-- Roopa --
Aurohalli - 08/15/09
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
We return to Aurohalli, as promised last week, this time by car.
It has rained heavily through the night, at last. The roads
are very muddy. The village center is almost deserted, and we feel
slightly awkward coming out of the car. But soon after we walk down
the small streets, some of the kids come running for us. I have
made prints of the pictures at ITPL, and one of the familiar boys
almost grabs them from me. Cecile, Madeleine and I are taken into
Anjun's street, where people look at the new pictures. The boy
who took them from me, one of my original group of friends, insists
that I come to his house this time, and drags me by the hand to
the end of the street. His house is smaller than Anjun's. In the
first room, small and dark as usual, is a motorcycle on the side.
The boy's name is Rakesh.
A man I recognize from last week's pooja
pulls up a plastic chair for me in the middle of the room, while
a young woman, Rakesh's older sister, brings out cookies
on a tin plate, and Sprite. I am joined
by Cecile and Madeleine, who sit on the floor on a thin carpet.
They ask where are other family members,
remembering their names. Roopa is particularly disappointed to
hear that Flora has left back for the States.
Some of the children have joined us in the
room, although it's not as crowded as last week. A few of the
little girls are sitting or standing in front of Madeleine,
who has found a tiny kitten who sits on her lap.
People come and go, holding
various pictures, although some of the photos are fought over.
I recognize the face of a man, the "bird man" from last week,
and with a gesture, mimick his dance from the pooja. He looks
cleaner and more noble today, dressed in white, a tidy tikka
on the forehead. I tell him I have pictures of him, but they
are nowhere to be found. More arguments ensue, as one boy
is keeping a whole stack for himself.
After some time, the kids want to take us to the Shiva temple,
but I remind everyone my promise to Roopa to come visit her house.
She actually insists again:
"Will you eat? You promised you will eat?". "Of course", I
reassure her,
following her to a house halfway up the street, where two
women - her aunt and her grandma - greet me.
They pull up three plastic chairs in the small
dark room, and a low plastic blue table, like a toy, for me to
eat on. No TV here, seemingly no electricity. Roopa seems
to be guiding things as home, as the women nicely greet me.
With them, she has that same tone of authority, a little harsh.
But she then relaxes, perhaps comforted that I'm finally
sitting in her house.
Roopa explains that
she lives here with her aunt, while her parents are in a village
some 100 kms away. Her father works in a factory there, as team
manager, but she has moved here since schools are better. She brings
me a plate, washes my right hand with water from a tin cup.
She then serves me a spicy vegetable mixture which she puts on
white sticky rice, which I eat with my hand. I accept a second
helping and a banana. Anjun emerges out of the other room, to
my surprise. "He was sitting there, Roopa explains, he didn't
want to disturb you. Cecile and Madeleine have joined me, sitting
next to me. Roopa also brings us some beans, but as we hesitate
she offers to cook them. A boy brings wood sticks inside the house,
all the cooking being done on the fire. The woman brings back the
beans, but there too hot. The older woman takes them back, "she
will cold them" explains Roopa. The woman places the bean in a
flat basket, shakes them a few times, shedding the skins on the
ground. The beans are delicious.
Roopa is more relaxed, opens up
to a smile, as she describes her family. She would love to take
us one day meet here parents. As we're talking, a hen enters the
room and is chased away. Both her Aunt and her Grandmother try
to talk to us, but they only speak Telugu and Kannada. I learn
a few of the other kid's names. The little girl who had such
a wonderful playful face on my first visit,
but had suffered some sort
of trauma last week, is back to her usual self. Her face
had been swollen, her smile mostly absent, but today her
face appears so small in comparison, happy, with kitten-like
features. In fact, Roopa
explains that she won three medals this morning, singing and
dancing at school for Independance day.
Roopa once again washes my hand before we all get up.
On the way back to the village center, I recognize
one of the most avid dancers from last week. I salute him
and tell him he was on some of the pictures, but Anjun
indicates that he only speaks Telugu.
Back at the village center, we decide to stuff as many
kids in the car to go to the nearby Shiva temple, while
Cecile, Madeleine and I (and two boys) walk alongside.
At the temple, after taking some group pictures, the kids
take us down to the river, which has overflown from the recent
rain. In fact, the trail that leads there from the other
side is entirely under water. By the river, the little girl
who won the medals at school
performs here entire routine for us, in front of all her friends,
a cute little rhyme in English, that she sings in a small voice
while dancing. We all applaud.
This is where they will be drowning the Ganesha idols
in next week's festival. They invite us for that,
but unfortunately, I will be in the
States. "In America", they repeat several times,
stressing the syllables. Perhaps Cecile will be able to come?
The kids grab my hands up the hill. After visiting the
Lord Shiva Mandir (where the kids again play loudly with the
bells), we stuff them back
in the car, return them all to the village. There, Xavier
has dropped them near their street, but they all come
running back for us. Anjun has been
asking for my number, but I have no pen. Someone produces
one, and he carefully writes on his palm under
my dictation, then repeats the numbers earnestly.
In spite of my hesitation,
I've given him my real number,
reluctant to lie, and feel happy that I haven't broken
the boy's trust.
A smaller kid also wants my number on
his hand. I write quickly, almost inelegibly, but other
children carefully trace the numbers for him. We get in
the car while they call my name. Roopa has disappeared,
probably gone back to her house, we miss bidding her
goodbye.
- Pause - (Redwood Shores)
Redwood Shores.
From the Marriott long trail around the peninsula,
back via Bridge Parkway.
Time: 1:05:54
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 7.3 Miles
On the way back, a small dog suddenly jumps at me barking, barely misses
biting my leg.
