Finding Fanny

Finding Fanny – go see it – Another India, Another Goa that I go on about? Captured beautifully! You get to see all the stunning outdoors of Goa that is not the beach! 

You see on the big screen why I moved to Goa. I kept talking about moving to Goa till Adrian Pinto of The Only Olive and Pirkko Fernandes of Olaulim Backyards invited me to their homes. I first stayed at The Only Olive in Aldona. It was the first time that I was going East of the Highway that divides beach Goa from another Goa. I had the best sleep in a long time at The Only Olive – deep, dreamless and refreshing – with no sudden noises to wake me up. The patter of the rain lulled me into a totally calm state. Then I went to Olaulim – Pirkko had me do all kinds of outdoorsy things that I thought I was incapable of. I got drenched several times and changed clothes the first couple of times before I realised my folly. And I was hooked. 

I went back to Chennai and, urged by my sister, came back to stay in Aldona in Neela’s house for five weeks. And it has been two years now in Goa. 

Seeing the movie has brought back to me why I moved here. Life here moves at a different pace and so does this movie. There are glimpses of the sea but there is not one scene on the beach. Instead there are drives along narrow roads where village festival processions meander. The actors are superb – all of them. They try the Goan accent and for the most part get it right. When the accent drops, even that, was to me, part of the act. Of course, there are churches and chapels aplenty. And coconut trees swaying in the breeze. The dogs barking and howling is captured perfectly! I was waiting for the poin-poin of the poder (bread-man) and it came in the auto’s horn. Completed the movie for me. Those clichés are all over Goa. But thankfully there is no drunken rambling or serenading that is so loved by Bollywood. 

Deepika shows a lot of leg (hers are so loooong) and a lot of cleavage – I don't recall seeing that much on the women in the Aldona market. I guess the guys in the audience like it. Too bad I am not into women (yet).

I liked the fact that the hero and heroine have sex and don't talk of love. Or Marriage. And the woman initiates it. The guy was too much of a wuss to do so. I loved the ending – so perfect – there is no happily ever after. And isn’t that right? Whose life is happily ever after? You could be happy now – now – for a few minutes or hours or days – but ever after? Nah, not happening. 

I laughed out loud several times – parts of it were that funny. Normally I smile at a joke on screen, too self-conscious to laugh. There were about 20 minutes that were boring. And the way Pankaj Kapur’s character was handled was way over the top all the way through. And there was a dead cat which I did not see the meaning in or appreciate. I guess there is some subliminal message there that a low-EQ person like me doesn’t get! I think the Director was just trying to be very clever – unfortunately some of us are too dumb to get it. There were a couple of moments like that when I wished his direction was smooth and easy like the rest of the movie. 

And I liked what happened after the ending. No, not the horrible song, which was totally not with the mood of the movie as the credits rolled. The fact that the entire audience sat still till the last of the credits. They were looking for familiar names in that listing. And that is how I spotted The Only Olive, Aldona in that list. To think that I, the rank outsider, the nomad, found a familiar name was just too much for the smile that hadn’t left my face for 90 minutes now. It turned into a full beam as I drove home and then typed this up. I have to ask, do I finally belong somewhere now? 

P.S. see the movie in English. Leaving my language bias aside, I don't see Goans talking in Hindi!

P.P.S The Only Olive, Aldona - http://travelanotherindia.com/aldona.html

Olaulim Backyards - http://travelanotherindia.com/olaulim.html

Arco Iris - http://travelanotherindia.com/goa.html

First Impressions and Los Palos

Dili – Finally. A small town sandwiched between mountains and the sea. Small and dignified. Not exactly charming, but with character. The beachfront looks like any colonial town. There is no beach really till you leave the town. And then it is white sand, a little coarse. The mountains (hills, really!) curve and touch the sea beyond the beaches and there is a statue of Jesus Christ a la Rio. Facing the sea and beckoning to the world. There are two shops close to shore – now converted into hotels. I am yet to explore their history. The Government offices are the centre of town, facing the sea. Right now they are a gleaming white with huge colonnades and tiled roofs – typically Timorese shaped. Something like the roof of a Chinese temple but less curved and higher. Made from thatch or tile. Some old buildings continue to function, but most are getting a new look. The militia damaged 70% of the buildings in 1999 as they left. Didn’t raze them, but removed the roofs and the windows, the plumbing and the wiring and rendering them useless. Slowly they are being built back. What were two-storied buildings have the ground floor operational – and that looks a bit bizarre. The ground floor fully lived in, well furnished while the broken remains are on top.

