Chandramma

 As we move along NH6 driving through villages, crossing dry deciduous, red and laterite soil, thatched houses, stunted children going crazy with football, here we spot a 6-year-old goalkeeper. On our way, we meet Subarnrekha, all through the harvested fields, paddling day scholars were speeding to their homes. The mud-made houses play the distant memories of the village Kolluru, where I was born. I was born in the border district of Odisha and Andhra Pradesh, which shares its boundary with the Bay of Bengal, a settlement of around fifteen hundred, we have Behra and Reddy living next to one. In the far-flung area somewhat 4 hours from the state capital I was asked to visit Purunapani, one hour from the District Balasore. Visited and interacted with the beneficiaries of senior citizen homes and loved my 2 hours of travel. One large hall with 25 inmates, 7 men and remaining is what maths has to say, lived peacefully who were once dropped there someday in history. Ammi yaha bahtho khaabo, machi khaabo, cha peebo. All had their gods to pray next to beds, the same bangles, the same saree, the way they would drap it around, the hair, she would likewise lean and walk. Chandramma. 

I headed back, and it got dark, quick roti and survived.