After spending four years in a city like Mumbai, I was more than happy to go back to my native place. After all, I would never have to smell the armpits of people in the over-crowded Mumbai locals and get free massage as well.
If you ask me to choose between the comforts of the city over the tranquility of the countryside, I will always go for the latter. After all, the true happiness lies in staying close to the nature and not living in the concrete jungle. There is no better joy than listening to the unadulterated sound of rain falling on your tiled roof, while sitting beside a window, looking at the great green expanse outside. The rain also looks more beautiful if you see it fall on the hills or in the paddy fields than in the gutters of Mumbai.
The air in countryside is cool and pure. It is not polluted by the farts of Vada-Pav eaters or the vehicles on roads which only keep increasing year-over-year. You are also spared of the incessant noise, created by honking of vehicles or DJs playing Sheila Ki Jawani and Chikni Chameli at the time of Dahi Handi and Ganesh Visarjan. You are spared of one more horror: the smell of human shit, especially when travelling by a local. Smell of cow-dung is much tolerable in comparison.
I also hate the street food of Mumbai, because it has deceived me. I was told that it is unhealthy and makes you fat. I am extremely under-weight and maybe that is why I just heard the latter part. But in reality, it just made me unhealthy.
The sight of young couples cuddling with each other and talking romantically in public spaces of Mumbai also makes me sick. I get jealous of them, because I am single myself and can have no such fun. It’s better in our village where you can’t even talk with a girl in private, even if she is your girlfriend.
I also like the fact that my village folk don’t have to go marching to the Gateway of India to light up candles and then take the photos to post on Facebook. They never get such a chance, because they are underprivileged for terrorists too.