A Picture Story
Recent Travel Story ….
My wife and I recently took a quick trip to our hometown in Imphal. And I was very excited with the travel plan because the ripening paddy fields would be all golden. I haven’t seen them in a very long time ever since I left my hometown for college followed by job elsewhere.
An hour and a half into the flight the pilot announced that those seated on the left would be able to see the Himalaya range. One can see the Mount Everest he said. So I whisked out my camera and allowed myself a generous dose of the view through the lens. One of those white peaks which looked like short blunt spikes on a screen would be Mt. Everest I assured myself.
The spectacular view of the clouds and the mountain range made up for the few hours of delay before take off due to technical problems with the aircraft. But then being late on that count seemed a more comforting thought than being never!
The next day we drove up the hills to Mao. The drive through the Imphal valley and up the hills was a beautiful one. We saw farmers harvesting their crop. The vast paddy fields at the foothills looked so splendid.
Rice is the main crop cultivated in the area. The fields are solely dependent on the monsoon rain. So multiple cropping is rare. But I guess that gives some time for the land to rest and recuperate.
As we climb up the hills the water scarcity and slope failure become some major constraints in having large paddy fields. So the size of the terrace fields gets smaller. However these constraints are a blessing in disguise because without them the entire forest would have made way for paddy fields.
So we saw pockets of paddy fields at a distance.
The ripening paddy fields looked like fields of gold. Actually it is as valuable as gold. Rice being the staple food of the region, it is vital that the fields turned golden at this time of the year.
We feasted on the sight before us.
Golden fields at Mao; PC: Ningshen
On the way up we stopped by to have a closer look at the fields. Some of the fields were ready for harvest, while some would take another fortnight before the farmer decides to come with sickles in hand.
For various reasons the use of mechanized technology is still not in place. In many of these fields the ploughing is still done using bullocks or buffaloes. The transplantation and harvesting is manually done. It is laborious but life is woven around those activities.
In the olden days folk songs would be heard in these fields. But today many people have forgotten how to sing them.
I went up close and was glad to see some green paddy. They would take a few more weeks to ripen.
I took some pictures.
The best part of being among the yellow was to see them glaze in the sun. The glance of the late afternoon sun on the ripening fields would leave them glowing. There was a magical aura about it. The paddy needed the warm sun to ripen.
I hunted for the magical glow using my lens.
And I saw what I wanted to see.
In that field of golden furnace I could hear the soft breeze blowing through the fields. The rustling sound of the leaves and grains was music to the ears.
Did I see some small birds feeding on the grain?
The next day we were back to the valley to catch the flight back to Delhi. It was a good break besides completing the task we set out for in that journey.
