151. The Grass is Greener

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November 28, 2018

"Write about switching the place with someone or going to where it seems the 'grass is greener'."

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The stars were indeed brighter and more numerous than one could see in the smog covered city sky. He agreed it was a beautiful sight, if only the mosquitoes gave him a respite, for like the stars they were bigger and far more vigorous blood suckers than their city cousins. He was sure that his arms and legs would have blood sores all over them.

He sighed; maybe his grandfather was speaking from the warm tones of his childhood memories rather than cold facts. He had been so enamoured by his grandfather's tales that he had finally decided to visit the village.

The journey had involved a twenty hour journey by train, which was bearable as the car was air conditioned but had turned boring once his ipad battery had drained out. Then he had to take a bus from the station to the village and the final leg was by way of a shared ride on a farmer's tractor. Since he still carried a bit of enthusiasm he had enjoyed the journey.

The water, drawn from the well, was cold and he hoped that filtering in over chalk filters was sufficient to render it healthy and clean. But it tasted different, it was sweet. The meal was different too, too spicy for his tastes and the vegetables, which were homegrown tasted different. His stomach now seemed to revolt against the spice and the foreign tasting food.

Hoping that morning would find him in a better frame of mind, he decided to call it a night. Unfortunately, the village dogs did not call it a night, rather they seemed to be interested in holding a conference. The cacophony of the dogs and the incessant buzzing of the determined mosquitoes ruined all hopes of him catching even a few minutes of uninterrupted sleep.

Morning found him bleary eyed and suffering from a severe bout of fiery loose motions. Despite it, he decided to brave the village tour, which led to another day of insufferable torment. The sun was too hot, the roads were a muddy slush and even though he put on a brave face, the spicy lunch left him completely out of sorts. Adding to his ire, were the reminiscences of every second villager, who appeared determined to share anecdotes about his grandfather. The only saving grace was that he was too tired to be troubled, either by the dogs or the mosquitoes, and fell into deep slumber.

However, sunrise and the crowing of the cocks, woke him up way before his usual waking time and he discovered that his digestive system was in complete revolt, leaving him to spend the day indoors and on watery salted buttermilk. By the end of that day, he gave up the fight; the village life was not for him.

When he landed in the city, his lungs welcomed the smoggy air and he beamed at the unabated noises - he was home.

Greenery is overstated, he pronounced.

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Word count 487

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