Timon at the Water Village

You dont know me. You dont need to know me either. For the time being call me Timon because you will need to identify me as a character. Timon of Athens, Timon of Philius, Pupil of Pyrrho - call me what you may, all are the same, disambiguations to confuse my identity or maybe, confirm it. And no, I dont have a nickname.

Wanderings for earning my bread led me and two of my amigos to village which goes by the name of water village. Expecting a serene place, with pleasant climate (and a few lakes perhaps?) I embarked from the City of Gardens to the City of Dreams enroute to the water village. An overnight journey's distance from the City of Dreams this water village lauds itself for being the Banana capital and the largest Pulse Milling Centre - An achievement any industrious city would be proud of, you bet.

The first encounter with this enigma of Water village was a bundle of contradictions, rather an extra-large container full of contradictions - where Cozy cottages are not so cozy and Royal Palaces are not so royal. People come here to buy Gold, which is dearer than any other place. Seering heat and no sign of the promised "water" in the village drew me to the conclusion that a prankster tyrant - possibly a minister of some not-so-well known ministry - named this hell hole as "water village" only to spark some grey matter in few people leading to some grave discussions on the origin of the name "water village" - and thus remember this minister. A good way to leave a legacy.

If the above description of the place seems generic, here are some particulars to ease your curious mind. Arrangements were cozily available at Cozy cottage at the expense of our coziness. Water dripping from the roof in front of our rooms and lines of buckets kept there to collect it welcomed us to a promising stay at this cottage. The bell boy explained that was because of the "Centralised Ac" system that cooled our rooms. (He thought he was doing a good job of impressing us). And the murky water in the buckets collected...well, they bore stark resemblance to the shade of water pouring out of my wash basin. So we cozily shifted to the more promising sounding Royal Palace - without tipping the bell boy.

Royal palace was'nt apt to its name but whats life without a little compromise? Now, even in today's age of specialisation Royal palace would leave everyone far behind in the sophistication of its specialisation. The restaurant managers staunchly refuse to serve you chinese food if the specialist chinese cook is not present. Strict adherance to procedures is what probably keeps this restaurant going - South Indian food is served strictly between 3:30 PM and 7:00 PM. Five minutes here and there - you wont be served. Amidst all this theres still a chance of missing tasting their elusive south indian cuisine if the specialist south indian cuisine chef is on leave.

And then there was the ever similing 32 teethed bookkeeper who had an affinity to cheese. Yes I'm sure there were 32 teeth - had ample time for counting them time and again. And no, not the regular cheese but a very special variety called "Kya-cheez". The optimisim of this book keeper was bewitching, to an extent contagious. Optimism to such an extent that Pinocchio's nose would have catapulted to the clouds.

4 weeks of diligently pursuing what seemed like a good cause passed in what seemed like an eternity of time. Binges on the Masala Papads, Tandoori Chickens and extra oily afternoon Kachoris are some of the memories I get to take from there back to the City of Gardens.