He ploughs a rustic furrow

It is not every day that you get the chance to live a book. I had recently read Venkat Iyer’s Moong over Microchips – Adventures of a Techie-Turned-Farmer ’ with interest because it was an engaging account of his remarkable transformation. Now I was accompanying him and his wife Meena to their organic farm in Peth village, Dahanu taluk, Palghar district, Maharashtra, to see first-hand how he had made the transition from a city slicker to an earthy son of the soil.

It is a two-hour drive from Mumbai and it is late night when we reach the farm. There is an excited dog (Pepper) and the darkness to welcome us. I would have to wait for daylight to see beyond the streaks of light that emanated from the tastefully furnished farmhouse.

Moong and more

As I wake up to the full-throated crowing of the rooster, a sound I hadn’t heard in years, I find the over four-acre farm just like it is described in the book. Resplendent it is, with chikoo trees and the river Surya running alongside the property, and I have Venkat (friends call him Ravi) and Meena at hand to show me around.

We set off, Pepper in tow and with our mugs full of steaming tea, to spend time at the sit-out from where you can have a glimpse of the flowing river and the peak of the Mahalakshmi temple hillock beyond. In the 14 years he has spent here, Ravi seems to have made friends with the outdoors. He knows every tree, every bush at the farm and can explain the intricacies of every plant he has sown, when it will flower and the time to collect its seeds. He is also conversant with the vagaries of the weather and the spread of the seasons.

Pointing out the moong — the central motif of his book — that is growing at one end of the farm, he recalls his first harvest which yielded 300 kg. “I was terribly excited… it had been only five months since I quit my corporate job at IBM and I had a decent first crop, I felt the transition was promising — from microchips to moong,” he has written in his book. He and Meena distributed this moong among “friends, relatives and anyone who remotely expressed an interest.”

The farm is not only about moong. There is groundnut (their only money-spinner), string beans, pepper, mustard, turmeric, basil, allspice, lemon grass and betel leaf creepers that the village comes around to pluck from since it is considered an essential for temple rituals. The farm is the only source of betel leaves in Peth.

Then arrives Baban, his friend and assistant who figures prominently in the book. It is this unassuming young man who helped Ravi acclimatise himself to the rigours of rural living. It was he who gave him vital inputs about the farmhands and their individual quirks — who worked best with who ,etc. This helped Ravi use the management skills he learnt at IBM to put together a team best suited for the farm during harvest times.

The farm has its share of animals — when they first moved in, Ravi and Meena had to deal with snakes in the house. The reptiles are still there but you learn to live and let live. Then there is a coop of hens who has to be protected from Pepper lest he pounces on them. “He has to be tied up while the hens are let out,” Ravi explains. We are then joined by Minimus and Whitey, mewing and purring the way only house cats do.

A perfect setting

The farm is wired with high-speed internet, so Meena and Ravi get to do their writing, check out WhatsApp messages and emails. Afternoons are always dedicated to enjoying a siesta. As a guest, I chose to spend time on the absolutely amazing swing in the verandah — Ravi’s family heirloom.

It was a perfect setting — not as hot as I imagined, a gentle breeze, the hens clucking, birds chirping and Pepper snoring. So I refrained from asking Venkat and Meena the question people often ask, “Are you happy?” Though he has answered the question in his book, the passion, the involvement, the eye for detail, the love for the villagers and the everyday pace that I witness says it all — they would have it no other way. The farm may have given them their share of difficulties, the money may not be as good as what they would have earned if they had been part of the rat race. But the farm had compensated them with organic food, fresh air, sunshine, peace and happiness.

If Venkat’s book is almost a leaf out of naturalist Gerald Durrell’s writings, it is not far from that. I watch a video made by Meena of a cobra sneak into the property, I witness Baban and Ravi shepherding the hens, chicks and the rooster into their large coop, I hear first-hand the hilarious story in the book of Allahrakha, the lost baby barn owl and the drunk forest official who came to take it away.

This was another world — lost to many of us caught in the strife of urban existence…

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