaunted voice: I love my India to the moon and back. I miss the smell of the soil!