my secret garden: The farm yonder...

The monsoons persist. A near constant drizzle and my frequent absence brings a frown of concern on my forehead, for the health and well being of the little green beings back home.

So early last morning, as I drove for home eagerly I reached the conclusion that the cage like structure had to have a poly film cover at the earliest. That and an electrical plug point. My problem was I didn't know where I could buy the poly film from.

Racing past sluggish traffic, I happened to look off the highway in far distance. Yonder...is a word you don't just use any day. Only when what your eyes see as completely in context and resoundingly in relevance, do you give in to use words like that.

I was still about 20 kms away from home. It was about to be time for work. Yet, I took a quick detour just to see the road leading to the farm, for future use later in the day. I was in for a little surprise that there didn't seem to be any road leading to the white structure in the middle of acres of tilled/ soggy farm land. So I just made a mental note of the general location and raced for work.

Noon. Lunch Break. No lunch. Fast drive. The car brought to a halt, about a half a km from the edge of the first fields that led to the poly-houses out yonder. Squish-squish. Leather shoes back to basics. Presented myself to an old man. Thankfully, he could understand the language. Tomato plantation, under the poly-shades. I ask for the place where I could buy the poly film from. Given some very very distant location. Dejection. Invitation to see the plantation inside. Rudimentary. Still picking up. I ask him if he's heard of hydroponics. No. And then...my eyes fall on heaps of poly film just thrown around. My questioning eyes look at him. He says, 'waste'. May I take some!!?? 'Sure'. Three smileys in a row...followed by two with a sweat-drop of relief leaving the forehead. I realise, it's heavy...unwieldy...smelling of old mud and manure...soiling my torso and legs and face and also acts like a sail, the wind decides to play with and whisk it away along with me as payload. I lose balance. Fall into the field. Laughter. I get up...thank the old man again and resume my wobbly walk back to the car. If you look carefully beyond my prized possession, you'd see the figure of the old man in white against the backdrop of the poly houses.

Meanwhile, I have friends...who are accomplished electricians and have begun to set up the basic electrical requirements, under the un-shaded as yet, cage.

So, I reach back. Wash the two pieces of poly-film. It's a mix and match job. One from Germany (thicker, would diffuse sunlight more, is my guess)...one Indian...sturdy but with more allowance for sunlight. I'm not a chooser. I'm a fixer, in the process of fixing...