The people are forever grim – breaking out into a smile to say bon dia or bon tarde depending on the time of day. They are very shy but stare openly at you. The greeting is followed by “India?” and more smiles and snatches of songs from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Those who don’t sing say kuch kuch and burst out laughing. Hindi films are a big hit here – they are subtitled in Bahasa Indonesia and followed avidly. One young lady asked me who the stars of ‘Yeh Mohabbat Hai’ are. I misheard it as Mohabattein and she was quick to correct me – no, that had Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai – this one they are new actors!!! But if their opinion of me is based on these hindi movies, then they must really think that I am one dumb chick.

What do the people look like? Honestly, this tiny strip of land seems to be the melting pot of the world. They look like Americans & Africans & Europeans & South Asians & East Asians & West Asians &, whom have I left out? Each person looks very distinct from the next and they must be an anthropologist’s delight.

As you leave Dili and on to the road to Lospalos, you have to cross the surrounding hills. A very steep climb and then a rapid descent – the view is of two small churches, a narrow strip of valley and the blue blue sky. Through that journey I am struck by the shades of blue. When I first travelled in Kerala, I understood the meaning of the colour green. Here in Timor, in addition to green, I have understood the colour blue. The sea has so many shades of it. And almost all the way upto Lospalos, you drive by the sea. And I have understood another colour, turquoise. If you are like mon pere, I suggest that you come here and find out what this new colour is. It is usually found near the shore and is a brilliant colour. Further out the sea is of a darker tone, like an unending sapphire. Especially when there is no breeze, the surface is like glass and you are quite convinced that you can walk across. Adding to the romance, is the outline of an island in the distance, a three-hour boat ride away. Part of Timor, its name is Atauro. 

The journey continues through a number of landscapes. Sometimes serpentine hills, where you are not sure what is around the corner, with a drop to the sea on one side. Sometimes serene paddy fields with buffaloes wallowing in the mud, with the sea bordering this picture. Sometimes houses on either side of the road with their stalls of excess to sell, with the sea just beyond. But always there is something to look out of the window for. You go through the towns of Metinaro and Manatuto before reaching Baucau. This is the most beautiful place en route. Perched high on a hill with all the landscapes at one place. Paddy fields, terraced fields, the sea, the works. 

Beyond this you are in Rural Timor. Laivai, Laga and then Lautem – where you finally turn in from the coast. Just before Lautem, there is a river with at least two crocodiles in it – I have seen both of them. They look like a log at first (you have heard that before) and then they start to move, it is like magic. And a wee bit scary. I have always thought of crocs as riverine reptiles, but apparently here they are found in the sea as well. And they are sacred animals here. Timor is supposed to be a crocodile that became an island of plenty in return for the kindness of a young boy. Yes, this land is also full of myths and tales.

And you pass through many more hills and curving roads. Quite good roads really. There are many familiar trees – coconut, mango, tapioca, palm, bamboo, jack fruit, bread fruit, oil palm, teak, papaya, tamarind – sounds familiar? A lot like Kerala? (I will reserve all other comments for now.) Varieties of acacia, prosopis juliflora has started showing up, calatropis, gooseberry, bougainvillea – many shades of it, frangipani, hibiscus. Those are all the names that I know. But there are many more that I have seen in my wanderings in India that are here as well.

And all along the people stare at you and then break out into a wide smile if you wave to them.

At last you reach Lospalos. But of that, next month. Okay?

2/August/2002

Los Palos

I must start by saying that I am the only Indian in Lospalos. This is not even possible on the moon. So there.

