'Do you want to see real bunnies?'
Parisa gasped in surprise.
'Real ones?! Yes please!'
So off they went, giggling, to the pet shelter behind one of the homes.
Parisa, the apple of my eyes, now eight years old, was about to experience something magical -- we were taking her to my aunt's village for a holiday. She had been there once when she was three.
Now, she was old enough to understand and observe.
For months, Parisa had been fascinated by the double decker sleeper buses that passed us when we went for our night walks. She would often ask, "When will we go to our village in one of those buses?"
Finally, the moment arrived.
Parisa wanted to take a separate suitcase for herself -- a pink Barbie one; she was determined to be a grown-up traveller. Her mother gently convinced her that we would carry only what was necessary -- a few clothes, her favourite storybook and a small handbag for dinner and snacks.
My daughter counted down the days, marking each one with a loud announcement as it passed. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke of her plans -- visiting the fields, climbing trees, meeting cousins and watching cows stroll lazily across the dusty lanes.
Then came the big day.
The bus was scheduled to depart at 8.30 pm.
We hired an autorickshaw and headed to Koparkhairne highway stop no 9 (Koparkhairane is in Navi Mumbai), where our bus was expected to arrive. Calls flew back and forth -- checking with the bus operator, coordinating with my Kaku (Parisa's grandaunt), who was to join us later at Kalamboli Naka.
An hour passed, and then... there it was -- the tall double-decker bus.
Parisa's excitement knew no bounds. She practically flew to the upper berth, giggling. She explored every corner; adjusting the AC vents, playing with the reading light and marvelling at the giant window that framed the night.
Kaku joined us at Kalamboli.
It was time for dinner and tiffins were unpacked; Kaku had brought Parisa's favourite -- parathas and prawns sukka. Parisa was thrilled.
Snuggling into her blanket for the night, Parisa made her last request for the day: "Wake me up early! I want to see the sun rise."
And we reach...
At 6.30 am, the bus began to rumble and sway a little more than usual; we knew what it meant -- we were entering Pandharpur.
Parisa sat up, watching the golden sunrise spill across the dusty roads. "Is this our village?" she asked excitedly. "Are we almost there?"
Every 15 or 20 minutes, the bus would drop off passengers. Finally, it was our stop, Waifal.
We jumped out and Parisa carefully retrieved her most precious belongings -- Benny, her soft toy rabbit and her travel buddy neck pillow.
She looked around, soaking in the chirping of birds, the smell of wet earth, the distant ringing of temple bells and the faint mist over the fields. We began walking home, our bags rolling behind us, Parisa leading the way impatiently.
A warm welcome
Soon after we entered Kaku's newly built home, we heard a familiar village sound -- a cheerful voice calling at the gate. A neighbour had arrived with a basket full of fresh vegetables from her farm for sale.
She began listing the day's picks. "Gavar (cluster beans), bhindi (lady finger), dudhi (bottle gourd), kanda (onions)..."
The moment gavar was mentioned, Parisa's ears perked up. "That's my favourite sabji!"
The neighbour smiled warmly and added a few extra handfuls, saying, "This is for our little guest."
Parisa couldn't stop praising Kaku's beautiful new home; it was spacious and welcoming.
The wide front hall bathed in sunlight, the big kitchen, the bedroom and the veranda that looked out onto the road... she explored every nook and corner.
Soon after, Kaku said she was going to visit the neighbours; Parisa immediately joined her.
Everyone greeted her like family, offering sweets, asking about what life in Mumbai was like and inviting her to come back to play with their kids and their pets.
Parisa now had a list of all the homes she wanted to go back to.
It was time for breakfast -- hot chapatis and fluffy desi egg omelettes that a neighbour had sent along with gud wali chai (jaggery tea), which she instantly loved. As she took her last sip of tea, tiny knocks beat a tattoo on the front door; excited voices could be heard. A group of kids had arrived. "Parisa," they called. "Come out and play with us!"
Parisa immediately grabbed Benny, her stuffed rabbit, and raced outside. The children welcomed her like an old friend. They started chatting, comparing school stories and sharing favourite games. There was no hesitation, no awkward silence -- just all-out friendliness and beaming smiles.
It was so different from the city, where kids often had to be requested multiple times to come out and play and where parents would unsuccessfully attempt to coax their screen-addicted children to play physical games.
But here, in the village, things were different. Without anyone asking, the children had come to welcome her, eager to include her, eager to be her friend. One of the girls noticed Benny and asked her, "Do you want to see real bunnies?"
Parisa gasped in surprise. "Real ones?! Yes please!"
So off they went, giggling, to the pet shelter behind one of the homes. There, in a wooden pen lined with hay were three adorable baby rabbits -- one white, one grey with white stripes and one a soft brown.
Parisa was overjoyed. "What are their names?" she asked eagerly.
The kids smiled and shrugged, "They don't have names yet."
Without a second thought, Parisa squealed with delight, "Then I'll name them!" She pointed one by one:
"Brussy" for the brown, "Stripey" for the grey-white and "Whitey".
"Perfect!" laughed the kids.
The children took turns petting the rabbits.
A playful dog barked happily, trying to join in. A lazy cat stretched out in the sun.A young calf peeked out from the cowshed and Parisa walked over to gently stroke it.
The fun continued with a game of hide and seek, dashing between haystacks, mango trees and behind houses. They took turns on a jhula (swing) tied to a big banyan branch, swinging high, their laughter echoing across the open fields.
Tired and thirsty, the children ran back to one of the homes where a matka (clay pot) was filled with water for the thirsty.
Parisa took a sip. "This tastes different from our city water, so sweet and cold!" she said with a surprised smile. The kids laughed, "It's village water! Tastes like the earth!"
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