My earliest childhood memories of our ancestral village, located in the Doaba region, date back to the mid-50s. Even today, I can distinctly recall images of endless lush green fields crisscrossed by cart tracks bearing hoof marks; thick foliage covering vast patches and mud-plastered habitats lining the narrow lanes. The village was a self-sustaining entity; farming being the core activity. Persian-wheel cranked wells, owned by the elite, personified the gentle pace of harmonious life and its cyclic nature. It was the era of animal power, which was the key mode of transportation, prime source of dairy, cooking fuel and natural manure for the fields. Ours was a double-storeyed house, one of the handful bricklined dwellings with the luxury of an in-house well. At the crack of dawn, the folks from the neighbourhood would line up with their earthen pots to draw water. By late morning, a sizeable number of patients waited in the courtyard for treatment as my grandfather, an eminent physician, ran a charitable clinic post retirement. Then there were visitors to meet dad, an INA veteran and a social activist, to address community issues. It was also a venue for weddings, and in the wake of natural calamities, doubled as a shelter for the distressed.One evening, a group of people trooped in, agitated about a government proposal to construct a canal. Given its alignment, a large portion of the village land would be lost. A pall of gloom descended over the village: land was the only possession, a symbol of self-esteem and the sole means of subsistence.At night, dad typed out a petition on his portable Remington. Next morning, along with a few prominent residents, he left to take up the case with state officials. The issue moved back and forth, shuttling through bureaucratic loops. After months of hectic efforts, the project was shelved. There was jubilation, with drummer Aziz Mohamed and the local band enlivening the air. Prayer meetings were held, crackers were burst and a lavish feast was organised. Today, the village is well-connected with metalled roads. The streets are paved and there is proper drainage. Every house is a concrete structure, with a power connection and access to clean water supply. Many households have TV sets, refrigerators and cooking gas. Most possess two-wheelers and mobile handsets; few even have cars and computers. Land is still the most valued possession. Though no more a prime source of livelihood, it defines one’s status.During a recent meeting on the land acquisition Bill, sentiments to protect the land at all cost, echoed rather loud. Minority voices seeking to draw attention to the sinking water table, loss of productivity and urgency for crop diversification were lost in the din. Apparently, no one is cognisant that if these measures are not put in place soon, this blessed ‘piece of earth’ could turn barren in the coming times; belying the faith reposed in us by our forefathers!

Published in The Tribune on  Jul 24 2015