The chilli farm that my father once possessed was a place of enchantment. Besides its undulating terrain of newly cleared land with burnt tree trunks and their equally charred stumps scattered all over the hills, there was a fairly large pond very visible to any visitor to the farm. It commanded one's attention as it was located in the valley amidst a very different landscape from itself. Its brackish water did not look appealing but the dozens of white ducks that waddled up and down, sometimes flying across the water could not deter one from not stopping and observing the activity over there. A closer look at the ducks' territory would bring much delight because one might even chance to see some eggs on the wet and rather muddy banks of the pond. However, it would not be possible to have such a view in the hot afternoon as these ducks would have gone into a shelter, away from the heat.
There was a hut that was built further up one of the hills and it was a quaint little house. It was mainly made of wood and its roof was of palm leaves. There was no tap water supply, so we could not cook there. We had to bring drinking water, bread and packed homecooked food whenever we went there. I remember my family of six stayed a night there. All of us went and I remember very well how much I complained about having to squeeze in the back seat of the car with my other siblings. When it was evening, before dusk, we had to quickly wash up using the water from a well. The water was not as clean as we had hoped to be and my father explained that it was due to the geology of that area. The granite layer ran too deep and they had to dig a lot into the ground to get cleaner water. It would be an almost impossible feat when the only tool available was a 'changkul'. To solve the problem, my mother had brought along a muslin cloth(part of an old mosquito net) to filter the somewhat cloudy water and the filtrate was quite satisfying, probably the result of the double layering that my mother insisted on.
After washing up, while my siblings and I were having dinner, my father had the kerosene lamp ready. That was our only source of light that night. Unfortunately,we had to jump up to bed early because the lamp was not working too well and it had a low flickering flame which had us all very depressed.
It was hard to fall asleep in total darkness and in extreme quietness. There was totally no sound from the duck population , and that amazed me a lot as they were quacking and quacking earlier on in the day. All I heard was the shrill sound of the cicadas and occasionally, the eerie sound of the wind blowing through some banana plants behind the hut. I blinked my eyes hard to look at my sister who was very quiet. I was sure she had fallen fast asleep due to fatigue after the hard day's work harvesting the ripen red chillies.
The harvesting job involved a lot of walking and climbing the slopes of the hills. Occasionally, she had to climb over the huge logs that were in the way. My brothers were quiet and not talking to each other; the result of a fight that afternoon. My parents were talking to each other in the dark and I could soon hear the snoring sound of my father, indicating his tiredness after toiling in the hot sun.
When I woke up the next morning, I realised that everybody was ready to go home. I was surprised that it was already ten in the morning, and still in a daze, my elder brothers told me to get into the car before I had time to wash up. My second elder brother shoved me a piece of bread and told me to eat up. He called me a 'sleepy pig' and it made me so mad that I threw the bread at him. I supposed it was the usual 'getting from the wrong side of the bed' condition on my part that made me do that. I started crying when I realised that was the only piece left and I had to go hungry when the piece of bread was soiled. My stomach was growling in hunger and I truly regretted my action that morning.
I cried and cried, hoping that my father would do something but there was no shop in sight for about twenty miles.
Finally we were out in the main road but every time I saw a shop or stall, I hoped my father would stop to get something for me to eat but he told me to be patient because it would not be long before we reached home. It was an agony indeed to be hungry and I learnt not to throw food. I guessed my father wanted to teach me a lesson. I have learnt my lesson very well that day..
There was a hut that was built further up one of the hills and it was a quaint little house. It was mainly made of wood and its roof was of palm leaves. There was no tap water supply, so we could not cook there. We had to bring drinking water, bread and packed homecooked food whenever we went there. I remember my family of six stayed a night there. All of us went and I remember very well how much I complained about having to squeeze in the back seat of the car with my other siblings. When it was evening, before dusk, we had to quickly wash up using the water from a well. The water was not as clean as we had hoped to be and my father explained that it was due to the geology of that area. The granite layer ran too deep and they had to dig a lot into the ground to get cleaner water. It would be an almost impossible feat when the only tool available was a 'changkul'. To solve the problem, my mother had brought along a muslin cloth(part of an old mosquito net) to filter the somewhat cloudy water and the filtrate was quite satisfying, probably the result of the double layering that my mother insisted on.
After washing up, while my siblings and I were having dinner, my father had the kerosene lamp ready. That was our only source of light that night. Unfortunately,we had to jump up to bed early because the lamp was not working too well and it had a low flickering flame which had us all very depressed.
It was hard to fall asleep in total darkness and in extreme quietness. There was totally no sound from the duck population , and that amazed me a lot as they were quacking and quacking earlier on in the day. All I heard was the shrill sound of the cicadas and occasionally, the eerie sound of the wind blowing through some banana plants behind the hut. I blinked my eyes hard to look at my sister who was very quiet. I was sure she had fallen fast asleep due to fatigue after the hard day's work harvesting the ripen red chillies.
The harvesting job involved a lot of walking and climbing the slopes of the hills. Occasionally, she had to climb over the huge logs that were in the way. My brothers were quiet and not talking to each other; the result of a fight that afternoon. My parents were talking to each other in the dark and I could soon hear the snoring sound of my father, indicating his tiredness after toiling in the hot sun.
When I woke up the next morning, I realised that everybody was ready to go home. I was surprised that it was already ten in the morning, and still in a daze, my elder brothers told me to get into the car before I had time to wash up. My second elder brother shoved me a piece of bread and told me to eat up. He called me a 'sleepy pig' and it made me so mad that I threw the bread at him. I supposed it was the usual 'getting from the wrong side of the bed' condition on my part that made me do that. I started crying when I realised that was the only piece left and I had to go hungry when the piece of bread was soiled. My stomach was growling in hunger and I truly regretted my action that morning.
I cried and cried, hoping that my father would do something but there was no shop in sight for about twenty miles.
Finally we were out in the main road but every time I saw a shop or stall, I hoped my father would stop to get something for me to eat but he told me to be patient because it would not be long before we reached home. It was an agony indeed to be hungry and I learnt not to throw food. I guessed my father wanted to teach me a lesson. I have learnt my lesson very well that day..
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