गांव के आदमी का शहर में जीवन
Having been born and brought up in a village, I grew up in a large extended family surrounded by siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts and many other people who were an integral part of our everyday lives. Even the labourers who worked in our fields, the people employed at our small sugar crusher and flour mill, and the person who drove our tractor were treated as members of our extended family. We respected them as our elders, irrespective of their social or economic status. They, too, fondly called us kids or Pandit ji.
Our childhood was shaped by a simple social culture in which we were taught to greet everyone we encountered with a Namaste ji or Ram Ram ji.
There were hardly any strangers. People were either our elders, our equals or our younger ones. We grew up in an environment where relationships came naturally, without any conscious effort to build social connections.
At the age of 17, when I joined the Indian Navy, I found myself becoming part of another extended family. My six months of basic training at INS Chilka brought me together with young men from different states, religions, languages and cultural backgrounds. The friendships we forged during those formative months have survived the passage of time. Whenever we meet, we effortlessly travel back to those days and become those 17-year-old young sailors once again.
My 15 years in the Navy exposed me to a truly cosmopolitan culture. Living and working with people from diverse backgrounds taught me to respect everyone's language, religion, traditions, food habits and way of life. My postings also gave me the opportunity to experience life in cities such as Bombay, Goa and Kochi.
One of the most memorable phases of my naval career was the nearly 10 years I spent living in large barracks with around 20 sailors. We belonged to different states, spoke different languages, came from different age groups and had different family circumstances. Yet, our barracks were our homes away from home. We celebrated our joys, shared our sorrows, supported one another and developed a deep sense of camaraderie.
I still vividly remember the day I was promoted from Leading Seaman to Petty Officer. The promotion entitled me to move into a separate or shared cabin, with better accommodation and the privilege of being served food at a table. However, instead of feeling excited, I felt a strange sadness at the thought of leaving my barrack mates. I even postponed my departure for a few days. Eventually, I had to follow the established norms and move into my new accommodation.
Fortunately, I soon became friends with two young weightlifters from the Navy's weightlifting team, and those friendships continue to this day.
My last two years in the Navy, particularly my time at NCC Udupi, were equally special. A small group of around eight of us lived together, cooked our own meals, ate together and washed our own dishes. It was a simple life, but it gave us an extraordinary sense of belonging and togetherness.
After spending nearly 32 years of my life in such environments, my transition to civilian life was quite an experience.
My initial posting was at a remote school, where I encountered a social culture quite different from the one I had grown up with or experienced in the Navy. Teachers often maintained separate social groups based on caste, food habits and other considerations. Despite living away from their families, many preferred to remain within their own circles. The collective spirit and camaraderie that I had taken for granted in the Navy were largely missing.
Life in the city was another revelation. Even neighbours often maintained considerable distance from one another. Physical proximity did not necessarily translate into social relationships.
Later, when I became an Education Officer and was posted to a remote block, the situation became somewhat different. As an officer, I had to maintain a certain degree of professional distance from teachers. However, my office staff always remained very close to my heart. Many of them, too, lived away from their families, and we developed a bond that went beyond official relationships. They would often invite me to share meals with them, and I always cherished those moments.
Meanwhile, I had shifted my family from our own house to a flat in a posh locality of Roorkee. The decision was driven entirely by the convenience of having my two daughters' schools nearby. It had nothing to do with aspirations of becoming part of an elite neighbourhood or acquiring a particular social status.
Yet, even after spending nearly 11 years in that locality, I could never truly become part of its social culture. Having spent most of my professional life among ordinary people in remote villages, I had naturally adopted a simple, rural way of living and relating to people.
Over time, I began noticing certain aspects of urban gated communities that I found difficult to relate to. In some so-called elite societies, people seem preoccupied with displaying their social and economic status. Expensive cars, prestigious schools, lavish parties and luxurious lifestyles sometimes become symbols of superiority rather than personal choices.
Unfortunately, this perceived superiority can also reflect in the way some residents treat security guards, cleaners, domestic workers and even their own neighbours. Parking disputes, unnecessary arguments and a reluctance to exchange even a simple greeting have become familiar sights in many such communities.
Nobody wants to take the initiative to greet a neighbour, perhaps because everyone is waiting for the other person to make the first move. In the process, we end up living in communities where people share the same buildings but hardly share their lives.
Of course, this is not true of everyone, nor is it limited to affluent societies. There are wonderfully warm, humble and compassionate people in every social and economic group. Equally, wealth, comfort and ambition are not things to be looked down upon. What troubles me is the tendency to confuse material prosperity with personal superiority and social status with human worth.
Perhaps my experiences have shaped my personality in a way that makes me value companionship, collective living and genuine human relationships more than material possessions or social recognition.
I have always enjoyed being part of a group, whether it was my childhood village, a naval barrack, a small team at NCC Udupi or my office staff in a remote block. I find happiness in simple things: sharing a meal, exchanging greetings, having an informal conversation or helping someone without expecting anything in return.
Having lived such a life, I sometimes wonder whether I would ever be able to feel at home in an environment where people are constantly conscious of their status, possessions and social standing.
Perhaps I don't miss my village merely because it was my birthplace. I miss the simplicity of relationships, the warmth of human interactions and the feeling that everyone around me was somehow my own.
After all these years, I have come to believe that the real luxury in life is not living in an expensive house or driving an expensive car. It is having people around you with whom you can be yourself, without pretensions, inhibitions or the burden of proving your worth.
I may have moved from a village to a city, from the barracks of the Navy to the corridors of government offices, but somewhere deep inside, I still remain that village boy who believes in greeting everyone with a heartfelt Ram Ram ji.
And perhaps, no matter where life takes me, I will always be searching for that sense of belonging.
#HumanRelationships #LifeExperiences #VillageLife #IndianNavy #SenseOfBelonging #SimpleLiving #BeyondSocialStatus #LifeLessons #Camaraderie #ReflectionsOnLife
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