So much of the South India I've seen so far is in limbo. There was
Shimoga. Rapidly developing, concrete-and-tar-hungry Shimoga. I
remember seeing a herd of cows cross the swanky, new, marble-floored
foyer of the Shimoga railway station. What was more interesting was
the nonchalance of the locals, as if this was a daily routine (and it
probably was). I was equally shocked to see a bullock-cart carrying
buckets of rotting, waste food outside my hotel. The owner apparently
visits major hotels in the city to collect waste food for his pigs.
In Chittoor, yesterday morning, I saw a brand new Skoda parked at the
side of the road. As the driver caught a couple of winks, a stray cow
helped herself to the garlands placed on the bonnet. It was a sight
that defined what most mid-size cities in India are going through. It
isn't a battle between the traditional and the modern. It isn't some
sort of tug-of-war. Instead, I'm come to realize that it's more of a
'interaction', sometimes violent but mostly peaceful.
---
Urbanization, of course, also has its costs. I noticed a peculiar
sight on my way to Bandapalli. Most of the road to Bandapalli is lined
with small, humble yet neat pucca houses. And almost all of these
houses had red X's painted on them. Apparently, the road to Bandapalli
is slated to be widened sometime soon. And all these houses encroach
upon government land. So officials from the roadworks department (or
some related department) went around to all these houses and painted
red X's on them. A red X on your house basically means 'this house is
in the way of development and will be destroyed when required'. I was
reminded of the Biblical story of the Ten Plagues and how the
Israelites smeared their doorposts with lamb's blood so that the Angel
of Death would 'pass over' their houses. In this case, the Angel of
Death is the municipal road department. And a red X on your house
means a 'pass over' of a different kind: by a bulldozer.
I think there's an element of psychological warfare to it. They paint
the red X on your doorpost. Intentionally on your doorpost. It's
something you see every day when you return home from work. It reminds
you, quite bluntly, that the house you are about to enter is not
yours. Because it is built on land that is not yours. And whether you
like it or not it will be reduced to rubble as and when needed.
But, no, wait, there's an upside you see. You can get to your new
house faster on the two-lane highway that will be built right across
where your children's bedroom used to be.
---
I can't say it's a first but it certainly is rare to see: female bus
conductors. I've run into quite a few in my short stay in Chittoor.
Khaki uniform, black gold-embossed badge, customary grimace. The
works. I've yet to ask if there's some reservation or government
scheme behind the large numbers of female bus conductors in Chittoor
but it's encouraging to see women, especially in a mid-size city like
Chittoor, storm what has traditionally been a male-dominated
profession.
It's particularly encouraging after coming back from a visit to a
place like Vengampalli or Palamangalam. I had an incredibly hard time
getting girls/women to sit down for an interview while I stood.
Culturally, as a woman, if a man is in your presence, you sit on the
floor. Men sit on the chairs or stools or whatever. It must've been
outrageous for the women being interviewed to sit while a man stood,
and sometimes crouched and kneeled even.
A few days ago, we hit a breakfast place that's run by women only.
Excellent food. Prompt, courteous service. Smiles. Yes: smiles.
But the highlight of this visit (at least in this regard) was seeing a
SHG (not an NCM-India SHG, mind you) president blast, literally blast,
the husband of one of her members that hadn't paid her dues. With a
chappal in her hand! The man, who had the misfortune of being married
to a woman who was tardy with her payments, barely escaped some of her
swipes at his face. Magesh refused to translate some of their
conversation. =P
I don't mean to sound patronizing. I really don't. But one must note
that in this India, it's a big deal. Palamangalam, just a couple of
kilometers away from where an SHG president was beating the crap out
of a man, is only just liberating its women. And there are many
villages that dot the Andhra (the Indian) countryside where women are
yet to enjoy all the rights the constitution assures them.
I hate to sound so mean but I hope a swipe or two hit him.
---
A few highlights:
- I met a man who was employed under the National Rural Employment
Guarantee Scheme (NREGS). I don't know if you read my blog entry on
the census worker, but I felt likewise today seeing something that
I've read about so much, that's been talked about so much in the
political arena, actually at work in the village.
- His brother (see above) is a billboard painter. I asked him if he's
worried about flex banners shoving him out of business. He didn't know
what a flex banner was. The people around him didn't either. I doubt
he'll be jobless anytime soon.
- The CDC project leader at Palamangalam used to be the village
sarpanch, the Panchayat head. I've always been fascinated about how
the Panchayat system works, particularly about how it handles law and
order in the village. So I asked him, hypothetically, what he and the
village would do if they caught a thief. He pointed to a pole nearby.
"We tie him to the pole, beat him up a little and then let him go."
I have no comments.
- I met a gem of a person at Bandapalli. His name is Jebakumar. He's
around four feet tall. Chubby in the cute way. And he's 16. He has a
growth abnormality. No-one at the center could tell me what the name
of the medical condition was. He's the only son. His mother's of
normal height. His late father, however, was abnormally stunted as
well. I'm guessing, therefore, it's a genetic condition. Jebakumar, is
the local Rajnikant. An excellent dancer. Quite the flirt as well. On
one occasion, he wrote a love letter to a girl he liked a lot. The
girl happened to be the principal's daughter and was offended enough
by the letter to show it to her father. The subsequent beating was
sufficient enough to ensure that Jebakumar thought twice before
professing his love again.
- I love villages. They're so laid back. I know I couldn't live in one
my whole life not only because I need the Internet and constant
electricity and western-style toilets but because my body is
physically incapable of handling village life. I have horrendous
temperature regulation. I'm incredibly inflexible. Years of sleeping
on a mattress with a pillow have rendered my back incapable of
adapting to any other surface. But I still love villages.
Some of my most memorable moments in the villages of Andhra Pradesh
have been the evenings. I remember taking a break after a long day of
shooting in Vengampalli. I lay down on a warm rock, watching a
spectacular sunset. One of the CDC children brought me some sugarcane
and a coconut (which didn't have much milk in it, but, a coconut
nonetheless!) All your aches, your pains, your soreness seep into
earth and dissipate into the landscape.
The entire day you've been capturing a village and its people from the
perspective of what you have that they don't. For a moment or two, you
realize what they have that you don't.