The name Lospalos, is a Portuguese corruption of the Fataluku “La Pala” meaning “flat farms”. As you enter Lospalos after the curving roads from the coast, the flatness is what strikes you. Optimistically there is a sign that an airfield is going to be built as you enter La Pala. You drive in through its majestic meadows. There are cows and horses and you could be on farmland anywhere – the Downs of Sussex maybe!  All the animals are frightened by the sound of a vehicle. While the horses try to run away, the cows stand and watch you with fear in their huge eyes. You really wish you could turn down the volume on the engine. And then you enter the town. On either side are the ruins of the Indonesian offices. A sombre welcome that belies the true spirit of the town. And the school, still being rebuilt. The market that comes alive on Saturdays. Finally the centre of the town. A traditional house has been built in what was to have been a cultural centre. It now remains for the malays – foreigners – to exclaim about. Further down to the right, the hospital, which has the only doctor in the district. A little beyond and to the left is the main church, a traditional structure again. On Sundays the open space is packed with believers.

The roads are not in good condition, but the streets are wide. Now we take a left turn to downtown Lospalos. At the roundabout is a smaller model of the traditional house. This street even has a cemented medium. On the left, all the houses have a verandah facing the street making for a continuous corridor to walk through. This corridor is usually occupied by betel leaf chewing women selling vegetables. They smile red smiles at you. There are no weighing scales. The veggies are piled in little heaps and all cost the same – tomatoes, onions, potatoes, ginger, turmeric, chillies. You can’t take less than a heap – not even if you offer to pay for the whole heap. Further down the corridor are the three shops that sell EVERYTHING. You wont get the variety in brands of a supermarket, but all the stuff is there – paint, whether for your nails or for the walls, bread, flour, an oven, soap, utensils, notebooks, toys, EVERYTHING – from the oft quoted “diamond to the pin”. The last stop on this street is a hotel with a restaurant. They sell the most delicious cakes in this part of the world. Here the street breaks off into five smaller ones. And there is a statue of a boy with a torch standing in the centre of the roundabout. Take a right there and you reach the police station – an impressive structure set far back, with both the East Timor and the UN flags flying in front. Right opposite is the house that I live in. Couldn’t get safer than that.

The town is well spread out and is much larger than one thinks initially. Houses are not large and magnificent, neither are they small and crumbly – no slums or cramped quarters here. And they are surrounded by trees both flowering and fruit bearing. The concept of a fence or a wall does not exist. So people walk through your land to the house behind. Open and friendly. Every house seems to have a couple of dogs attached to it. They wont allow you to pet them, but they will eat any scraps that you feed them. (Yes, even my cooking.) What they don’t like and will not eat is papaya. My neighbour’s dogs keep watch on me and if I come home after ten at night, set up a cacophony that is picked up be all the dogs of Lospalos. Or so it sounds.

Lospalos is the capital of Lautem district and occupies the snout of the crocodile shaped island. There is even a big lake approximately where the eye should be. The population of the district is around 60,000 people and that of the capital around 5000 people. Baytu, tehsil headquarters in the desert district of Barmer probably has more people. And all 5000 of them seem to have seen Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. At least the songs are part of any festivities in town.

There are many routes to my office. All a five-minute walk – through the police station and the district office, the route on the left that goes past the old bungalows, through downtown or through a small lane in between. I usually take the last. It is the most scenic five-minute route ever. As you enter the lane, on the left there is a Hindu temple! With high walls and the statues of two little demons at the entrance. I haven’t yet had the courage to go in – it looks like it says, “keep off”. It is full of bougainvillea of a most brilliant pink peach colour. Opposite that is a childcare centre and all the children shout to greet you as you walk past. Further ahead a horse is grazing in the backyard of one of the large bungalows. More bougainvillea, hens, a magnificent rooster, dogs, some more children and you reach a main street again. Take the left and there is the office – on the right is a small, small park with the sculpture of a crocodile sunning on a rock with its snout open and facing upwards.

