As the temperature starts dipping in the winter months, the spirit of the picnic goers start soaring, bringing a twinkle in the eyes of the young and old alike .The concept of picnic was very different in 70’s and 80’s. It would be visualised as a group of people trying to step on to a chair to get into a truck one by one, to commence a joyful journey. The destination would often be a river-side or a dam or a place with green vegetation around. After reaching the venue, the local cooks would get busy with utensils and firewood to cook a sumptuous lunch for the picnic party. Meanwhile having a game of football or cricket, idle gossip, playing ‘Antakshari’ and having a glimpse of the wild fruits and flowers were a part of the picnic itinerary.
Reminiscing the yester-years, along with these sweet memories are a few painful ones that got etched into my memory while I was only seven or eight years of age. My father’s workplace was an extension of the main steel plant of the town. Situated by the river bank the employees experienced a share of joy and grief apart from the main job. They remained witness to the annual festivals.
One evening my father returned home in a visibly pensive mood. Gradually the cause, he unfolded. A middle aged couple had come to him asking for help. In a modest way they enquired if any employee had seen any corpse afloat on the river water. They let my father know that the previous day their teenage son had got drowned in the same river a few kms where he had gone for a picnic with his friends. Only when the search in and around the original spot proved futile, they met my father. .The parents returned home only to come back the following day.
My father accompanied his men on duty in the morning hours. He spotted some vultures hovering over a rocky place, next to the river. His conscious reasoning suggested that some unwanted happening might have taken place.
Soon he found a few scavengers sitting close to the rocks with a Red Shirt laying in a torn and tattered condition. The moment the mother spotted the shirt, she ran hysterically towards it and wailed holding it close to her chest. Alas! No remains of the body except for the identified red shirt. All stood in perfect silence except for the mother’s wail that spread across through the air.
Picnic – undoubtedly enjoyable but if not measured enough can be a harbinger of woes. Every year we get to know of school picnic buses meeting with accidents. The cause is either due to over-load or travelling post sun-set among many others. In most of these cases, profit overrules the safety measures. Many a time there is lack of parental guidance too.
. Although the concept of picnic has evolved—resorts, luxury buses, burgers and pizzas but the hazards continue to remain the same.
Picnic is like a cone of chocolate chips ice-cream. If the cone is handled with care, contentment is guaranteed. If not – darkness envelopes.
