Children in Jaipur ---
Scene in Pondichery -- Tamil Nadu Landscape ---
Training Run "Marathahalli" (12 Miles) - 06/07/09
Palm Meadows - Varthur - Gunjur: 0:30:49
Road to the right - through rural land and villages -
past the railway: 0:22:40
To Outer Ring road: 0:07:34
Up Outer Ring road, just before Marathalli junction: 0:07:11
Small urban roads, finding my way, dirt roads through the
small neighbourhoods of Maratahalli, Thubarahalli, Siddhapura,
and back to Palm Meadows: 0:39:32
Time: 1:47:46 (total time: 2:03:30)
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 12 Miles
The weather has definitely changed. The hot season is over,
and we're heading into the monsoon. There have been a few
precursor torrential rains, so strong that one could barely
see outside, everything bathed in a strange orange glow.
Today is somewhat overcast and windy (much better
weather for running). I can't quite make up my mind as to
where to go, so head out along the lake into Varthur, where
it's the usual bustling activity around the market. I stay
on the main road to Gunjur, passed at some point by one of
those trucks lugging so many people in the back, some of
whom cheer me. I faintly remember scouting a
route on Google maps which from here could lead to Outer
Ring road, so I decide to try that, turning right in the
center of Gunjur, into the small town. It quickly becomes
rural, with a few sparse villages. It feels poorer on this
side, and the reception through the villages isn't quite
as warm, although never hostile. Mostly, I get stared at.
The road crosses a railroad, then into a somewhat
bigger village, where for once I find a sign indicating
"Outer Ring - Maratahalli". After some time, I come
to Outer Ring Road, one of the major thoroughfares in
Bangalore, which luckily is wide enough that I'm not bothered
by the trafic. It's more chaotic here, with construction sites,
half-built structures, surrounded by pockets of tent slums.
From one of them, two small children call me, but feeling
in a good rhythm, I don't stop. Before reaching the bridge
on Airport road, I turn right into a small street,
into the Maratahalli neighbourhood. I vaguely remember
having been driven through here once, and am trying to
stay parallel to the main road for as long as I can. The
network of streets is a bit intricate, there is much of
the usual activity, so much life happening outside in
front of the houses. Dogs occasionally bark at me, but
are easily quieted down. I get a bit lost and must
retrace my steps a few times. Probably not many people
have run here before. Perhaps because of the cooler
weather, I have felt particularly comfortable with
my running today, not needing to stop at all.
On a dirt road near small tent slum communities,
a boy calls me. I stop for him, and we start talking.
To my surprise, he speaks Hindi, so the conversation
is more fruitful. We introduce each other, and I explain
where I come from, asking for options to get back. He invites
me to follow him, meaning to show me where he lives. His
name is Manjour (if I remember accurately).s
On the way, he calls to a group of other kids
who quickly join us. They too speak Hindi, and remembering
my experience from last week, I offer them some of my
water, which they drink playfully. We come to a stop on
a dirt road, at a small distance from one of those tents
partially covered with blue tarp. We are joined by a few
older boys, who also want to talk.
As two girls pass by, the boys want me to take
their pictures as well, but the girls refuse (as is often
the case). We've stopped there, and it doesn't look like
we're going to go any further. So much for visiting
where they live, I think disappointed.
"Kya tumko Bhouk lagti
hai?, I ask them, before deciding to share my Clif Bar
with the group. We all eat small chunks, and look at
each other satisfied. They advise me to join the main
road back to Whitefield, but I attempt to explore
other small streets,
paved or dirt, meandering a bit as I search my way,
before making it back to Palm Meadows.
Kids in Maratahalli ---
Washing cattle near Varthur ---
Training Run "Bagalur" (17.5 Miles) - 06/31/09
Palm Meadows - Varthur - Left turn after the market -
Straight, to Small crossroad Hanuman Temple: 0:55:03
Road second to the left - through rural land and villages -
The road becomes a dirt trail - On a dike, overlooking the fields -
through a bigger village (bagalur) to NH207: 0:37:37
Kept going out, bridge over the river, then to the left,
straight for a long time - Ayurvedagram - Chassandra main road: 1:05:27
Time: 2:38:08
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 17.5 Miles
Wght: 153.5
The weather is overcast, a bit muggy, with a nice breeze,
although through most of the first half this wind travels with me,
providing little relief from the relative heat. I've been concerned
by a new shin pain in my left leg, which I've tentatively attributed
to my new running shoes (I've brought three ASICS pairs from the US, but
this last one was a new model), so I'm running with my old used shoes.
