Cold freezing December winds blowing against my face. Pulling up my scarf to cover my face more tightly, walked along. Down below the cemented slabs of the flyover bridge, the Yamuna flowed. Chuk chuk we reached the end…..down the slope and under the bridge………..could not hear the thunder and snarls of the traffic up above. Out on the other side.

Vast fields of tomato, Pumpkin, wheat and mustard seeds..Am I in Delhi?

Lush green fields, the blue sky and far away Yamuna  swathed in a cold mist. Everything engulfed me.

Down I went again in February. Ripe red tomatoes near the bridge gone and green tomatoes in. Chilies, white radish and bottle gourd in plenty. The yellow orange flower of the pumpkin smiled at me. Bura, the farmer from U.P. talking to me. Taking the land on lease, ploughing the field, sowing the seeds, selling at Azadpur, ghazipur mandi.

Guns in hand, scare crows on land, he grows and guards his field. The view of Yamuna is clear now. Its grayish water with filth bacons to me.I lean down and look at it. Fresh green tomatoes plucked from the river bed are handed over to me. Women make a pretty picture taking out the weeds. What picture will await me when I return after a few months?