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.
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| 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!