At least my breathing feels comfortable today. The family has just
left for vacation, so I'm alone in India for the first time, which
on Saturday felt a bit depressing.
I pass through
Varthur, marveling as usual at the Sunday morning activity around
the small outdoor market. Big loud groups are gathered around
the fishermen who are exhibiting large catfish that are still
squirming (were they caught in the polluted lake?). Beautiful women
in Sari are seated by their heaps of colorful fruits and vegetables,
and even running by, I catch the aromatic smells of the herbs, confronting
the exhaust of the trucks and auto-rickshaws.
Past the market, I turn left, decided to reproduce then
further one of my recent runs. As I leave Varthur, a man
waves enthusiastically at me from one of the tent slums. Stupidly,
I don't stop as it's still early in the run, perhaps missing on
an opportunity. A little later,
as the road becomes rural, I spot a family washing their cattle
in a large pond. After trying to photograph them inconspicuously
from behind
the trees, I decide to come out in the open and ask them for
permission, which they grant me.
The road continues for some time, passing through an
alternance of fields and isolated houses or small villages.
Two beautiful girls greet me nicely near a house, but refuse
to get their picture taken. Then I meet two young boys, who
for once seem a little scared of me, so I purposefully keep
a slight distance while we go through the usual introductions.
"Your village?", people will keep ask me throughout
the day.
I later pass this isolated meat shop, a small brick shack really,
which in spite of being in the middle of nowhere, draws a
small crowd. The road becomes wilder still, and exposed to
the sun, with no construction in site, until I reach the small
Hanuman temple (apparently called Anjaneya Sami Mandir,
according to Wikimap), where four country roads intersect.
I decide to take the second one to the left, the only one
I haven't explored out, which should take me the furthest out,
still heading in the same general direction. This soon becomes
quite small, with many patches of dirt, and seemingly less
traveled (although I still cross occasional peasants on motorbikes,
often carrying disproportionate loads of grass).
Eventually, the road narrows to a dirt trail, and descends into a somewhat bigger village, where I'm greeted with enthusiasm. I try to pursue the same general direction through the village, pass many of the now familiar village scenes, activity near the public source with so many people filling colorful jars, women crouched over washing laundry outside or painting beautiful Rangollis on their porch, groups of boys playing cricket. Children typically come out to greet me, so that I'm often surrounded by an escort of kids, some of whom are very helpful. I seems that my direction is overall veering to the right, and past the village, I find myself on a beautiful small trail, very well kept, which traverses lush cultures, and eventually leads to a long dike, overlooking the surrounding fields. It's nice to see a little distance from once, peasants plowing the fields with their cows, men gathered around a pond, both fishing and bathing. Past a river, I finally reach a small town, at the center of which I am surprised to run into the mountain bikers group. They're surprised to see me as well, as I've run farther today then normal. They offer me two bananas which are very welcome, and we buy water from a small shop. I ask them for an alternate route to go back. After they've left, I speak in Hindi with the shop owner, who then translates into Kannada for his clients. I finally set out, following the cyclists' advice. As I leave town, I notice a young man laying out blue saturated threads in front of a house, and take his picture. Across the street, onlookers insist that I take their picture too.
In Bagalur ---
A bridge allows me to cross the local river. The cyclists
have warned that there aren't many passing points over the
river, so I hesitate to venture left into the smaller dirt roads.