The owners, an elderly couple, discipline the cute fluffy thing while
apologizing profusely. "Thik Hai, Thik Hai,", I wave at
them passing by, wondering if I should throw a rock at the group.
- Redwood Shores, durchführung (Walküre) -
- Children of the Dunmore House slums -
Training run "Dunmore house" (8 Miles) - 09/06/09
Palm Meadows - E trail - Whitefield Circle - EEC route to IPTL: 0:39:59
Sai Baba - Dunmore House route back to Palm Meadows: 0:31:40
Time: 1:11:39
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 8 Miles
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
Back since Wednesday, adjusting to the jet lag. But deeply perturbed
by my stay in the Bay Area, I decide to plunge right back into things
as quickly as possible. I've printed the
last set of Dunmore House photographs,
hoping that the slumdwellers will remember me. I decide to essentially
take my normal commute to work routes, coming back through the slums.
As before, I'm carrying the printouts in one of our red/yellow
plastic enveloppes.
The weather is heavy and humid, but luckily I feel ok, after a
few days of complete exhaustion from the jet lag. On the way to ITPL,
the ECC road is in complete disrepair, encumbered by large piles of
stones while it is being worked on. There,
a man in sandals runs with me for a while, chatting along the way,
explaining that he lives at the ECC (Œcumenical Christian Center)
where many community events are organized. He leaves me at the entrance.
- Lakshmi -
On the way back, I find to my disappointment
that the road to Nellurahalli has been
paved, not as good for running. Approaching the slums, lively
at this hour, I recognize from a distance the girl with the pink dress,
and feel nervous anticipation. But the slumdwellers recognize me.
I produce the pictures and once again distribute them. The whole
group coalesces around me with beaming smiles, and I recognize faces
from my previous pictures. One man speaks some Hindi for a change.
We go through the kids name, but other than identifying the girl
with the green flower dress as Lakshmi, I'm unable to retain names.
The small
schoolboy who lives in the next community has come too, so I can
finally give him his picture. The
children pose for me, proudly displaying the photos. Laskshmi
has started crying, away from the group, but I joke her in Hindi
to smile for the pictures. The adults thank me, and the kids and
I all run together to the next shack community, a few yards away.
There too, I am well received, very happy to meet people here as well.
A woman jokingly wants me to take pictures of a man bathing nearby.
Then the parents proudly present their children. Finally,
the small community waves at me as I resume my run down the trail.
A pack of about ten dogs is lying rignt on the dirt trail. They stir
and bark at my approach, but feeling confident after this episode
I easily command them with a hand gesture.
Tues 09/08/09 --
W. trail, a mother is setting her naked child to poop on a pile
of dirt. We smile at each other. Later on the trail, a man by
his bike, in occidental clothes, is also pooping on the trail,
splashing his butt from a puddle.
In the Dunmore house slums, the pink dress girl and the naked
boy (clothed today) come to greet me. I ask them their names,
but I'm confused by the answer. An adult nearby clarifies:
The girl is Diryama (or Giryama), the boy Andjapa. I write the
names down, as I've been carrying paper and pen for that purpose.
Later I find from Jayanti and Jagdishwar that Andjapa is derived
from Andjane, the southern name of Lord Hanuman-ji
(the monkey god). As for Giryama,
the suffix ama ("mother") is used in southern India to address
a woman with respect.
In the last shack community (by the temple), I engage with
a new group of children, particularly a beautiful little
girl who seems eager to talk, unfortunately in Kannada only.
I ask for her name, but she keeps repeating Andhra, Andhra,
which probably means something else (although even after
investigation I will not discover the meaning of this).
An older man, whom I address
in Hindi, helps me translate somewhat, but the girl continues
to address me in Kannada. Not quite knowing what to say, I talk
about the Naigullu, as there are two cute little puppies
further down the trail, then the "Mandir", the temple which is blaring
music at this hour. I wish I had taken the camera,
and tell her that I'll come
back to take pictures if she wants (the old man helps clarify).
I run through Nellurahalli on the newly paved road, take
the direct road up to ITPL. In an exporatory mood, I try out
the trail along the lake, which is pretty but unfortunately
dead-ends in deep woods, so I retrace my steps. The road is
very lively at this hour.
Thur 09/10/09 --
Exhausted after last night's insomnia, but a bright beautiful
sunny day, and I had sworn to myself to return to Dunmore house.
First shacks I meet a boy, who addresses me in Kannada, and I
understand "photos". Ok, and we strike a few poses. His name
is Sunil (could it be one of the two original schoolboys? Not
sure...) Then he runs with me (barefeet of course) to the
2nd community, and I slow down for him, managing his
increasingly heavy breathing. Once there
he calls on to his friends, and Giryama and Lakshmi show up,
also ready for a photo shoot. I kneel at their level, talk to them.
Two men approach, one carrying a baby. Their faces are daunting,
one is missing an eye, the other looks ravaged, and for
a fleeting moment I wonder if I'll be in trouble. But I introduce
myself and quickly find them friendly, respectful. I proudly
display my knowledge of the kids names. I happily find that the
man speaks some Hindi. I congratulate him on his son
Tumahara beta sundar hai (but out of habit I have not
addressed him as aapka which would have been more
respectful); then, pointing to the children, "Ve mere
dost hai...". He then introduces himself but
his name is difficult, and we part having established
some beginning of a
relationship. Passing by the last shacks by the temple,
to my disappointment, the
kids from yesterday are nowhere to be found. Patience...
-- Giryama, Lakshmi and Sunil --
Training run " with Phil Brock " (9.3 Miles) - 09/13/09
Palm Meadows - through Imadahalli - trail through the fields -
Timanalli - Aurohalli: 0:42:47
Back on paved roads, through Varthur: 0:41:26
Time: 1:24:13
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 9.3 Miles
Wght: 156
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
Phil Brock is in town from California, and we decide to
go on a run together. The weather has been painfully
hot and humid these last few days.
