A visit to a village

Off the bus, onto the grounds,

Oh, gracious me,

Half the houses are thatched huts,

With absolutely no privacy!

Goats in the paths

People everywhere,

No personal space,

And vehicles are rare.

The children, however,

Smile in absolute glee,

Such a quantity of visitors,

Is a treat, to say the least.

The others pair off,

As the children gather round,

I stand, utterly confused,

“translate for me, anyone?”

I just think you should know,

I had moved here a couple months ago,

And though it was my first tongue,

Now Tamil is confusing to the core.

I tag along with Rupaa,

And some other girls,

The village kids are spinning tops,

would we like some turns?

Wind the string round the wood body,

(The tops look a lot like turnips)

To spin them, hold, then release,

While you twist your wrist.

I decide to take a turn,

But to my chagrin,

The wooden thing goes “thud”,

Without a single spin.

I had spun the thread,

Then flicked it right,

But it hit the sand hard,

And I said “I tried”.

Those villagers,

Were a whole different sort,

As with minuscule effort,

they could spin those tops.

Little wood tornadoes in the hands,

The skill with which they were twirled

Spinning in the sands,

left me quite impressed.

In conclusion,

I would say this goes to show,

That life is can be quite interesting,

Without a touchscreen in tow.

(This visit occurred sometime this March, I believe)