MOUNTAINS AND BEAMING BRATS
The hillock stands a few paces away from the busy national highway, and it takes less than ten minutes to climb to the top. There I find a Christian shrine, the Cross of Jesus – a huge monument – securely built, jutting into the sky and standing divinely as if guiding the highway traffic rush. Far beyond the hill hidden in the mist, I see a range of mountains as if toppled down from the blue skies like a convoy of elephants in a huddle.
Surrounding the elevated holy place, a community of over a hundred dwellings sprang up where I could see the homely bustle and lots of children.
A week ago, after a hour-long drive, I found myself sitting on the hillock, focusing my lens on the hazy row of mountains. Stretched below are the expansive green paddy fields rippling playfully under the evening sun.
No sooner, I have arranged the gadgets and started adjusting the camera settings than I was surrounded by a bunch of kids: noisy and curious to know what I’m up to. Without waiting for answers, they raided with their childish keenness. I felt like juveniles quizzing me; deciding that without countering their naughty teasing, I can’t go about my business before the evening light dissolves.
Wouldn’t want to dampen their amusement, I allowed them to carry and play for a while with the paraphernalia I bring along, not letting my cautious eye off from their playful jockeying up and down the hill.
Enjoying the angelic giggles and pleasant innocence of the little ones, I was all smiles packed with images of mountains, fields, and beaming brats who followed me until I have settled in my car, not before I cheered my goodbyes.