Another working day starts at 8 in the morning. What is that work you may ask? Well, it involves travelling in paradise, meeting people, mostly women, a lot of sign language, much more laughter and home by five in the evening. Five days a week. Days six and seven are given over to sleep and the seaside.

More next month. Tata. Ok, they are the other Indians in this place. Tata Sumos. But they are not human, are they? And I am supposedly!

15/Sep/2002

Ethiopia

Honestly, I never expected to actually be here. I decided to come to Addis in the week that was Dusshera – not for the Ethiopians, but for us. So the embassy was closed for half the week and the courier service would not be as efficient, but I needed to leave on Saturday. And I was totally relaxed. If it happened, it did, else, here I come, Goa! The Goans were spared.

Ethiopian Airlines was a great way to enter the country. No alcohol served on board meant that there were no drunken Indians lurching around. Actually there were not too many Indians on board anyway.  I was seated next to a Nigerian who had boarded the plane at Bangkok and had much more to travel and was not in a good mood. I left him alone, and he did the same. I couldn’t watch the movie playing since I was too short. So I concentrated on the inflight magazine and the food. Which was quite good – upma and vadai!!! (Wish some of our airlines would learn from that.)

We landed at Addis at the right time – morning 1030 hours. Bright sunshine outside. The immigration formalities were quickly cleared through and I was out. Addis Ababa (the way it is pronounced by the locals is musical), takes you back a couple of decades. It is not like many of the national capitals I have seen. All spit and polish and fast cars and high rises. There are pot holes on the roads, the cars amble along, there are many many people walking, no tall buildings around – I like this place.

I had the advantage that I was received by two friends from India, and so could ease into the place slowly. Aster, the woman Friday of the household was part of the family without intruding. She took care of EVERYTHING like a magic genie. Every room in the house had a bell. Press it and there would be Aster smiling, asking what you wanted. Heaven. I thought it was a colonial hangover, till I was told that Ethiopia had never been colonised. No wonder there was so much pride in themselves.

First day in a new place and I was taken off to taste the local food, wine and dance. Now, the Ethiopians are beautiful people, externally and internally. So if they dance, you watch spell bound without understanding any of it. Unlike in most places, the men here are handsome as well – so there is something for us ladies as well! We went into this restaurant cum dance floor. Everyone was seated on stools around coffee tables and the place was packed. We found a place in a corner, where the view of the dances was not the best, but the atmosphere was just as real and authentic. Thej – that is the local brew – made of honey and something, no one is sure what! But the taste is perfect. Imagine drinking honey and getting high on it? That is thej. It was served in nice tall glasses. And I lost count of how much I had. Not that it mattered! The food was a little more difficult since I am vegetarian. We had a “native” with us to order the food and more importantly, to ensure that we didn’t make fools of ourselves. Much like in India, we washed our hands in a bowl carried by one of the waiters. He poured warm water from a very oriental jug. And I really felt pampered – could imagine that this was the way the Queen of Sheba felt!

Dinner was a huge dosa – called enjera – at least two feet in diameter spread out on a plate. On this, various chutneys, vegetables and sauces were put. We were then given more enjera rolled like a swiss roll, and the meal started. The dancing continued and Hana told us that we need not applaud the performance since we were eating!! That didn’t hold me back since I was totally fascinated by the dances and also the singing that interspersed them. And suddenly language was no constraint. Almost instinctively, we knew that she was singing of love. I guess that for some things there really are no barriers – music and love certainly. The Ethiopians also have this wonderful habit of feeding each other. So Hana would tear of a piece of enjera, pick up one chutney, roll it a bit, pick up another and so on and then place it in your mouth. The combination of tastes was really exotic. Give me food, and as long as I think that it is vegetarian, I love it!

The music was beginning to get into my feet. The drum beat had my heart echoing. The thej was making my head swim. And I was all set to get up and set the dance floor on fire (wishful thinking is allowed), when it was time for us to leave. Back to drop Hana and then home. The roads are much like at home – more pot holes than road. What was different was the beautiful ladies who came out at that time to get on with their work. I guess that this is another universal phenomenon.

