Beyond the Concrete Jungle

The Khasis and their living root bridges, woven whispers of time, a testament to patience and respect for growth. The Santhals and their vibrant saris, each thread a story told, a tapestry of dances, a chorus of ancient songs. The Gonds and their painted walls, stories etched in ochre, a language of the earth, a legacy of dreams. The Todas and their gentle herds a symphony of bells, a rhythm of the mountains, a peace beyond words. The Siddas of Karnataka's hills, a whisper in the wind, a pearl of wisdom in their eyes, a connection to the stars. The Naga and their warrior grace, a symphony of drums, a dance of fierce devotion, a spirit unyielding. The Jarawa of the Andaman Islands, a connection to the sea, a whisper in the waves, a rhythm of the tides. The Rabha and their bamboo flutes, songs of love and longing, a melody of the forest, a dance beneath the moon. The Bhils and their bow and arrow, a hunter's heart and soul, a respect for the wild, a harmony with the earth. Oh, these are the things that whisper in my soul, even in the city's clamour. In their enduring wisdom, I find my own.