The body feels onerous. My skin is sagging. Wrinkles have made down reaching lines on my face. Ponderousness makes parts of my body anaesthetized at times. I just want to shudder my shoulders off, for the supernumerary to drop down. As these reflections hit me hard, I grasp. As I am the Himalayan mountains. It might be an unsalable name now but I am the Dev Bhoomi, therefore, I have answerability. My paradox is the desperation of the human mind. Not endorsing what they have, the grass is greener on the other side for my people. This has sullied my greens. I have conceded the cosmetics to touch me, only to bridge the generation gap. Like most of the oldies, I also fancied to walk with their pace, think as they do and metamorphosis according to them. So far, I have tried my best. ”Industrialization is paramount,” they said and brought in the cement factories. These factories crumb my parts, dig deep into my soul. I stand mutilated now, trying to balance my weight as well as theirs. Industrialization brought in easy money. The surroundings are of affluent, non- agronomists bragging of trucks and no trackers. The rivers which kept me air-conditioned and wholesome are baffled and feel beaten down. They seem to endure a critical memory loss. Science is making electricity with their waters. At places, they are blocked and at other, they are made to cross through the cemented channels. The forests, the animals, the fish which lived in them ask me WHY?. I take the mortal’s side, saying that their generations will benefit to which they ask, ”what about ours?” The banks of my rivers have become a site to amass the construction material. The minuteness of sand particles is felt where they were found de trop. I see that my people are at a loss. They scratch me to make a living for themselves but’ WE ’is the word to survive. You and I can’t go our different ways. The abyss which they have made burrowing in me might be away from the public eye but I take cognizance of every hit. ”The headway of any place is the replica of its roads, ”they said again. I held my breath. The clock is ticking. A black metal strip is zipping its way up and down my body. The soil is slipping, the trees are falling. I am distressed. Though they say that I am modernized now but I am not vigorous. The buildings, the vehicles, the synonyms of growth are new but their base is not. I am gift wrapped in shining gold but my greens are fading, my rivers are dying, the vegetables, the fruits which made me smile complain of indifference. The basic nature of my lush greens has been bartered.I doubt my strength, I feel weak. Wish the ’WE’ is understood well within time and it never comes to the stage of YOU and ME.]]>
