Rustic life has a beauty that metropolitans can ever perceive. I am not saying about the natural beauty.
My village a typical one with its own charms and hallucinations like any other hamlet in Kerala, had found its pleasure in newsmongers like "Ammini" who managed the diversified roles of AIR, PTI, and Reuters simultaneously.
The entrance of Ammini, a lean dark lady with a cheery smile was welcomed by all with zealous. The ladies impatiently waited for her, to untie the baggage of gossips ,rumors, complaints, and hidden secrets with in the four walls of most of the houses in that locality.The doors of all houses, irrespective of their social status were opened to her at any time. These stories aroused mischievous and secret pleasure among the ladies. They listened with a keen ear, to the words that came out of the pan stained mouth of that uneducated lady.
She became an actress, anchor, performing artist , journalist, narrating the minutest details with all suspense, emotions, on that hilarious moments. Elaborated and falsified stories , speculations, everything appeared to the audience with audacity. She tactfully elicited the inner conflicts of the house of the listener which she visited, accumulating one more story into her story board.
I was a fan of Ammini. It was my grandma, who was one of her "customer". The bright , calm and sleepy afternoons were enriched by her presence. All local news were delivered to my grandma, and whenever I was there, I lend one of my ear to their conversation.
But after the death of my my grandma, she stopped visiting my house for two reasons. She Lost a good listener who was an encouraging figure for her, and secondly, the public relations of my mother was rather poor. The final result was, we knew whats happening in Uganda, but we never knew, or came to know only after two to three weeks later whats happening in our neighbourhood, just like a news delivered late.
I know that I miss those moments which I enjoyed a lot, and can feel the vacuum left by people like Ammini.