We go through Imadahalli where we cross a loud
Pooja, then make the usual left into the fields. The trails
are muddy but still runnable. We arrive in Aurohalli by
the now familiar route.
There, we're quickly greeted by Rakesh and a couple
other kids. Rakesh's head has been shaved, but won't
explain why.
They take us into the central temple (which
I had never entered before). A priest soon comes, applies
the Tikka to us and performs the Aadit. The man speaks some
Hindi and English. I ask him whether I could do something
for the village, but he shakes his head, either because
he hasn't understood or because the village doesn't
really need my help.
- temple in Aurohalli -
I want to meet Roopa or Anjun, ask Rakesh about them. We walk
to their street, after having stopped at the tiny village
shop for a soda (the men insisted that we sit there for
a pause). Roopa meets us in front of her house, having
just come out, looking a bit disheveled. The kids, loud
as usual, insist on taking us swimming (do they
mean in the river?). Roopa asks
if I have brought pictures, but I promise to bring them back
next time. I explain to her again that I've just returned from
the US. I ask her if she wants to take a picture now, but
conscious of her appearance
she'd prefer to wash up first, "first go to the pool,
then come back to my house" she directs us.
- "You must come back here,"
she adds with her usual insistance.
On the way, Rakesh and the boys are too noisy, whistling
unbearably loud through the small village alleys.
I show Phil one of those small Iguanas, but it's quickly
chased away by the boys. Anjun
has joined us, and I ask him how to tell them to be quiet
in Telugu or Kannada, but the words are too complicated
for me to repeat well enough. Half Anjun's cheek
is covered with what
looks like dry mud. "Are you ok?", I ask him. "Fever", he
explains. - "See a doctor?" - "No. Bhagvan", he replies.
On the way, we see again silkworm culture. I only trust
Anjun with my camera, but wonder if that honour could
create jealousies within the group. Anjun takes a few
nice close-ups of the worms.
The boys take us to the "swimming pool", a
large puddle created by the recent torrential rains
where we had once crossed together into the fields.
The boys jump, naked or half-naked. Then in a deep well
nearby one of
the boys performs some spectacular dives. My camera has almost
run out of batteries and space and I'm not able to photograph
him.
- the "swimming pool" -
Back to Roopa's house. I pull her to the side to explain
why my friend won't be able to eat the village food, and
ask her earnestly to not get offuscated. She insists on
receiving us, and places again in the small dark room
two plastic chairs and the plastic blue table. "Five minutes,
she will prepare food for you", she says pointing to her aunt.
I get reacquainted with everyone, focus on learning more
people's names, and enter some of them in my cell phone
to not forget. Roopa has two cousins, Vandana (the girl
who danced by the river) and little Ruchita (whom Madeleine
had liked so much). Her aunt is Neetra, and is much more talkative
today, even though we share no common language.
Roopa remembers that Madeleine's birthday
is on Oct 23, close to hers. In spite of her apparent maturity,
Roopa, like Madeleine, is only twelve. Phil shows images of
California and his family on his camera,
much to everyone's interest. One
of them shows snow, which none of them have seen.
As we're waiting, we all share water from my belt.
Anjun being sick, Phil's urges caution, but the kids drink
without touching the bottle with their lips. This water is
good, I encourage them, to which Roopa asks me if I've boiled it.
"This is sort of mineral water", I reply, "do you boil water?".
"Of course," she answers.
I then ask for a tour of the house, starting with the
kitchen, a small dark room with tin pans and plates, in
the middle of which nuts are being cooked from a small
gas bottle (otherwise things are cooked in the chimney).
"No electricity here?", I ask, but to my surprise Roopa
turns on a dim light bulb. In the main room, we notice
a Winnie-the-Pooh teddy bear (Roopa's) so Phil and
I start singing the song to everyone's amusement,
but we quickly run out of words. A Pooja room shows three
images, Shiva and Parvati, Ganesha (my favorite God,
exclaims Roopa emphatically)
and a Goddess whose name I can't remember.
Finally, Roopa shows her room, just big enough for a bed.
She turns on a ceiling fan, welcome in this heat.
Back at the table, Neetra brings a plate of peanuts,
fresh from the fire. They are so hot that I can barely
touch them, so Roopa peels some for me. As I fail to peel
them well, Neetra, Roopa and the whole group of
children all
start feeding me (how can they do this without burning
their fingers!?), and even after I've had enough, they
continue to jokingly place peanuts in my hand.
"Roopa, you've invited me to your house. Is there
something I could do for you?" She doesn't hesitate much,
and remembering our conversation before my trip, asks
if we could all go together visit her parents. It's a
two hour trip from here, if I came with the car, we
could also bring along her cousins Vandana and Ruchita,
whose mothers also live in that village. "I haven't
seen my parents in a year", she explains.
This sounds good to me, I should be able to
return next Sunday, in
the morning, we'll go. We exchange cell numbers, and
eventually she calls her father, then passes me the phone.
A man speaking little English is on the line. He
wants to make preparations for our visit and I encourage
him to keep it simple, but don't know if I'm understood.
It seems that they want to cook some meat, and Roopa
and I discuss our preferences.
Roopa makes me promise several times, "you'll come,
you prômise, you prômise", she repeats,
accentuating the O with her particular
accent. I finally look at her with emphasis: "Roopa, I
promise
I will come. Don't you trust me?" - "I trust you, she answers,
you are my best friend". We all exchange cell phones in
case something were to happen. Anjun reminds me that he
already has my number, has called me but found it always
switched off. "I was in the US, I explain, it didn't
work over there."