Along my way, I often ask for Whitefied, to which people always
point me straight (but I've found that people will generally
indicate bigger roads only). A man carrying a small boy on a bike
confirms for me that these large round flat basket like platters
that I've been seeing are indeed
for silkworms, and he shows me a field where these
are raised. But I'm tired now, and pause again
to eat a little. I'm again frequently escorted by successive
kids on bikes who seem to relay themselves in following me,
all wanting to chat, but I grow weary of it, after having
repeated my name and "village" so many times, as I struggle
a bit and would prefer to focus inwards. I keep adjusting my
belt position, as I feel it chafing against my lower back,
(a problem that will later prove quite painful, and that I need
to solve since it's happened a few times now). This road isn't
as nice as the way I came, more traveled, and entirely
paved. It does as usual alternate fields and villages,
and I do meet many people, as well as in a village a pack of
rather aggressive dogs (which actually illustrates
that the rocks I carry are not needed: In this instance,
I had tucked them in my pockets, and held the dogs off with
stern looks, hand gestures, and some talking! Peasants as
usual help me in this.) I'm losing courage, not having enough
food or water, and increasingly daunted by the remaining
distance (everyone I ask invariably responds "10 kilometers").
I take frequent walk breaks, some quite long.
On the road, approaching another village, I meet a group
of young women with children, with whom I engage conversation.
They're strikingly beautiful, as so many women here,
and for once accept to be photographed. Noticing my exhaustion,
one politely offers to give me water, since her house is nearby.
I can't refuse that! I walk along with them a short way,
and politely stay out
as they enter their house (one of those colorful single-story
squarish houses), until I'm invited into the courtyard.
The father comes out and I ceremoniously introduce myself,
in Hindi, which he understands. A smaller girl comes out with
a tin jar full of water. I know I shouldn't drink from it, but
I am determined to not refuse their offer, like I had done in the
slums of Cauvary Nagar. I rearrange my water bottles to empty
two of them, into which I ask the girl to pour the water,
hoping to make
a mental note of where on my belt these will go. I warmly thank
this nice family.
This family will offer me water ---
This episode has revived me, and I'm able to resume
running more comfortably. But sure enough, probably because
of the exhaustion, I've completely forgotten where I've placed
the bottles with the new water. I'm growing thirsty again,
and decide to take the chance, emptying the bottle from my
front right receptacle. I'm both scared and thrilled by
this small risk, knowing also that I've trained myself to
drink the local water at some of the ITPL restaurants, so far
with no harm.
The road continues, and even though people keep confirming
the direction towards Whitefield, I'm increasingly concerned
that I must be taking a long way home. The cyclists had said
I would follow the river then cross it, but it is nowhere in
site. Then, to my great surprise, I come across the entrance
of Ayurvedagram! (This is the health resort where Cecile spent a week
last year). Crap, I've been making a huge loop around the
area! At least I know more or less where I am, and after some
distance, reconnect with Chassandra main road. I know this
to be heavy in traffic and unpleasant for running, and although
I could cut short through Imadahalli, I've really had
it for the day. I call Xavier asking him to meet me somewhere
along the road. After a little more running, I stop in a small
roadside shop to buy a two litre bottle of Coca Cola, and from there
walk while drinking. I have to discipline myself to not finish
the whole bottle. I look anxiously ahead hoping Xavier will
appear, but this is taking some time, to the point where I
start wondering if I got lost again (I've only run this
road once, shortly after arriving in Bangalore). But I
finally recognize the car, and am happy to be driven back home.
Xavier has nicely brought me a late breakfast of
Chapatis and Vegetable Curry.
Surprisingly, in spite of the relatively overcast condistions,
I come back with distinct sunburn marks on my face and arms.
Scenery near Bagalur --
Training Run "Keherawa" (13.4 Miles) - 07/05/09
Palm Meadows - through Imadahalli - Right turn into the fields -
Left turn at the factory, heading north - Explore several small
trails, all dead-ends - Resume going north - Pass Chassahandra
Main and continue on the trails - Reach railroad crossing in
Kalidugoli (if I remember): 1:04:02
Back through a busier road - Turned left on Chassahandra to
reconnect with the trails I had run earlier - Back through Varthur:
0:56:58
Time: 2:01:00
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 13.4 Miles
Wght: 154
Scene along the trail ---
It's been a long time that music hasn't imposed itself to
me on one of my runs or rides. It used to be that often, a
particular music would become the motiv for a day, playing
itself in my head through the long hours spent on the road.
