Village memories

I recently went to India and spent time in the village where my mother is from. The way of living in the village seems a world and time apart for me, yet there is a familiarity to it. Sleeping on the charpai, cots made of rope, using a kerosene lantern at night since electricity is never regular, using a hand pump to fetch water, the smell of a fire, the low mooing of the cows, sharp acrid smell of cow manure, the cool breeze from the fields as the sun goes down. These are all fond memories that surface in my mind and eyes when I am far away from there. I can still hear the crickets at night and my grandmother calling out in the dark asking if I'm comfortable. I make sure the mosquito netting is snug around my bedding, and I drift off to sleep listening to the steady symphony of the night.