Inside Roopa's house :
Left to right: Rakesh, Roopa, Ruchita, Jayashree, Monika,
and at the very far right, "little Roopa".
Clockwise: Neetra, Roopa, Jayashree, Vandana and Ruchita.
Phil hasn't eaten, and even though I've carefully explained,
Roopa's feelings seem hurt. I scold her: I've told you, from
America, he cannot eat the village food, he could get very very
sick, he could even die, you said you understood!
She apologizes, and we thank her
for the honour of coming to her house. Time to leave.
Jayashree insists that we should come
to her house too, but as it's getting late, I promise
it for some other time.
In the village,
Rakesh wants to take us again to the Shiva temple,
but it's time to go home. He drags me by the hand but finally
reluctantly lets go, then waves as we start running.
On the way back, the heat gets to me, and I feel tired,
short of breath.
After
a couple short walk breaks, we make it ok to Varthur.
Commute runs "Les Galettes" - 09/15/09
PM - W. Trail - Dunmore house - then through Nellurahalli -
ECC route to ITPL: 0:46:15
Mileage: 5.15 Miles
Wght: 156
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
A bright sunny day, a little too hot. The trails are still
muddy from the recent torrential rains (it has started raining
inside my office again!).
I have been given a box of French Cookies
"Galettes de la Mère Poulard" in the US, and want
to give them to Giryama and her friends,
so I set off running this time
carrying the box in a plastic bag (the recent batch of pictures
will have to wait for distribution).
Approaching the slums, on the trail, I pass this pack
of dogs again, but they let me peacefully through.
From a distance, I'm happy to see Giryama and Andjapa
running towards me, laughing. I may have become part
of their morning routine.
I slow down and take the box of cookies out of the bag,
try to explain. Inside the box, the cookies are packaged
in small plastic pouches, I open one of them with my teeth,
propose a cookie to them. But they're hesitant, so I eat
one to encourage them. The adults have come, smiling. The
young woman whom I assume to be
their mother encourages the children,
and Anjapa being braver tries it first (he accidentally
drops the cookie down then blows on it before eating).
I go through the children's name, but today the boy's
name is also Anjun, not Anjapa, according to the woman
(could that be a usual nickname?). We take
photos, and Giryama poses with the box, putting a cookie to
her mouth for the picture, but without ever chewing
on it. THe mother offers me more cookies from the box. More
adults approach from the shacks,
more pictures. As the group breaks, a young man
stays with me to chat. His name is Krishna, and with only
a few words of Hindi or English, I find out that he's a
tiler. I leave this group, promising as usual to come
back with the snaps.
- Sharing the cookies, Dunmore house slums -
Near the temple, in the third slum community, I find
the two girls from last time (I think). They place themselves
on each side of the trail where it narrowly passes through
a wall, waiting for me to speak first. I ask them if they
would take pictures today. A couple sitting nearby looks
on with a benevolent eye, nodding at me in approval. In
asking them, I've joined my hands to my chest as if in
prayer, and perhaps the girls have taken this as a
direction, as they strike that same pose for the picture,
looking very serious. I try to make them smile and they
eventually laugh, followed by the adults.
On the other side of the
wall, a man, living in a tent, proudly displays two cats
for the camera. I ask the girls to join me in visiting
the cats but they refuse, staying to their side.
Fri 09/18/09 -- Dunmore house
Time: 0:32:18
Mileage: 3.6 Miles
Wght: 154.5
I have not been able to come back here all week because
of the abundant rain which make the terrain impractical, but
today is a nice sunny day (still quite muddy though).
I'm carrying many printouts in the usual DHL enveloppe. I pass
the first community without stopping as noone seems to engage,
then approaching the 2nd, see a good group of children running
towards me. Giryama is today wearing the green flower dress so
I at first mistake her for Lakshmi, but am soon corrected. Lakshmi
actually shows up almost entirely naked, and at some point starts
crying as if from stomach pain. I produce the pictures. One man
from the first community asks for his picture (which I'm not
carrying), then recognizes a man
on the photos as his brother. I offer to walk back
there together with
him to distribute the pictures. It's a bit overwhelming,
everyone wanting their picture taken. As in the village, some of
the kids approach me, Uncle, Single Photo, Single Photo.
After a while, a young man washing
his teeth seems to grow impatient, "bas", he repeats a few times
(enough),
either to protect my time, or because he's fed up with the
activity. The kids all start running with me along the trail,
saying Baya! Baya!, and I repeat running with them.
I later find out from Xavier that this
would mean "to be scared"?
Doesn't make sense.
-- Dunmore house, "first community" --
(Giryama is on the far right, wearing Lakshmi's dress)
Little Sunil escorts me running back to the second community. He seems
to have taken that role onto himself, and I'm careful to slow
down enough for him. The mother comes with Anjapa
("Anjie"). To my great surprise, she hands the little boy a 100
RS. bill, and at first it looks like she wants him to give
it to me, which I refuse emphatically. But Anjapa hands up
posing with it for the camera, and I feel like such an idiot
for having misread the intention. I meet
Krishna again and give him his photo.
-- Anjapa, Lakshmi, Dunmore House "second community" --
Still running with little Sunil who has decided to be my
faithful escort for the day, we reach the third community. One
of the girls (her name is Suvita) is there. The activity here
is even bigger, many people come out, many pictures. A man proudly
shows his truck in the distance, "Lal Gari", I comment, which
makes everyone laugh. I try to get people's names, write some
of them down. One man declares his name as "Reddi", but we all
laugh as I try to repeat it, probably not curling my tongue
well enough on the D. They however
have no problem repeating my name.