But for some reason this hadn't happened in India yet - until
today. These musical motives aren't something I can force on
myself, they just happen. And today, it's the Keherawa Taal
(which I've been playing on the Tabla) which sticks with me,
constantly repeated
in my head, its beautiful perpetual beat providing a perfect
rhythm for the run: Dhaa Ge Naa Tin, Naa Ge Dhin Naa, Dhaa
Ge Naa Tin, Naa Ke Dhin Naa etc.
The weather has been cloudy, heavy, stormy at times with big
gusts of wind, but the rain never comes. The monsoon which should
have started by now is delayed, causing much anxiety. In particular,
the dams are not supplied with enough water, and the electricity
situation in Bangalore is even worse than usual, with several hours
of power cuts every day. Even in Palm Meadows where the backup
generators take over, power has been very unstable, causing the
circuits at the house to fail repeatedly, and breaking
the refrigerator, which will probably take days to get repaired.
This side of India is the most painful to westerners, who always
expect everything to work reliably. Not here.
So the weather is cloudy, somewhat heavy and oppressive,
and as the run goes, the wind picks up (which is a rather
nice thing), but the rain doesn't come. In this familiar circle,
I set off feeling tired, somewhat depressed, almost feverish
and dizzy with a lingering headache, but after having
pushed myself out the door,
the run transforms me once again. The various aches and pains
have subsided from the previous weeks have subsided.
I'm as often hesitant on the
route, and first head out by Ozone through Imadahalli. This is a bit
of a later start (9am) but heat isn't so much of a factor. After
the usual turn into the fields (where a beautiful family accepts
to be photographed), I take for the first time the road to the
left, which heads north. I quickly come to a very small village,
and resolve to explore the small trails in the area. As usual,
I'm greeted well by beautiful women and children
who are so busy near the house, washing outside, caring
for animals, or drawing intricate rangollis on their porch.
The first trail leads me through a small forest to a nice
peaceful river, and seems to dead-end at a small house where
after some hesitation I meet three young men and an older
guy with big catfish. The fish are caught in the river,
they explain, then
grown in this pond that they show me,
before being sold, probably in Varthur. Hoping to follow the
river further, I find that the trail soon ends after that,
and have to come back.
On the second trail, I'm greeted by a young boy who insists
on showing me fish as well. He escorts me along the trail
which leads to his house,
guarded by three large dogs. The boy shows me more ponds
whose water is
turbulent with fish, then introduces me to his older sister,
who came out of the house but
doesn't seem to care much. This trail is also a dead-end
so I retrace my steps, waving peaceful signs at the
barking dogs (these are attached).
Children playing in hay, near the river ---
A third trail leads me deeper into the fields, in beautiful landscape. I come across occasional peasants, all feels so peaceful. I eventually reconnect with the river, and from afar, see women washing clothes, by a small structure. This turns out to be a tiny isolated temple, and the women are doing laundry in a small waterfall (they emphatically refuse that I take pictures). An old man is at the temple, and even though he speaks Kannada only he invites me to a small pooja. I remove my shoes and kneel by the statue, as the man applies color to my forehead, lights campher and places the Aadit in front of the statue, which I cannot identify (the man mumbles its name, but in spite of having him repeat, I can't make it out). From here I'll run with a Bindi on my forehead, which I imagine will sweat down all over my face, and perhaps protected by this unknown deity. I thank the man, offer ten ruppees, and retrace my steps once again.
Improvised Pooja in a tiny riverside temple ---
Back on the main trail, which continues to head north, through
villages and fields, I eventually hit Chassahandra main road. I go
straight across the busy road,
where the trail becomes very small again, but
is probably running parallel to a bigger road whose noisy trucks
can be heard. Eventually, this leads to a bigger village (Kodigali,
if I remember correctly) and a railroad crossing. I decide to
head back from there, this time running on the road, fascinated
by all the workers on the sides, particularly the woman who
typically do all the carrying on their heads (I've heard that
men are very inefficient at this). Back to the familiar Chassahandra
road, where I take a left to join back the earlier trail. Along there,
a group of men assembled outside by a small shack greets me.
