A Town Called Alex

     I live in a town called Alexandra, (most locals call this ‘Alex’ for short). I have been living here for about a year and a half now and I feel like a local and I too say ‘Alex’. When I was moving here, people used to jokingly say that it would take about twenty years of living here before I could call myself a local, and a bit longer for the other locals to call me a local!  However, I feel I can belong here. I have been made welcome.

     This is a country town of about two thousand five hundred residents, about one hundred and twenty km away from Melbourne, between a two and three hour drive for most. Alexandra is north-east of Melbourne, on the edge of the Australian Alpine region, nestled among the hills in what is called the Upper Goulburn Valley. In this town there are no harsh high-rise buildings, no traffic lights, or big industrial smokestacks to spoil the picturesque landscape. There are plenty of rusty and rustic farmhouses and many sheds that fit in well with the surrounding scenery, like those that I used to see in postcards from faraway lands as a child.

     Alexandra is part of, and in the middle of a shire called Murrindindi, which according to one interpretation means ‘mist of the mountains’. That would describe it perfectly – for most of the late autumn, winter and early spring, the hills are clouded by mist giving it a most ethereal beauty.  When shrouded in mist, it reminds me of old Indian movies in which the spirit of a dead woman, clad in white appears from among the clouds on a walking trail among thick forests. I can almost hear the haunting music and lyrics-“Naina Barse, rim-jhim rim-jhim...” The local short form of Murrindindi is ‘Dindi’. So, I am a Dindian! In fact, from being originally an Indian, I have become “D-indian”.

     The Goulburn River flows about two kilometres away from my house. All around, I can see gentle slopes of little hills, higher peaks in the distance, green pastures, in the flats around the town. The river flows, moving slowly, takes its time meandering around the plains, as it chats up the red gums, the willows, the paddocks, the cows and many farms along the way. It meets up with numerous other little rivers, and they join along, before making their way to join the big Murray River hundreds of kilometres away. The people too are a bit like the river. Most enjoy and savour the time and space here, getting from one place to another.  They will say Hello and if they can, they will often stop to chat, actually listen and share something meaningful about their day or life. It’s easy to make friends here.

     It is early spring now. We have had a winter with good rainfall and all is lush and green around. There are dozens of varieties of birds in flocks, flying around –sulphur-crested white cockatoos, Spinifex and Crested pigeons, magpies, king parrots, galahs, sparrows, swallows, finches, willie-wagtails, Kookaburras and many that I do not know the names of. All of these have first dibs on and an unquestioned right to all the fruits and flowers on the trees that grow around my house. They really seem to own the countryside and know it too! When I first moved in, there was this gang of cockatoos, with a very noisy and showy leader, who introduced himself to me with some great aerobatic displays and seemed almost telling me something in a loud screeching voice. I understood that to mean he was letting me know, I had just moved in, he had been around longer and that I should keep that in mind. I said OK and have never had a problem since. He sometimes does a dive down from the heights and greets me when I am on the main street in town, just a short distance away. He usually brings along his mates to watch my kids play in the park. 

 Cricket On Summer Weekends

Photos credit and Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2012
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