An old woman talks a lot, insists that
I take her son's picture, a man in his thirties, who looks
slightly retarded. She makes efforts to speak in barely recognizable
Hindi, I catch only a few words here and there out of her
abundant flow. She seems to point out that her son has studied
for eight years, but I don't know what to make of that information,
as the son is shyly staring at the ground.
We walk over
to the cat man (Umresh). Following his example,
another man proudly displays
two puppies. Sunil has been with me all this time, and continues
to run after me even once I leave this community. We stop a short
time in front of the temple, take a few parting pictures.
I shake his hand and send him back home. A young man
walks with me to the Nellurahalli road. We valiantly try to
communicate in broken English and Hindi, but this proves
unfortunately too hard.
On the direct way from Nellurahalli to ITPL, at this
hour extremely busy, a couple dogs erupt at me, barking and
snarling. I hold them in check with my rock held high (for
some reason, I exclaimed out in French: Chut!). At
the corner of my eye, I notice two guys immediately coming
out with a club to help me out. "Thik hai, Thik hai,
I wave at them since the dogs are keeping to a safe distance,
Shoukriya."
-- "Third community": Talkative woman, "Reddi",
Sunil in front of the temple --
Training run (14.3 Miles) - 09/20/09
Time: 2:08:31
Pace: 9'00" / mile
Mileage: 14.3 Miles
PM - Varthur - To the left after the Market -
Turn left before reaching Hanuman Temple - Muthsandra: 0:50:10
Aurohalli: 0:14:18
Muthsandra - exploring small trails and villages -
back through Imadahalli: 1:04:02
Have not been able to hold my promise, unbeknownst to me,
other plans for this Sunday. I have been calling Roopa all
week to warn her that we wouldn't visit her parents this
Sunday as promised. Finally, she calls me back one morning.
I hope she fully understands what I'm saying. "You'll come
to the village, right?"
At least, I have printed many pictures, mostly of her
family and Anjun's. I take a very late start today (around
9:30), partially because I'm waiting for things to dry
up after another night of thunderstorms and heavy monsoon
rain. I take the road through Varthur, then turn left
after the market, thinking this way won't be as messy,
but even here it's very muddy. I turn left before the
little Hanuman temple, which leads me to Muthsandra,
and from there to Aurohalli.
Rakesh as usual is the first one to find me. I resist
his impulse to take the enveloppe with the photos away from
me, and we walk together to Roopa's house. I try to quiet
the kids along the way, who in a growing mob are screaming
my name. I enter Roopa's house, want to distribute the pictures
myself (things as usual are getting a little out of hand) but
she insists on doing that herself ("Please, Please",
she orders in her particular tone). She asks me to sit down
on the usual plastic chair (today, there is also a motorcycle
in the room), and disappears in the next room with the pictures,
followed by a few children. I ask her several times if things
are ok in there.
She wants to cook me a meal. I first reply that I should
go, but realize that they've made Dosas for me. She has actually
been trying to call me all morning, but complains that
my phone has been switched off (I always turn it off while running,
I explain). I'm still very wet with sweat, and Neetra kindly
offers me a small towel. Today, there is no electricity,
they explain. The food will take a little while longer,
so she encourages to take a walk with the kids, who want
to go swimming again.
At the "pool", they do a contest of dives. I have
purposefully kept my camera concealed, lying that I haven't
brought it, as this picture business is getting a bit
out of hand. Eventually, a woman comes with a cow, and
orders the kids around so that she can get in the water
with the cow to bathe it. She is followed by a man with
another cow who does the same, and then more cows are
taken there. On our way back, the kids start singing
in Kannada or Telugu and I try to repeat their words,
which leads to a nice game, where they all throw verses
at me which I repeat the best I can. Eventually, they ask
me to initiate a song, and all that comes to my mind is
West Side Story , so we all dance together to
the Jet song.
At Roopa's house, the Dosas are now ready. I ask her
if she would eat with me, so she sits in a second plastic
chair. As before, she washes my hand. They have made
the Dosas because she remembers that I was going to bring
French Crèpes, which had described as
sort of Dosas. The Dosas are eaten with a very
spicy mixture, but I acclimate to it after the first
bite. Roopa has been waiting for me to share this breakfast.
I explain to her why I'm so much later than usual, and
confirm that we will go visit her parents next Sunday.
This seems to work for her. The following Monday is also
off for me, but she has a social science exam that day
(which she finds easy), at her school, the main one
in Varthur (she would have preferred a private school
but didn't have enough to afford it). We make elaborate
plans for next week, particularly since having eaten
three times at her house, I'd really like to bring her
something. As it turns out, it sounds like her parents
house is near the airport, in North Bangalore.
I do ask Roopa if I'm not creating too much
of a disturbance in the village by coming so often,
but she replies that she's happy to be my friend.
She wonders why I haven't brought a picture of her
with Cecile and I, so I promise it for next time.
Phil who had come last week with me has just
left for the States. She
misses him, she says, "he spoke to me softly".
As we go through a few people's name, Roopa tells
me her full name, as well as the way her family calls
her. - "Me, just Philippe". - "You do not have a pet name?",
she asks.
I've eaten two Dosas which is more than enough, but
wonder if Neetra is offended that I haven't finished
the third one. Roopa leaves the house briefly. Neetra
is more and more comfortable with me, and keeps addressing
me in Kannada. Not understanding, I repeat everything
she says, which makes her laugh. Sometimes, I ask
Rakesh (who's in the room sitting on the motorbike)
for translation. Neetra and I have some sort of a conversation.
I finally leave the village, having spent much more
time than intended. But running on a full spicy stomach
doesn't work out, I'm plagued by digestion pains the
minute I run, and have to break into frequent walks.
During one such break I'm followed by a group of
four or five somewhat aggressive dogs, who I have
to face a few times to keep them at bay.