Sunday being the day of the Lord, I rested. Also because I am lazy. And we went out only in the evening. The outskirts of Addis is dotted with restaurants that offer a beautiful view. They also are places where wedding photographs are taken. So after the wedding, the whole party moves there, just to take photographs! There is also live music in these places. So we stopped for some strong black coffee before driving out of the city. 

The guide book said that Addis was one big market and I could now see that. On either side of the road were people sitting and selling – potatoes, onions, oranges, chicken, belts…. Once we were out of the city, the landscape revealed itself to be undulating and open. There is an area in Hosur district called Little England – this was very similar, only more open, more stark. We stopped at a church – it reminded me of a Kerala temple. The roof was corrugated tin sheets, but from a distance it looked like tiles since it was painted red. And inside it is like a temple. Everyone removes their footwear outside. There is a sanctum sanctorum where only the priest is allowed. The others wait outside. Prayers are said, offerings are made, ‘sambrani’ waved around, and people leave. Not like my idea of a church where mass is said and everyone enters and leaves together.

Driving back, we stopped at a small town, and had “shai” – chai, tea. The shop was really really small – and there were two small boys in there before us, having shai and bread. We sat on small benches that reminded me of school. The radio was playing some nice music – I am sure the song was about love, though I couldn’t understand a word! Two young girls came out and we repeated shai several times till they got the idea. There was much smiling and some conversation. They would talk and we would smile widely and nod our heads. I don’t think we nodded wrong, because this went on for some time. The shai was delicious – sweet, with many other flavours chasing each other. They also offered me biscuits that were totally symmetrically square. And then back to Addis.

Merkato – that was my next big experience. I guess you cant beat Indians for shopping and markets, and I am no exception. Size does not matter. And this one is a classic. It is said that one can get ANYTHING here, and I believe that. We first walked into a swank super market. And then on to the real Merkato. It is a series of streets running parallel and perpendicular to each other and like in India, each lane specialises in something. The one we entered had clothes. There were also two covered buildings – one specialised in modern wear while the other was more authentic. Both were paradise for me! The traditional clothes are white with a bright woven border. The women wear a dupatta like white cloth around their heads and it  serves to accentuate their beauty. After buying a couple of the scarves for friends back home, we were out of there and in pursuit of a pot and cups for a coffee ceremony. This lane took me right back home. There were sacks filled with spices, rice, dhal, pasta, turmeric, chilli powder outside each little shop. 

We bought a jug/pot for the coffee – it is baked out of mud and Aster was very sure that the taste in this is different from that of a steel pot. We also bought some sambrani and cups and coffee beans. The Ethiopians roast their own coffee beans before grinding it and boiling it in water.  It is then served in small cups, without handles, with lots of sugar. All the while, the smell of sambrani is wafting through the air. Aster told me that they eat popcorn during the ceremony. It is also the practice to call everyone in the vicinity to share a cup of coffee. The same coffee powder is used thrice before the end of the ceremony. Everyone drinks coffee till the jug/pot is empty.  A nice relaxing ceremony – I was only left wishing that I knew Amharic to understand what was happening around me. 

Lallibela – the number of stories and myths about the place are comparable to our own. We flew in from Addis on a Fokker 50. the plane was flying fairly low and so I could see the landscape totally. Much of it was cultivated – I was surprised to see. And from up above it was like many rectangles of green of different shades. And all these patches swept out from some central groups of houses. The whole effect was very wind swept and collage like. Does God like collages? In this part of the world, yes. The Rift Valley, mountains, rivers, gorges… and then we landed. In the midst of mountains in a tiny airport. I stepped out of the plane to air that was fresh and chill, a sky that was bluer than blue and absolute silence. Silence, in an airport? While we waited for the bus that was to take us to the hotel, it was the silence that I savoured. It was a silence where you could hear – somewhere a cock crowing, a goat, a bird, a shout. Maybe it was more of a stillness than a silence really. And then the conveyor belt to bring in the baggage started. 