I approach them, and in Hindi (which I have a hard time understanding),
one of them offers me a drink. It's apparently some
coconut mixture, but they playfully say it might get to my head.
In spite of the risk, I'm determined to not refuse their offer,
but I do try to clarify, is there alcohol in this, or some other
stimulant? "Some whiskey in there", one jokes, but others
retort "good for health", with humorous gestures
to their bodies.
I finally take a sip from one of the orange plastic jars,
drinking Indian style with my lips not touching the container.
The taste is strange to say the least, somewhat salty, with a subtle
taste of fermentation. "Very healthy, have more," they comment,
but I decline. We then take pictures together, taking turns, so
for once I'm on the photos. I tell them about my earlier
Mandir experience, and one of them wipes the excess
color that has dripped onto my nose. We all shake hands repeatedly.
Not sure what the drink was, but I indeed do
feel great after this.
The running has become easy again, a smooth comfortable rhythm,
and the obsessive rhythm of the Keherwa is back in my head,
Dhaa Ge Naa Tin, Naa Ge Dhin Naa.... In a state of mind
that refers back to childhood fascination for Lawrence of Arabia,
I feel naïvely invulnerable.
Sharing a drink ---
Later that day, pretexting some errands, I take a long bike ride through the area, exploring more of the urban landscape, looking for variations to my daily commutes to work. It's amazing that amidst all the urban developments, there are still so many small pockets of farmlands, as well as many of these small slums. As usual, I'm moved by the apparent generosity of the people as I ride right through those. After much errance, I do make it to the supermarket. The clouds have continued to darken, but I trust that the rain will continue to be delayed. But as I exit the store, it's pouring! Finally a torrential monsoon rain has come. I have to ride back on the main road under this heavy shower, feeling exhilerated, as the road has transformed into a large running river, my bike creating large boat-like splashes, particularly near the speed bumps where so much water has accumulated. I return completely drenched but euphoric.
Training Run (12.4 Miles) - 07/12/09
Palm Meadows - through Imadahalli - Right turn into the fields -
Southern route - Trails - Leads to Timanalli: 0:36:06
From there to Aurohalli, via paved road: 0:19:28
To the river, then Shiva Mandir, then back on a dirt
road - Near Muthsandra - Small trails again - To Varthur: 0:49:37
Back to Varthur lake circle: 0:08:01
Time: 1:51:56 (total time: 2:46:09)
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 12.4 Miles
Wght: 154
Through the familiar Imadahalli road, to the fields.
It's another overcast day, relatively cool and windy, but still
the monsoon rain is not coming. Feeling every week more comfortable,
I quickly take the narrow dirt trails, some of which dead-end in
a field, or lead right into a small farm, but peasants are nice
enough to show me the way. "Aurohalli", I ask, having set
that as my destination for the day. After some meandering, the
trails take me to a small hamlet on a paved road, which people
confirm to me is Timanalli, which is the name I was previously
misusing for Aurohalli, having misinterpreted Google maps.
I ask the way here again, but the locals declare the inviting
trail closed (in spite of my insistence) so I reluctantly
take the paved road.
My guides in Aurohalli ---
As I approach Muthsandra, not wanting to take the road
that is now too familiar, I try once again to run a small
trail, and as often need to retrace my steps a few times
before finding the right passage. Sometimes this takes me
right into a farm, but this presents no problem, as the
peasants are kind enough to point me in the right direction.
Not knowing Kannada, I ask my way to Varthur mostly with
hand gestures, followed by the characteristic "aaa-aaaaa"
with which Kannada speakers punctuate sentences, giving
their speech a particularly charming tune-like quality.
This trail circumvents a large open plain with small hills,
where I know packs of dogs roam around, but this is not
a problem. Meandering through the lush fields, I meet
farmers along the way, women grazing cattle, etc. On
the approach to a small village, I see a woman half-naked
crouched over in the trees, right by the trail, going
to the toilet. I pass by with with discretion.
In the village, I stop briefly for directions. A cricket
ball lands by my feet which I throw back to some boys.
