A trip to Boraki

I am an 3rd year university student doing Architecture, so we had an interesting educational trip to a village known as ‘Boraki’, in U.P., India; here is a poem dedicated to that village we visited…

Honk honk beep beep, we cross the city streets

Running through a maze of advancement

We slowly reach a new phase of enticement

Buildings merge to farmland

And concrete walkways to alluvial band

 

As we arrive to the village of Bodaki

A set of random hierarchy

Catching glimpses of low rise houses

Our eyes wonder like a mouse’s

Once getting down of our buses

our minds keep in the fusses

Even with the soil beneath our feet

And the naked sun’s heat

The air is fresh

So we feel refreshed

 

Not long after we visit a small school

And life feels not so cruel

We see the natives, the less sophisticated

And though total strangers we are not hated

We talk to the kids

And find the fun in their midst

We talk to the local

And get to know the total

 

Of the railways and the platforms

We hear the blaring train horns

Their only form of transport

With no hospitals or courts

No petroleum stations or

A store full of floors

 

Despite of all the no’s

We feel close

Close?

Yes! To the village

Which smells of fodder silage

With buffaloes and cows

Decorating the house

Their dunks and soil are what we meet

Otherwise the village seems somewhat neat

 

With agriculture and animal husbandry as its main

And quickly advancing lanes

We are surprised by the enthusiasm

And that’s no sarcasm

Let it be the studious girls

Or the winds changing their swirls

Each and every share their strength

In making the infrastructure length

 

So good for the bodakis

With the coming railway hub

They would soon need a club

But whether or not they value their traditions

Will be a question for a future with additions

 

So the sun warming our faces

And the wind forming the laces

The farms sing in delight

And the animals moo in sight

The houses of beams and brick

With culture laiden thick

And the open drains of the narrow street

Even with all the seasons of rain and heat

Storing in the people’s good sentiments

Fan on the 400 yrs of historical settlements

 

However backward they feel

whatever distress they cannot heal

Gujjars, nais or muslims

In the end they are one community

Sharing the valuable unity

 

So, Honk honk beep beep,

we cross the narrow streets

Full of welcoming smiles and chirps of the bird’s tweets

The railway track come and go

As we again reach the city flow

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s