Have you ever danced with a prostitute? Oops – commercial sex worker? Lady of the street? I am asking you women out there. Well, I did – for the first time, last night. We are in Bahir Dar (pronounced Baardaar) on the banks of Lake Tana which is the source of the River Blue Nile. The town is a University town – one nice main road with palm trees and hibiscus of every hue and bougainvillea and the rest of the roads are normal – all pothole, some road. We walked through some of the lanes. There are small bars at almost every door in the street. Loud music and bright colours and brighter lights. We went into a couple of them, but we were too early. Barmaids abounded. They didn’t seem too happy to see me, but my companion was received with wide smiles. We walked into a coffee shop. This Ethiopian coffee has made me even more of a coffee addict. Conversation is limited because of the language. But the smile works in most places. I ordered a cake and a juice. The waitress asked me “Mixed” with an emphasis on the `ed’ and I nodded. What I got was a beer glass with three layers of fruit pulp in the colours of the national flag – yellow green and pink/red – papaya, avacado and guava. If I were British, I would have said “Interesting” – being Indian, I slurped it down. Yes, the paragraph started differently and that is what probably caught your interest. I am coming to that.

We walked around some more and then entered what I had been hearing about the whole evening – John’s bar. It was fairly unimpressive. Some eight or ten women sitting around on bar stools in a dimly lit room. Bottles of Gordon Gin, Bailey’s and White Horse lined up in the bar (I realised later that most were empty – the real stuff was stocked in the fridge!). Music. In one corner two men were seated. We walked in and I felt really awkward. All these girls were slim, well dressed and beautiful. I was (am) fat, wearing keds and shy. It took me some time to ease into the place. Roza came up and spoke to us. She knew my companion from a previous visit. She kissed both of us Ethiopian style – twice on each cheek, told us to enjoy ourselves and went off to dance with one of the men. She dances beautifully – very sinuous. Her bright face was pleasantly made up, nice gold jewellery and a touch of Christian Dior’s Poison – very subtle. And then she led him away – business had started.

She came back after some time, looking just as fresh and wonderful. And asked me to dance with her. The music was anyway making my feet itch and I was finding it difficult to sit still on the high bar stool. So I joined her. And when the music stopped, there was a round of applause. I hadn’t realised that everyone in there was watching – if I had, I would have probably stopped pronto! We complimented each other on how well we dance, sat down for a while and then stood up again. What was interesting was to move to some Arabian tunes. She was totally with the music. It flowed in her and through her and she looked like she was enjoying herself. The walls of the bar were covered with mirrors and she looked at herself constantly. Preening. Ensuring that the make up was in place. Looking to see who was looking at her. Checking that she danced well. Maybe it was her, or the music or the place, but I found myself totally relaxed and enjoying myself. The music was beginning to flow through me as well. And suddenly the thought flowed through me – hey, I would like to do this for a living! But no, not what follows – I wouldn’t enjoy having to go with every guy who paid me. But the performing was nice. I liked being watched and applauded. Maybe I should head for the stage. Maybe pigs will fly!

The rest of my visit in Ethiopia went in similar fashion – lazing around and being pampered. And then the usual adieus. I was planning to end this trip with a week to myself in Goa, but somehow, couldn’t bring myself to do that. This was perfect in itself. I wanted to savour the taste of Ethiopia in itself – not mix it up with another place. The end.

October 2001

The drought is still on!

Sitting in Udaipur a bright sunny day – wait a minute. Isn't it supposed to be raining now? Well, it is supposed to, but the reality is very different. I have been travelling thru the tehsils of Bambura, Bhinder, Dhariyawad and Koon – no sign of rain anywhere and today is the 8^th of July – The rains were supposed to arrive on 25^th June. What did happen was that it rained in the middle of June – quite heavily for a couple of days and then nothing. Those who had sown seeds searched the skies anxiously, while the others just waited. And then it rained gain in the first week of July. Again some ploughed the land and sowed precious seeds,. And now they too wait.

