"Dobya is being old, aged and elderly. This story belongs to an elderly Sitaram, his old bull, raja, and to a village that is marching towards aging. This village is like any other village you will ever encounter, preserving their rural charm for ages, holding on to humanity and carefully protecting the legacy of aging from generation to generation almost like the fallen leaves from a lifeless tree. Such is Sitaram, an old resident of an old village. Tatya as he is called, is attached to his farm. He has a son named Daadya.
Daadya is married with a kid. The city of dreams, Mumbai, allured him for the job and since then Mumbai embraced him completely. Raja, the bull, kept the agriculture going while Daadya received education from that earning. Raja was the calf of one the cows of Tatay. Hence, Tatay felt deep love for him. The love for the bull was the reason that Tatay took care of Raja even in his old age. Tatya’s daily routine was to wake up early in the morning, bathing, sipping tea before paying visit to the village temple of God Hanuman (Monkey God). After that he would cook a Bhakkar(bread), fed half of it to Raja and consumed the rest. Then he and Raja would set out on their farm along with his assistant Aabya.
Aabya spend his entire life in the village due to his physical disability. He would have also left the village for the city life if he was perfectly abled. Tatya often spoke his heart to Aabya. Aabya was connected to the world through his phone. In the era of technology, the entire village was constantly aware of their children’s whereabouts through Insta and Facebook, but tatya was completely clueless of it. Every young adult of the village is now a part of city life for job. Leaving behind in village the old benches, old trees along with old villagers and young children, children who will also start their journey towards city as soon as they turn into young adults. Madhu nana, another resident, who is experiencing the same fate as Tatya. Every other household of the village is sharing more or less the same fate. Even when someone is ill, the old villagers are the one to make sure that the sick is reaching the dispensary. And if by ill fate the person passes away, there are hardly any chances of receiving a proper funeral from the family, as the son is far away in Mumbai and the daughter somewhere in Pune.
Traditional old houses are now replaced by bungalows. But the opinion of the lonely old parents leaving in those huge bungalows aren’t taken inconsideration. How do they want their home to be? They do not want huge bungalows. Instead they wish for a family that can stay in the home with their homely warmth…Traditional stoves are replaced by gas stoves, mixer replaced the good old mortar and pestle, android mobiles replaced the landline but the one’s using the technology aren’t here anymore. Traditional stove again joined the side of gas stove. Meals cooked on the traditional one are now a trend but touch of tradition is lost. Spices grinded by mortar and pestle were unique to it’s flavor.
Today such flavors and the skill to prepare those are lost. We will happily accept the memorial statue of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj in the Arabian sea, but the forts that once had the presence of our king, forts that were blessed by his footsteps are now on the verge of breaking and aren’t even talked about…Are we deliberately losing the rural charm of our villages? Urbanization and Industrialization aren’t necessarily evil. Nor is the decision of leaving the village for employment in cities by the youngsters. It isn’t their fault that their busy lifestyle doesn’t allow them to visit the village. But then who exactly is at fault? The old parents who are still waiting with hope in their eyes that their will child return to take them with him, are they are at fault? This thought should be focused on. The feeling that the village awaits your visit apart from the festivals and fairs should create emotions in your heart and only then we can be aware of this rural charm.