Eventually, my digestion problems disappear
and I can resume running comfortably.
People are as ever incredibly friendly in this area,
a group of youths tries to drag me into a Cricket game
grabbing me by the arm,
but I refuse pretexting that my wife will be angry
since I'm so later. Later a group of kids also
grab me but I have to dismiss
them also. In Muthsandra, a small
boy who speaks no English just keeps running with
me, "Jogging, Jogging", he repeats laughing,
until I finally send him back home. I try to explore
a few trails, but it's extremely muddy and I fail
at finding a way through. I come back the Imadahalli
route, after exploring a few more dead-ends. By
now the weather has completely lifted, clearing
to a beautiful sun. A few
times I hear loud temple music in the distance. Could
there be some festival today? I've stopped trying to
keep track of the many many celebrations.
Commute run (5.3 Miles) - 09/25/09
PM - W trail - Dunmore house - Through Nellurahalli -
Borewell Road - Whitefield inner circle - ECC route - ITPL
Time: 0:47:33
Mileage: 5.3 Miles
Wght: 156
Sometimes, doubt sets in. Am I forcing myself too much into
these people's lives? Will certain community members eventually
resent this invasion? What am I really bringing people? In
the end, I've been fed often without really giving much
back. Today I wake up to such doubt.
I have printed nearly 100 photos of the Dunmore House
dwellers, going back all
the way to my first encounters with the children. I've
arranged the pictures into three groups for ease of
distribution, separated by whatever paper I had handy:
printouts of my daily schedules. The trails are once
again very muddy after a routine night of heavy rain and
thunderstorms. As often, a man is shitting on the side
of the trail, his pants hung to a nearby branch.
Approaching the 1st slum community, still
wondering what my reception will be, I notice the
lal gari truck parked there. Still timid,
I wave to the slum dwellers. The miracle starts there.
The people crowd around me, their faces lightening
as they recognize themselves or their family. To
my surprise, Suvita (from the third community) walks
to us, carrying a school backpack, and I search for
her pictures, give them to her. The truck driver
is also here, wearing that same company shirt, and
I find two pictures of him. We're able to talk a bit
in some form of Hindi, mostly asking people's names,
family relationships. Parents are obviously so proud
of their children's pictures. I show the "small girl
with the cell phone" her picture, but she just stares
at me. A young man with better Hindi is more talkative,
and helps me navigate through people's names etc.
I explain that I have no camera today, Aaj mein daftar
me bhoul gaya, but I will come back again, since
this is the way I run to work.
Moving on to the second community, Anjun's mother
is first to recognize me. Anjun himself is wearing
short pigtails, which makes him look like a girl,
like the first time I met him. My friend Giryama
soon arrives, and I'm so happy to offer her her
nice portraits. "Giryama is a movie star", I joke,
pointing at the way she always strikes these funny
poses for the camera. She laughs, although I don't
think she understood. I point at the green flower
dress that she's wearing again today: "Isn't
this Lakshmi's?". Anjapa looks inside the enveloppe
for more, but all that is left are my old schedules.
"My work," I explain. Everyone looks at me quizzingly.
I inquire about Sunil but he has gone to school.
Giryama points to one of the shacks, then runs
with Sunil's photos over there. I ask for them
back as I want to distribute them myself to my
young friend. "Vo mandir tak mere sath dorta hai",
I explain showing the image in front of the temple.
The guys understand, "aapke sath chalta". As I'm
about to leave, I call on Giryama, can I get the
pictures back? She has given them to Sunil's father,
and I see the man come out from one of the shacks.
I politely ask if I may enter the community, to
meet the man. On the ground, little chicks have
been painted saturated pink, blue, green, pecking
in the trash. I express my surprise, but can't
understand why this is, how they did this.
I meet Sunil's father, a man in
his forties with one eye missing and a marked face.
He's beaming at his son's pictures. Eating rice
from a tin plate, he offers Khana, but I don't
know if he's offering me food or just using his
rare words of Hindi. We shake hands.
Finally, at the third community, I am greeted
by a man and two girls, rummage through the
remaining stack to find pictures of them. The
man with the thick hair comes, I recognize his
face but can't find his image until I search
deep inside the brown enveloppe where it was left.
I proudly hand it over to him, and the small
girl also happily recognizes herself, posing
with her father. The "man with cats" (Amresh)
comes out of his tent. We try to strike a
conversation but both his English and Hindi
are insufficient. I finally resume the run,
plunging staight into Nellurahalli.
Profoundly happy, I experience one
of those moments when running
feels like flying, completely effortless, careless.
I lengthen the run, connecting to the Whitefield circle
then to the ECC road. Through Pattandur Agrahara, on
that last section leading to ITPL, I'm running behind
an open truck full of workers. We smile at each other
from a short distance, the workers in the back facing me.
I jokingly accelerate as if to catch them up
but awkwardly drop one of my rocks in the process,
have to stop to pick it up, which has given time
for the truck to pull away. But a little further,
as the road
ascends a bit, becoming dirtier and muddier, the truck
is forced to slow down, allowing me to finally catch up.
I shake a few of the workers' hands as I pass by on
the side, just before reaching
ITPL. Nice fun contact...
Shortly after reaching the office, I get a call from Roopa.
It's slighly awkward to talk on the phone with her, communication
not being easy.
We've exchanged text messages during the week, but
she wants to confirm again that we are coming on Sunday
to take her to her parents' house. Of course we're coming!!
-- Some of the pictures distributed today --
-- Shri Naraenaswami and his children, Roopa and Arun --
Roopa's family - 09/27/09
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
Xavier and I drive to the village around 8.
I have anxiously prepared a few things, wanting to bring
some food but not sure what would be appropriate. We bought
a box of chocolate bars, and I ordered 20 croissants from
Marie-Annick. I'm a bit nervous for some reason, perhaps
I've overloaded this day with too much expectation.
