Growing up in a village near the bank of River Sutlej, the lights and sounds of the big city have always excited me. Every honk, every street light and every flashing sign is like a foreign entity, beckoning me towards it.

We, the young ones, have somewhat of a tradition of climbing the tallest cliff in the village every day at sunset. The cliff overlooks the city, allowing us to see the sun disappear behind the tall buildings as they light up. We have been watching this sight for years, and we are still left flabbergasted.

I had taken an oath that one day, I will make a journey to the city and see every inch of it, comparing it to the stories we have heard. My mother says the city is a place for people who matter only to themselves. I haven’t quite deciphered her meaning.

Papa Yalong, my papa’s younger brother, is the only one from our village to have visited the city. He says it is a place of wonders where anything you dream is possible. He has told unimaginable tales of colourful fire in the sky, food from all over the world, tales of monsters and heroes that people watch on some big, flickering screens. We don’t believe him half the time, but he assures us of his honesty.

One day Papa Yalong was to leave the village and go to the city for business. He sold fruit from the harvest there during the summer, and this year I was determined to go along.

My parents thought this is a ridiculous idea, but I was determined. I promised to be good, to help Papa Yalong in his sales, and to carry his fruit all the way to the city for him. Papa Yalong, pleaded on my behalf too; explaining the summers were getting warmer and him older. Papa seemed almost convinced and a bit more grovelling sealed the deal.

Our journey to the city lasted a day. We set up stand on the corner of a busy street near a garden. Sundays were especially fruitful for business, as people came out with their families for excursions. Later on, if he wasn’t too tired, Papa Yalong promised to take me to see beautiful sites in the city. He showed me everything he had told us stories about. We peeked inside people’s windows and saw those big flickering screens he told us about, while eating the exotic food he bought us.

We saw the colourful fire in the sky next, the thing I was most curious about. I was awestruck. People there called it fireworks. They were glorious. It was our final day in the city. We were selling the last of our fruits when a man stopped by. He was bargaining with Papa Yalong when he suddenly started yelling:

“Thief! These prices will rob us of our money!”

He pushed Papa Yalong into the mud before driving off in his car. I helped him to his feet. During our journey home, I pondered over my experience in the city, at last reaching a conclusion. I now understood the meaning of my mother’s words.

The city had both its good and bad aspects. It was beautiful, but behind that beauty was the work of greedy men looking to make more money by attracting people with their flashy lights. In other words, as my friend Inayah often said, don’t judge a book by its cover.

Published in Dawn, Young World, September 4th, 2021