It’s a strange feeling. I just arrived in Thane this morning. Tomorrow, I have to go to Delhi. All my friends, the villagers, my grandmother, my grandfather, Brunya (my dog)—they must all be savoring the quiet of a Narvan morning right now. And here I am, just sitting and listening. Peeeeep, taaaa, tuuuu… coming from the vehicles moving past.
The entire city is encased by a giant tube light. It’s hard to find even a single dark corner.
It’s six o’clock. By now in Narvan, the birds would be chirping, waking up other birds and people with their din. But here, the only sound I can hear is the low hum of a creature called the engine. It seems to be raining… but it’s not falling on tiled roofs, scattering droplets everywhere. Instead, it’s hitting this concrete ground. It doesn’t seep in; it just rushes to find its way to the nearest gutter. When rainwater falls and flows downhill in my village, it travels through beautiful streams, rivulets, and brooks, a melody to the ears. Here, it flows through gutters, drains, and pipes.
The moment I got off the bus, it began: “Saab, kidhar jaana hai?” (Sir, where do you want to go?)
“Hey, I asked him first!”
“Move it, move it…” and so on. My ears were enchanted first thing in the morning.
Actually, this scene started the moment I reached Chiplun. Everyone lacking time. Everyone suddenly in a hurry. As I tried to talk, each person kept looking at their watch. No one was ready to take a breath. What’s more, there was no time to even give time to time itself.
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Perhaps my world is just different. No stress in my head, no worry about where to go or come from. No bus to catch, no one in the train saying, “Hey, move a little inside.” At the start of our day, this two-legged vehicle of mine begins its journey from the porch, through the yard, the garden, and the grove. And it’s a slow train, because at every station, you get served different things like black tea, ambil (a fermented rice drink), or fresh, unboiled milk. Those who say, “What’s there in that village?” and those who want to turn villages into cities will probably never understand this happiness.
The moment you step out of the house, our jungle begins. Trees, wherever you look. Here, however, if there’s anything, it’s a garden tucked away in some corner.
When I open the window while making tea back home, Savitri Aaji (grandma) is standing at her window, ready to call out, “Is it morning already? Come have some tea.” Who do I call out to here? Here, all the houses look the same, and all the windows are closed. Why would a free-spirited person imprison themselves in these rooms? What could they possibly get here? A soft voice makes a home in my ear: “Money.”
That, however, is abundant here. But just as it comes, it disappears. I, who hadn't used money for weeks, now feel helpless watching it slip away. In the words of our Jadhav Ajoba (grandpa), “When you go to Mumbai, you have to pay even to piss and shit.”
I should turn back. Brunya must be waiting. My grandmother must have made soft rice for me this morning and kept it aside. The buffaloes will block my path, swaying their hips, and the hornbills sitting on the branches in the creek will be screaming their lungs out with their ka-ka-kaaaa.
But in that very moment, from the raindrops falling on the concrete, came the smell of soil. It was the fragrance of wet earth from a small pot in some corner. That scent entered my nostrils and took me straight to my village. I remembered why my fellow villagers come to the city—for their livelihoods, for their children’s education. They accept this city, but inside, they still live in the village. These facilities don't exist in the village, and they are deliberately not provided, otherwise, won't people just stay there? I am not here to just see this. I have to go to Delhi, because the voices of many people like me need to be heard there. I am invited to speak at a TEDx event. This city of closed windows needs to be reminded of truly fresh, open air. I am here to preserve the jungle of Narvan that I carry inside me, not to destroy it. Suddenly, even amidst the noise of the engines, I could hear the chirping of birds. It was coming from within me…
-Ashutosh Joshi
If you have reached this far then I hope it means you like what I’m doing and if so you might consider supporting me by ‘buying me a coffee’ ( Substack does not let me monetize my articles because I am based in India) which is a one off payment rather than a continuous subscription. Payments, however small, encourage me in my writing and mean that I can spend more time honing my skills.
One more thing before you go..
…would you like to help me on the ground?
I have been actively engaged in creating an eco-village. It will be based on the models of agro-tourism, permaculture. The economy generated will help the people living in the village. Many from the younger generation have been leaving the village to the urban centres due to the lack of jobs.
What we did in the past three months is, we started conducting workshops, wherein some got paid for their guide skills, self-help women-led groups got paid for making food to the ones attending the workshop.
In these workshops we shared cultural learnings, we created a safe space for digital detox and we encouraged younger kids to experience nature. This gave a feeling in the village that saving nature can also be an economic model.
Now, as we move further, we will be focusing on natural building methods to build shelters to accommodate sustainable tourism, and we will be working with the local youngsters to sponsor them and use their skills to create products that could get a market. A website is already underway!
We will need your help in building this project. If you have been witnessing my journey and have been reading this Substack for some while, I’d urge you to spend as little as $10, even that would be a lot of help. You can donate here. (For Indians, you can donate on this UPI id - 8983726737@ybl )
If you wish to donate more I’d hold personal zoom sessions with you to see how can we use your help.
It will help me build this eco-commune faster and the money will be used in getting solar lights and other necessary things to help the local rural community. This is the way you can directly help even when you are sitting oceans away from us.
Thanks, Ash.
Ash, I hope your TED talk will be made available! What a wonderful opportunity to share your deep insight with so many who are in need of it. May your speech be blessed by Mother Nature herself (((*)))