We've barely entered the village that a few of the
familiar kids shout my name, and escort us to Roopa's
house. Xavier takes the car right into the small street.
Nobody seems quite ready yet. I bring the croissants
inside the house, and watch everyone eat. "From my
country", I explain. Anjun has asked me for permission
to get ready and has disappeared to his house.
I begin to understand that somehow or other they're
all relatives. "You've asked me for pictures with
me and my wife", I tell Roopa handing her two photos,
"I only found these".
-- Croissants in Aurohalli --
Left to right (both pictures): Vandana, Monika, Ruchita,
Hemanth and Roopa.
While Roopa herself is getting ready, Xavier and I
are invited into Monika's house
(I thought she was Anjun's brother),
and as usual offered some cookies and a very hot Chai.
The beautiful woman cools it down by pouring it back
and forth between two tin cups. This is another small
dark house, with very limited furniture. I notice four
of my large print photographs proudly displayed on a
shelf, and take comfort in the fact that Roopa must
have distributed them appropriately. The young woman
pulls a photo album, "Marriage", she says, trying to
articulate as best she can by speaking loud.
She takes two photos
out, hands them to me, "make big", she asks smiling,
pointing to the larger prints. I'm not sure I can do
this, I respond, but I can try. Outside, I am
introduced to Anjun's
father who's sitting on the ground cutting coconuts.
-- Anjun's father --
Roopa and her aunt Neetra are both ready, dressed
up for the occasion. Roopa is wearing a western outfit
with red polka dots, which curiously make her look like
a little girl. Her aunt Neetra has put on beautiful
red and green indian clothes, while Anjun is also looking
his best in "cool" clothes. But it's not just them.
Vandana, little Ruchita (who a little sick keeps
coughing) and the older brother who knows the
way (Umesh) are joined by two more boys,
Punith and Hemanth. I don't know how we're going
to fit all these inside the car, especially once
Cecile and Madeleine will join us (and probably
Cecile won't like this excess). I try to argue
with them, "too many people", I take the two
unexpected kids by their hands and gently drag
them out of the back seat. Roopa criticizes me,
"you told them to get ready, now they will cry".
I don't really remember but it must be true, in
the initial confusion.
It's very messy, now Vandana and Ruchita have also
exited the car, but I couldn't
possibly leave without them.
Hemanth is this sweet little boy who somehow always
manages to pop up in all the photographs, with
a wild-eyed smile. Seeing how the two boys have
dressed up for the occasion (they're even wearing
sandals for once), I don't have the heart to
leave them behind. All right, everybody get in
the car, we'll figure it out. Xavier reassures
me that this shouldn't be a problem with the police
or anything, we're not in Kansas anymore. I'm happy
to watch things unravel on their own, from the situation
I've created, without needing now much of my intervention.
-- Ruchita --
We're quite joyful on the short way from
Aurohalli to Varthur (much shorter then running,
although the half dirt road is still quite slow).
We play our favorite game of trying to teach
me Kannada songs. In Varthur, Roopa confirms
to me that she attends the large government
school, at the entrance of the small town.
"Palm Meadows looks like America", I warn
them, and they look wide-eyed as we drive through.
Once home though, my fears are confirmed.
The fact that I've brought
so many people leads to a heated argument. For me,
this is a terrible moment. The villagers stay on
the first floor, while hearing the argument
coming from upstairs, in French, but whose tone
of voice cannot be mistaken. They feel awkward
and don't even sit down. Anjun would like to visit
the 2nd floor, but I respond "some other time",
Cecile and Madeleine are getting ready. We manage
to all squeeze in the car, most of the villagers
packed in the back (it's a 7 seater), I share
a seat with Madeleine next to Neetra and will
travel the whole way with the seatbelt thing
poking my butt.
But the mood has been ruined by the small
incident. It's now uncomfortable, and after
a few vain attempts we all fall into silence,
while I watch the strained faces. Hopefully things
will lighten up once there. We take the rural
road to the airport, which takes about an hour,
and from there venture through rural areas and
villages, north of Bangalore, under the guidance
of the young man. Xavier and him enchange instructions
in Kannada, although most of it comes out as
a half-english mixture
"Left - aaaah?, Straight - aaaah,
Right - aaaah"... Soon after leaving though,
the kids, getting sick, start taking turns
throwing up out the window, which of course
creates some commotion in the already cramped
car, first Vandana, then Anjun, etc. I am amused.
Luckily others are sleeping.
This weekend is Dessara and Poojas are performed
on vehicles, so most cars, trucks, rickshaws, cycles, etc.
are decorated with flowers and colors, in fact, some of
the buses are so covered in garlands that it's hard
to imagine how the driver can see out the windshield.
At a small railroad crossing, a man asks us for
a donation to perform a pooja on the railroad barrier
itself. We see Nandi Hills in the distance. I hope
the young man hasn't lost us, but I'm reassured
when Neetra also starts recognizing the landscape.
It has been at least two hours.
