His village

It was getting difficult to come back to this place. Whenever he was there in his hometown, he used to come here, to his village situated at the vicinity of the town, to save and make more intimate moments here, before this place loses its significance, before the people who make this place with their physical presence and constant benevolence, would depart someday leaving the place aghast, drought and seeping with memories from every corner. It is important to catch his legacy. It is important to know how it feels in this place. It is thus important for him to come here not just for the reason to save moments but also to recollect himself and relaunch afresh in one piece like a sprout from its root. Time is crucial. People are crucial. Roots are crucial. But his village is dying a slow death. His village is taking last breathe and somewhere in his mind, in his soul he knows he is worried. He knows that the river in the village which used to flow indefinitely is now dying for its flow. There are several dams which are built over it. The drainage from the nearby kilns is killing its purity and thus no one sits around her. She is lonely. The tree cover is getting exhausted with increased land encroachment. The temple is locked, no one sits there and passes time. They say utilize your time. They say make good use of your time for the betterment of the economy. They say even squeeze the last drop from the time and do not let it run away. A process of machining human. It's like run, run, run and die.

Desperately he asked his grandfather, do you see any change? He replied, 'everywhere!' and remained quiet, busy in his thoughts.