<p class="bodytext">Nostalgia has a way of putting life back into one’s days and buoying the spirits. I was a young boy of 8 years old, enjoying the boyhood in my village, Nadur, near Sira Taluk in Tumakuru district. All seasons were good and contributed in their own way to our merriment. In the rainy season, the village tank was full of water, unlike the present days of persistent drought. My friends and I used to walk quietly along the tank bed, listening to the gentle, rhythmic sound of the water lapping against the tank wall. The farmers’ joy of watching a full tank was hard to miss. In the winter, we huddled around a bonfire made out of coconut shells and pieces of wood to keep ourselves warm. </p>.<p class="bodytext">But the summer season was a joy in itself. It kept us busy. Usually, our days started with plucking <span class="italic">muttuga</span> leaves from the trees that lined the periphery of our village. And then came the refreshing swim in the afternoon. We used to swim in a well meant for irrigating lands, and no owner questioned us for swimming in the well.</p>.<p class="bodytext">We believed that the mango trees anxiously waited for us to fell their fruits. We pelted stones at the raw mangos and eagerly grabbed them <br />to eat. This was followed by playing football in the dried-up tank in the evening under the guidance of an able captain for nearly two hours, at the end of which we were exhausted and ready to call it a day.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I walked more than 3 km to attend school with my friends. A small temple midway between my village and school, Kallagudi Rangadhama, drew us in every day. We stopped by the temple daily, while going to the school to get <span class="italic">kum kum</span>. We didn’t really burden God with any demands, as none existed in our hearts. Now, six decades later, living amid all the modern luxuries, I realise how rich that life was!</p>
<p class="bodytext">Nostalgia has a way of putting life back into one’s days and buoying the spirits. I was a young boy of 8 years old, enjoying the boyhood in my village, Nadur, near Sira Taluk in Tumakuru district. All seasons were good and contributed in their own way to our merriment. In the rainy season, the village tank was full of water, unlike the present days of persistent drought. My friends and I used to walk quietly along the tank bed, listening to the gentle, rhythmic sound of the water lapping against the tank wall. The farmers’ joy of watching a full tank was hard to miss. In the winter, we huddled around a bonfire made out of coconut shells and pieces of wood to keep ourselves warm. </p>.<p class="bodytext">But the summer season was a joy in itself. It kept us busy. Usually, our days started with plucking <span class="italic">muttuga</span> leaves from the trees that lined the periphery of our village. And then came the refreshing swim in the afternoon. We used to swim in a well meant for irrigating lands, and no owner questioned us for swimming in the well.</p>.<p class="bodytext">We believed that the mango trees anxiously waited for us to fell their fruits. We pelted stones at the raw mangos and eagerly grabbed them <br />to eat. This was followed by playing football in the dried-up tank in the evening under the guidance of an able captain for nearly two hours, at the end of which we were exhausted and ready to call it a day.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I walked more than 3 km to attend school with my friends. A small temple midway between my village and school, Kallagudi Rangadhama, drew us in every day. We stopped by the temple daily, while going to the school to get <span class="italic">kum kum</span>. We didn’t really burden God with any demands, as none existed in our hearts. Now, six decades later, living amid all the modern luxuries, I realise how rich that life was!</p>