A few little girls don't know the way, but an older
boy indicates me the way to Varthur,
another dirt trail. A young man on his
bike, carrying a backpack, follows me, and eventually escorts
me through the maze of small trails (without him, I would
have undoubtedly gotten lost). He's nice enough to
pedal slowly so that I can follow him, and we
occasionally chat
along the way, as he speaks good english. When told my name,
he exclaims "...such a beautiful name..."
with surprising emphatic wonder in his voice.
I return the compliment, although his name is difficult
to pronounce. He's going to Varthur for tuition,
and escorts me all along the way. I'm quite tired and
my breathing is becoming loud and heavy, but I make an
effort to stay with him. Finally, several houses are
there, and in a dirt alley, I recognize a young
handicapped man playing on the ground, who had once
thrown a stone at Jeremie and I on our way to
perform Ujjivan interviews. Soon, after one last new
shortcut following my host, we're back in the familiar
little town of Varthur.
I returned to Aurohalli the following week. This time,
I came on a bicycle, and took Jeremie with me.
Noticing the culture of silkworms in the village,
we stop for some time at a man's house,
chatting and taking a few pictures, while kids outside
amused try our bikes.
I then take Jeremie through the same trail towards the river near
the Shiva Temple. A few kids join us then. To my
surprise they are all calling out my name,
"Philippe! Philippe!".
My guide from last week arrives also, today wearing brown shirt
and short pants, probably a school uniform. I feel saddened by his
visible disappointment
that I haven't brought the pictures. But he still
proposes, in his same earnest voice, "I shall
follow you back to the village". Sheepishly, I promise him again
to bring prints of the photographs some other time.
"You remember my house?",
he confirms.
-- Culture of silkworms in Aurohalli --
-- Silkworms near Imadahalli --
Training Run "Ein Heldenleben" (13.3 Miles) - 07/26/09
Palm Meadows - through Imadahalli - Right turn into the fields -
Southern route - to Aurohalli via paved road: 0:44:22
To the river, then Shiva Mandir, then back on a dirt
road - Muthsandra - Took trail from the village - Reaches
school road in Jagondanahalli - Small trails again - To Varthur: 1:04:08
Back to Palm Meadows entrance: 0:11:19
Time: 1:59:50 (total time: 2:48:37)
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 12.4 Miles
Wght: 155
I came back to Aurohalli.
Eager to not disappoint my young friend, I had planned
this carefully, this time
printing some of my pictures, and have been
impatiently looking forward
to bringing them to the village. I've stuffed
the pictures in one of those
strong plastified enveloppes in which we receive mail from the
US. The enveloppes are bright red and yellow, so people must be
wondering why I'd be running carrying such a conspicuous package
(I hold it in one hand, the proverbial rock in the other).
The monsoon rains still haven't come (which I've heard
blamed on El Nino), in fact, the weather is no longer stormy
even, as it was for the past weeks. Marvelous sunshine, with
a slight wind, and some heat.
But I don't feel so good today, slightly dizzy,
heavy (I've been steadily gaining weight,
and unable to control it),
and the weariness doesn't dissipate with running.
Eager to reach Aurohalli to present my gift, I stick to the
more or less paved road, through Imadahalli, then
through the beautiful rural landscape. I soon spot a man
on the side of the road placing silkworms in one of those
basket platters. The worms are alive and squirming,
appear big. I stop, take a few pictures with his consent.
The dogs are a bit aggressive
today, which I've noticed all week, much barking but no real
aggression. As usual, the peasants shake their heads
reassuringly.
Near the entrance of Aurohalli I find one of those large
wedding signs, made of flowers, pointing to the Shiva Temple.
On the road is one of those small Iguanas, running across.
I enter the village hoping to recognize familiar faces, hoping
that my friend will come soon after hearing of my arrival. I walk
towards his house, through the small passages. I can't exactly
remember his name, try to say, "Rajesh Kumar", "Is he here?
