The frog on the rug

I spent my childhood in the early 8217;60s in Korba, in the heartland of what is now Chhattisgarh. Korba was then known for its coal mines. The coal-bearing stretch boasted lush forests areas with tall and thick trees, and masses of wild white, yellow, red and violet flowers. The splendour was fascinating during the monsoon. Heavy downpours brought fresh soil into our homes, as well as insects and small animals. Reptiles meant carbolic acid bottles were a must in every house. The servants had to daily sprinkle carbolic acid in the drains.

Sometimes, the laxity of the staff and the audacity of the reptiles combined, and the creepy crawlies came to slither around in our drawing room and verandas. During evening walks, we were instructed by my father to strictly carry a torch and a long stick. However, monsoon mornings saw our adivasi maid grumbling and shooing away the most amusing visitors as the gap between the floor and the door was enough for tiny frogs to sail in. Toads of all sizes would make the most of our rug and room corners. We, of course, enjoyed the maid8217;s manic dance. With our glasses of steaming milk, we loved this daily ritual

Monsoon showers also created small and big pools around our house. These mesmerised us with tiny insects fluttering in the muddy water, which Budhia, our help from the locality, informed us were water insects. Muddy feet and shoes were not taboo and my mother hardly ever scolded us for bringing mud into the house. However, our bathing was personally supervised by her to ensure we were squeaky clean after our escapades in the bush mud and muddy water. Most memorably, the monsoon introduced us to the flora and fauna of the Chhattisgarh forests.