A Whole New Ball Game
I nervously perched myself upon a cane chair, inspecting the dust that had settled on the floor. There were cobwebs lined across the sides on the chipped walls. I began to imagine how the next ten days would sail by. Living in an old house that had been locked up for months, in the tiny village of Uran, which is nestled in the rural arms of Maharashtra. More than anything; living and interacting with ten other strangers who, like me, had signed up for the rural social work camp. It seemed like a gruelling task. “Patil kaka , will you help us clean the verandah ?”. A man standing under the gnarled banyan tree, nodded at me, smiling. An hour later, Patil kaka walked in with a barrage of brooms made of thinly spliced bamboo and colorful plastic buckets reeking of a pungent liquid. A small boy, wearing a white Chota Bheem t-shirt followed him in tow. “This is Raju, my son”. I smiled at the little boy and reached out to shake his hand. Raju looked at floor; his hands in...