I came to give the photos". A familiar-looking
boy corrects me, "
Anjun Kumar, he lives in the next alley" (I am surprised
at my mistake, thinking I had recognized the place). As
more and more people gather around me, coming out of the small
single story colorful squarish houses, I carefully open the
enveloppe and start distributing the pictures, which people
grab with glee. Women, men, children, all have come, and
are sharing the prints with disproportionate enthusiasm,
laughter. This turns out to be
quite a party. Kids offer me some chip-like snacks, while
I reciprocate with the two cereal bars I was carrying in
my pockets.
I have even brought
prints of photos that I had previously taken on the other
side of the village, of this man who had offered to tour
me around. They know him of course, but women warn me, "this
man, alcohol problem". All the pictures have been taken from
me, so I plead, "you must give them to Anjun Kumar, I brought
them for him. Can we not go see him?" The kids agree to take me
there, and through the narrow passages between the houses,
scaring goats along the way, we make it to the next alley,
and stop by a house, from which the kids call the adults.
A new crowd forms here also, a serious young girl who speaks
better english asks me for the pictures, but I no longer have
them. A woman is introduced as Anjun's mother, and I explain
that I've come back with pictures, but people in the next
alley have them. But soon some kids come
running to us with what's left of the photos, and
we can watch them all over again. Anjun is at the shop,
they finally explain, and I make them earnestly
promise to show him the pictures.
I then manage to take back the
two photos from the other side of
the village, and escorted by a few kids run over there. Instead
of the tiny house where I had previously met this man, they
take me to the next house, from which a young woman comes out,
probably the woman on the picture (I can't exactly recognize
her for some reason). She accepts it with a
beautiful smile.
We then decide to all run to the river, where we find
a mother and her daughter herding sheep, washing them in
the river. My children crowd is as rowdy as usual, splashing
in the water, begging for more photographs. We run up the hill
to the Shiv Mandir where the marriage is taking place.
The temple has been decorated, a large indian tent harbors
the guests, some women in rich sarees. Amused at the sight
of my appearance
with this guard of kids, a respectable man,
the father of the bride
as it turns out, invites me in warmly. In Hindi, he asks me
to call my family on the phone to join the celebration,
eat food here,
but I politely decline. He then offers me coffee, of which
the kids have already grabbed plastic cups, and we all
drink together. The man explains that this temple has
four thousand adepts (where could they be coming from? there
is nearly nothing around here...), and that he owns one of
the main houses in Aurohalli. After profusely thanking him
for his hospitality, escorted by two of the most enduring
kids until the next intersection, I set out on the dirt road.
-- Giving the photographs in Aurohalli --
This miraculous episode, and the coffee, have finally dissipated
my weariness. I feel light and happy, running comfortably,
wondering in amazement
at the beauty around me.
I resolve to come back again, with more photographs,
and hopefully meet my friend, whose name I'm determined to not
forget this time. I repeat it in rhythm, Anjun Kumar, Anjun
Kumar, and finally cling on to the word "Angel" as a sure
way to not forget. I'm euphorically overwhelmed by a strange
somewhat sarcastic sense
of heroism. Ein Heldenleben
has been playing in my head all week.
The road here is familiar, and takes me to Muthsandra, from
where I opt to explore some small trail instead of returning
directly via the tar road. This takes me through the depths
of the village, a narrow alley where the gaovalle
salute me kindly. This soon becomes a small trail, which eventually
leads to another road, where I ask my way to Varthur. But
dissatisfied to run on road, I soon turn into another small trail,
where once again I find myself isolated
in this intricate maze of paths,
knowing that in this flat wooden landscape it's difficult to
find ones way. I have a good enough sense of the general direction
though, and eventually recognize the entry to a village where
I was lead by that boy on a cycle two weeks ago. I follow
the shortcuts that he had shown me. Along the way, a group of
kids calls to me. They are doing a fundraising for some Ganesh
temple. One speaks words of broken Hindi, and we dutifully fill the
formalities. I give them ten ruppees for which he hands me a
receipt that we carefully fill together. "Bhagvan Ganesh ke
lye", we repeat a few times, our eyes to the sky.
In Varthur, another celebration must be going on, as the
small town is loud with music, flowery signs. Enthusiastic,
enthralled while
admiringly watching the usual bustling crowd, the many now familiar
visions of life in India, I feel like dancing to its sound.
-- By the river in Aurohalli --