Rectangular paddy grass bale in the backyard of my house reflects several anecdotes of bravery, defiance, nonchalance and laxity, on the canvas of my childhood reminiscences. Flocks of sparrows, mynas and other birds would throng the bale to pick the paddy grains sticking to threshed paddy stalks, because a thick snow cover would stamp out all the possibilities of food opportunities for the avian populace. The presence of birds would ignite our innate mischievous traits. We would devise strategies to capture the birds for pleasure derivation and prey. Laying indigenously made noose traps was our solitary method to take these birds captive. And the stunt would glue us around the grass bale for hours together. And to our great contentment, the required bait to entangle the birds was spread over there.
Our allurement was to play hide and seek during late autumn days, in the lap of paddy grass bale, and hence would make it our cherished abode. The ephemeral yet strong arrangement of paddy grass stacks to preserve it from weather vagaries, would bestow us with a wonderful treat of ice, during harsh winter days when it would rain and snow amid sub zero temperatures. And the ice-made delicacy is known as icicles. Pointed dagger-like arrows of ice hanging from the tips of grass stalks, would make it look like a diamond studded balustrade erected around the edges of the bale. The bewitching sight would tempt us to taste the hard yet fragile icicles, despite our vulnerability to contract cold and flu.
Though the sights of icicles were found on all hands, but the rectangular paddy grass bale would provide us with the cleanest stuff. Thatched roofs of houses would make the icicles look mucky and grime. Even the icicles hanging from tree branches were smudgy and dirty. Smashing the icicles with the help of a strong wooden peg would give us Knightly feelings. Every morning, I would not miss any opportunity to play with these natural wonders of ice. The ice-made miracle would fascinate us the most. We would at times attribute many creatures and natural wonders to the patterns of the icicles. Paws of birds and alphabet of English scripture would resemble with most of them.
Enjoying the crispy and crumbly icicles hanging from the margins of the thatches of the rectangular paddy grass bale, was one of the cherished adventures which would entice me and my siblings. Contrary to blackish thatches of roofs of houses, fresh paddy grass, with no scum or gunk, would ensure purity of the icy feast. I and most of my pals from our neighborhood would sneak secretly from their homes to relish the pointed icicles from the grass bale. Though our elders used to reprimand and admonish us for venturing out, during the biting cold of Chiliakalan, but our passion for ice, snow and the icicles would drive us out from our comfort zones viz warm rooms.
Chomping the crystal clear dagger-looking pendent masses of ice under our teeth, stealthy, would run euphoric sensations through our nerves. Now, I can’t even dare to touch ice, but the childhood is the age of oblivion and ardency where conquering a mountain looks quite easy and ordinary. Now, the rod like icy marvels have vanished into the thin air. The grass bale is bereft of any snow, ice and the icicles. My father and my younger brother occasionally visits the grass bale to fetch fodder for our only cow, but, my eyes gaze at the barren bale with an earnest desire to see it wrapped in the white blanket of snow and the icicles again.
Snow-less winter has not only deprived the bale of the white cover, but has clouded my creative vibes as well. The milky blanket of the snow used to charm my sense of aesthetics, imagination and creativity. Now, with no snow around, I feel being robbed of a recurring source of ancestral legacy, as the snow is more than a form of precipitation for me. The unexpectedly abnormal warm days of the winter look pleasant, but the veneer of sunny and dry weather is actually a calamity in the making.
(Author is a Teacher and a Columnist. He can be reached at [email protected])
