Among the staff members, though there weren’t many, it was a close-knit community living. We supported each other in every way. When another official was posted to assist me (I had mentioned him earlier), the house arranged for him wasn’t ready. He moved in with his family, so we asked them to stay with us. Two rooms were more than enough for all of us. If he bought clothes for his son, he would buy for mine too, and vice versa. We exchanged cooking tips and shared the dishes we made.

One day, suddenly, my son came down with a high fever that continued for several days. He had been scared by a huge lizard, and we felt that might have triggered his fever. Despite all efforts, it wouldn’t subside. Hearing about this, my Cashier’s mother took a bus and traveled nearly 100 kilometers just to be with us and help take care of our child. It was such a sweet gesture.

A village, naturally, cannot be at its cleanest, with cows and cow dung around, and some form of infection was always likely, especially for city dwellers unaccustomed to such an environment. My son developed boils around his neck—not just one or two, but hundreds. He would whimper but never complain, bravely bearing the pain. I took him to one of the top pediatricians in Chennai, but the treatment prescribed was cumbersome and did not help. Worried, we went to another pediatrician in the nearby town. He took one look at my son and prescribed an injectable medicine costing less than ₹10, to be given for six days. Amazingly, the first injection itself did the trick, and all the boils vanished like magic.

In the town I often mention, we frequented a particular shop run by some youngsters who took a liking to my son. He was fond of toy cars, and every time we visited, he would ask for one. The shopkeepers would take him inside, open a box, hand him a car, and let him play with it while we finished shopping. Such kind and understanding young men.

Since my workplace was just diagonally opposite our house, my son would often run over to me. He would sit in my chair, sometimes dozing off. On one occasion, my wife hadn’t seen him leave the house. When she realized he was missing, she panicked and asked one of the staff members outside if our son was with me. Jokingly, he said no, and my wife nearly burst into tears. He immediately rushed to comfort her, confirming that our son was indeed in the office. He got quite a scolding from my wife, which he thoroughly deserved, but he was a wonderful guy—it was his mother who had come to care for our son when he was ill.

Nights in the village were eerily quiet, with only the sound of crickets breaking the stillness. Despite the calm and loneliness, we never felt unsafe and never heard of any theft or burglary.

I had also mentioned earlier about our little cricket "team" that was abruptly disbanded after a broken bat incident.

There were some negative experiences, but why dwell on them? I’ll narrate just one that concerned me, and leave the rest as happy memories.

There was a Co-operative Bank Manager who I spent some time with. One day, I saw him with a shaved head, holding a baby whose head was also shaved. Without thinking, I remarked that his son looked exactly like him. Laughing, he told me it was actually his neighbor’s baby. You can imagine my embarrassment. Since then, I’ve been very careful with my comments!

I would like to end this by sharing two achievements that my branch could be proud of. We enabled the establishment of a co-operative milk federation in the village and surrounding areas, and we helped a group of talented silk weavers escape their debt trap.

Today’s villages are completely different, bearing no resemblance to the pristine society we once experienced. Huge houses, TVs, cars, modern equipment, college-going kids, educated individuals, modern farming methods, and a pseudo-city lifestyle now define them. While progress is good and necessary, the purity and innocence of a traditional village are sorely missed.

I wanted to share this narrative of my village stay to highlight that those working in rural areas—whether in government offices, primary health centers, or banks—had to make significant sacrifices. Being part of the growth and development of villages and their economies was a deeply satisfying endeavor.

Continued in 102. Blind Speaking, Not Blindly Speaking - Part 1