"I am scared," I shrieked as my young cousins tried to pull me into the cold waters of the stream flowing through Kathua, a Jammu village close to the border. Although it was amusing for them, it wasn't for me. And I told them seriously that I was terrified of snakes. My cousins sneered and laughed. But I did not care. The paddy in the fields, ready for harvesting, gave a soothing effect. When a round of the fields was proposed, however, I was the first to back out.When I was a kid, Kathua, my mother's native place, used to be our favourite holiday spot. Tired of city life, my mother, brother and I would habitually retreat there for our two-mo-nth-long summer holidays. It was an altogether different world. Away from urban hustle-bustle, we witnessed the country's backbone, agriculture, at close quarters. Since our holidays started in May, the three of us made it a point to reach Kathua by the first week of June. It was ensured that the holiday homework was completed before we left.How excited we used tobe about those trips. And there was a reason behind it. We wanted to jump in the muddy waters of the fields, get our clothes dirty and then take bath in the cold waters of the stream flowing near the house. Last but not the least, eat mangoes, freshly plucked from the trees. Little wonder then that we did not pay heed when our friends told us that they had gone to this hill-station or that. Because we had more to tell them. Things which they had never experienced.We never shirked our responsibilities. Never said no to whatever we were told to do there. There-fore at a small age, I learnt to cook food on a chullah and fetch water in a pitcher. Our daily chores included assisting the labourers in the fields and playing with friendly bulls and cows. Watching two cocks fighting over a hen was enjoyable and the endeavour to catch them a challenge.Those slithery snakes crawling beside you became your friends. Two months in Kathua, and fear gave way to favourite pastimes. In fact, my uncle and thelabourers called for me whenever they saw a snake. Without wasting time, not caring about anyone, I used to run barefoot into the fields to reach the Banyan tree to see the snake. I witnessed varieties like the cobra, boa constrictor and many more. I sat and heard stories about a python which had swallowed a man. Luckily, the man escaped as he had his axe with him when swallowed and ripped apart the snake's abdomen!Myth or reality, it was exciting. I boasted to my friends back in the city. Usually snake stories were the favourites. They heard me out with interest and curiously asked questions.In the later years, other preoccupations kept us busy. No more visits, hence no more stories, snakes or fresh mangoes. Steadily, I was emboldened into the city life, away from nature. Fast life never made me acknowledge the loss.Years later, I visited Kathua last week. The change in me was evident. However, I was very excited. And in that excitement I missed my train but managed to catch another one. Throughoutthe journey I dreamt of the village. Once snakes came into the picture, I recoiled. The mere thought of taking a dip in the stream gave me the creeps. I hoped to see a proper bathroom. But alas, there wasn't any.I was scared to put my foot into the same stream and go to the fields where once I had spent a lifetime. This time I just restricted myself to the four walls of the house. I preferred eating the guavas brought by my cousins and refused to budge from the cot.Back in Delhi, I admitted to the mistake. I had simply missed an opportunity to be close to nature. But I guess it's lost unless the past comes back and I become a kid again to wash away my fears.
