On The Road, Photographic Stories, The Walk
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Pond of the Frogs

Writing from Kaushik’s village home in Jhargram. Its night. Light has come after nine hours. I have cooked six packets of maggie. I want to eat it all tonight. Kaushik has gone to get McDowell’s rum. Its my last night. We are partying.

It must have been the same week as @a letter to my friend
Meanwhile, I should share this adventure, a scene with you that happened in the evening.

I am fortunate to have spent a memorable time under the west Bengal clouds these monsoons. The blue sky had just slept and drizzling took a break from firmly falling for days. I went out for a small walk. The air was still muggy. Balconies were empty. Drops were still falling from the sides of the roofs. Yellow bulbs have taken a stand and noises came of television and a sole cooker. I took a right turn.

Once football field by now had nature-d into a full filled country pond. I was awed to see the amount in which the frogs have gathered tonight. They were so many, in front of me that i could have kept running the entire day had i sen them in the morning. For I stood in awe of the sound has started coming, filling my entire being. The world seemed amplified. Crocks coming out from millions of loose necks. And Millions in that almost dark. A bulb behind me gave way to many half lit circular and semi-circular rings, few reflecting that old green hut behind the palm trees waving at the far corner.

Frogs seemed happy; so happy that all were gossiping, like excited old friends meeting after many years. It overpowered any sound. It was strangely unsettling for me yet likewise pleasing. They were so many that had i not seen them i could have never imagined how broad, how huge some can become. Alert, Poised, mating, sleeping, playing, sitting with an attitude like they have earned it. Many rested at one place for uncounted minutes. Noising around the wet red village road. Hopping and jumping like the kids at recess time. Some reversed, some dead lying on the road. Many tumbling in and out of the pond. The plop and thump and even a few exceptional ones crawling.

I wanted to at least have voice recorded it but that village offered no tripple A batteries.

Written on  26. 06.2011

Now after four years i wish i should have gone in the morning too.

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