It’s a hot afternoon. 1:30 PM, June 5. After riding my bicycle for about 2 kilometres in my hometown Berhampur, I was stranded on a ‘no men’ road. Two kilometres away from my destination, I was already thirsty and exhausted. It was as if my legs were expressing their unwillingness to push the paddles. Suddenly, my eyes fell on the far-away borewell that was at a distance about 100 meters. Licking my upper lips with an eye of hope, I headed towards my immediate destination being lured by a desire to drink some water and sprinkle some on both my face and head for relief. However, destiny had it something else. One village woman was taking her bath at the borewell. How could I go near the woman when she was taking her bath? Hesitation would have arisen only when I had two options – to go or not to go. Here, there was only one – a straight “No”.
What an art to wear a wet sari in open?! It seemed like a flawless rhythmic poetry to me. At first, I thought why that lady was taking bath in open. She should not be doing that. Post my tryst with that entire scene, I would say it was not wrong. I think she had no doubt that I was observing her, but still she was not uncomfortable. This level of comfortness might have come from her supreme confidence on the art.
Neither thirst nor tiredness could dominate me after that. I took 15 more minutes to reach my destination while thinking if this exceptional art will die once everyone will get to take bath in bathrooms. Just a trivial thought!