Udaipur district comprises some 4000 villages coming under approximately 250 panchayats. Therefore the rainfall data for the district as a whole does not give the true picture. Variations within the district are immense. Bambura and Bhinder had had a couple of showers while Koon had had none at all. And they are contiguous tehsils. The area is highly undulating. It must have been forest area once, but is now degraded rocky soil. Apparently during the industrialisation of India in the 50s and 60s, the forests were leased to commercial companies who raped the land thoroughly. Today the people of the area do sell firewood, but that is more in the nature of a survival strategy than commercialism.

Over the past three years the rainfall has been deficient – an average of around 250 mm while the usual average is around 700 mm. This has meant that people have had to sow crops like maize instead of wheat, which is the staple diet. This year has really stretched the capacity of the people. There has been a continuous search for fodder, grain and water. Three years of bad rains is more than what the average farmer can cope with leave alone the poor. Migration was one of the options earlier – but neighbouring Gujarat was also affected by the drought, so many people returned earlier than expected.

Everywhere I went I asked, what will you do if it does not rain properly this year – the answer was near unanimous – we will die! But first the animals will die – there is no fodder to forage for and all the natural sources of water have dried up. The goats may survive another year, but not the bovine animals. I could count the ribs on every single animal I saw. My impression of buffaloes has been  that they are always fat – this is the first time I am seeing skeletal buffaloes. The calves followed their mothers listlessly – there was none of the usual vivacity associated with them.

This area is not primarily one of a cash economy. Some food crop is grown on whatever land there is, the stalks feed the cattle and the goats graze on anything. Cash is primarily reserved for things like salt, masalas, clothes, medicines, etc. Not for basic food and fodder. But now, the only thing that speaks is cash. The desperation of the people can be understood when they say that they are willing to use precious cash to buy fodder for the animals. They say that they will somehow survive, migrate or something, but the animals are totally at their mercy – so they have to be looked after first. Also, if agriculture fails, then the animals are the only wealth that people have.

6/Jul - Started in the morning – first went to village Karget where three wells had been deepened. in three different Phals or hamlets. Fortunately there was water in all the wells that had been deepened. Spoke to some of the men who were near the well. The nearby handpump had either dried up or was under repair – they could not agree on which. There was a system by which the Panchayat appoints a maistry to repair it, but since they were an interior hamlet, he did not come very often. They were now asking the Panchayat to train one person from within the hamlet. As we sat by the well, there were several cows and buffaloes that passed by, drinking from the trough or piyao near the well. They were all very measly looking animals who plodded along slowly in the heat.

The area is beautiful, but fairly difficult to approach. We went on a path that only an expert driver could have taken us on. I felt like I was in one of those four wheel drive car ads – only I was in a good old Mahindra – which creaked a lot, but took us around and brought us back safely. It amazed me that there was a primary school even there. The Govt still manages to surprise me.

The next village was Onkar, a good 45 minutes from Karget. The area here was even more degraded than that of Karget – I didn’t think that possible! I had visited this village on my previous trip as well. Managed to meet one woman near a hand pump, where we had stopped. She felt that it was a good thing that wells were deepened and was of the opinion that more should be deepened. But when asked how much we could go on deepening wells, she could not say anything.

Through this entire conversation there was girl – who could have been anything between 6 and 10 – who had come to the hand pump to have a bath. Seeing the crowd that had gathered there, she took a potful of water a few feet away, sat with her back to us and proceeded to have a thorough bath. Her shampoo and conditioner was the fine sand found near the hand pump. Her soap was a stone that she carefully picked up after searching for a few minutes. First she applied the mud and then rinsed her hair. Then she sat down and scrubbed herself slowly and thoroughly with the stone. Life must go on, even in the middle of a crisis.

It was time for lunch – cooked by one of the staff – and a bonus, I was asked if I would like a nap as well. Would I say no? Fifteen minutes, but that was bliss on that hot day.

Our next stop was Bambura, a really amazing village – town. It is just an ordinary small town, except its skyline is dominated by this huge castle. Which has of course, been converted into a heritage hotel now. Apparently the local chief was a vassal of the king and was allowed to collect taxes. He sure did do a good job if that palace is anything to go by.

The main work that had been in the village of Peepiya was the construction of check dams. 

July 2000