-- In Dodabalapura --
Approaching the village, we go through a half industrialized landscape, with few factories or warehouses scattered among the farmland. We drive through ever shrinking streets, until it's too chaotic to go on, and finish by foot. An alley bordered by typical small squarish houses leads to Roopa's father's house, the nicest around. We've stayed respectfully behind, but are immediately greeted by Roopa's father, Naraenaswami, a rather large man with a warm smile. He drapes sandalwood garlands over our heads and invites us in, makes us sit in the main room. This is a more elaborate house than I've seen in the villages. The man quickly turns on the TV as a background activity, and the conversation starts a little laboriously. We both dabble in Hindi, but he admits to having forgotten what little he knew. Luckily Xavier is here to help, and they both speak in a mixture of Kannada, Telugu and Tamil (which both claim as their mother tongue). Roopa's father serves us mineral water from a refrigerator (probably a rare appliance in the village), cookies. Roopa has given the second croissant box which has quickly disappeared. The father shows us a photo album of the inauguration of the house, which he has probably finished building only recently. No photos of Roopa, although later we play a game of recognizing her on her school pictures, and have fun scolding Neetra who can't help giving the answer before we have time to find Roopa. As the meal isn't ready, and hearing the kids scatter about, we climb the stairs to the roof from where we can see a bit around. I have trusted Anjun and Roopa with the camera, they will take nearly all 200 pictures today. Naraenaswami explains (largely through Xavier) that he works in a silk factory, German owned, which works mostly for export ( he's a factory manager, had said Roopa). Without fully understanding everything, I gather that the village here, Dodabalapura, was initially government land offered for almost nothing to the poor, attracting people from several regions of India. This has stopped though, and unfortunately the relative proximity of the new Bangalore airport has made land prices climb in the area. From this vantage point, the village does feel nondescript and quite poor, lacking the beautiful charm of Aurohalli. We spend some time trying to understand the commerce of silk.
-- Anjun, Roopa, Hemanth, dressed up for the occasion --
We all agree to go for a walk. Strolling down
the small alley, we stop at two houses, much
more humble, the two brothers' houses. We are
invited inside also, small dark rooms that
are reminiscent of Aurohalli. The younger brother
used to also be a driver in Palm Meadows, now
works in a nearby factory. He insists that we
come back for a snack after our walk,
but I misunderstand snake so we all
laugh. They are Ruchita's parents.
-- Preema, Ruchita's mother --
We're quickly out of the village, it's a rather nondescript landscape, not really pretty, and certainly quite different from the beautiful nature that Roopa had described (although she points to a forest that scouts use for training, where she herself has gone to camp). We're joined by her brother Arun and younger sister Shirisha who seems to have adopted me, although we have no common language. I do my best to repeat her Kannada, which is as usual very funny to everyone. A blue factory building is where Veena, Roopa's mother, works. We go back from there, going through herds of goats and sheeps, fields of vegetables, eating some along the way, in particular some nice small cucumber like vegetable. By now, the overcast weather has lifted to beautiful warm sunshine. A deep borewell is empty. They complain that the recent rains (which have felt torrential to me) haven't been enough to fill the wells.
-- Dodabalapura landscape --
The smell is delicious when we return
to the house. Cecile is invited to help cook
inside the small kitchen, frying chicken with
Neetra and Veena. Neetra is on the floor
kneading a vegetable paste called Ragibol
in a stone bowl.
The kids can't quite wait for lunch and are
eating croissants. Shirisha eats the chocolate
first, then the dough. We tickle Madeleine's
feet, who's mostly busy on her cell phone. The
little girls crowd her to see what she's up to.
The small table is cleared, replaced by thin
carpets, we all sit down on the floor to eat.
They have made three different chicken dishes,
all delicious, rice, dosas and the Ragibol.
Roopa's father and Xavier show us to use the
Ragibol just to grab food and sauce, but
recommend swallowing
it without chewing. I do chew on it actually,
and find that the relatively tasteless substance
mixes very well with the rich taste of the
chicken. "Very healthy, very simple, makes
you strong, good for running!". I honour the
host by eating a lot (which isn't hard: it's
delicious!), but stop short of burping from
satisfaction. Cecile and Madeleine have also
eaten, and not found the food too spicy.
-- The three sisters --
After the meal, the three sisters have
started chewing Paan. After all,
why shouldn't I try? They roll the substance
in leaves, Naraenaswami instructs me to roll
it around in my mouth so that no particular
area becomes numb from the powerful taste.
Inside the leaves are hard
crunchy little red cubes which burst a strong
flavor. Roopa's father's mouth
quickly becomes crimson
red. He puts small quantities of a white
paste which he says contains calcium in
my hand then in my mouth.
I have a hard time keeping the whole thing in
my mouth, and after some time, I must have
swallowed it all as nothing is left, to everyone's
amusement. This is definitely stronger that
I've tasted in restaurants, but a nice way
to clear the mouth after a pungent meal.
We play this game that I've made up at work
of seeing how people from different
cultures count on their fingers.
Most Americans start with their index, french
with their thumbs, and indians with their pinky.
Sure enough, this theory holds, with the exception
of Neetra who perhaps was French in a previous
life. We then all participate in counting in as
many languages as possible, English, Kannada,
Hindi, Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam (which only
Xavier knows), to which Cecile and I add
French, German and Spanish (but for some reason
I keep Hebrew to myself).
It should be time to go, but this takes
a long while. Some family members are apparently
staying (it's Dessara holiday for the kids),
replaced by others who will ride with us.
Arun, Roopa's brother, starts
packing a backpack, emptying a whole cupboard
full of clothes. But we mostly wait for Neera
her mother, who wants to join us. I mistake
a small bedroom for Roopa's, but it's actually
the father's. A few idol images are on the walls.
I also admire the Pooja room, with effigies of
Lord Shiva and Parvathi, and Lakshmi.
While we're waiting, we climb back to the roof
for a last photo shoot. As before, Roopa and
Anjun are taking all the pictures, I'm fully
trusting them with the camera.
Neera is finally ready, in a bright red
Saree, and we also take a camping-like gas
stove. In front of the house, Roopa proudly shows
me a stone with carved in Kannada,
her father's name,
her mother's and brother's, and hers,
Roopa Sindhu (her "pet name", as she
calls it).
We walk to the car, through the village
and muddy road. A man holding a small girl in
his arms calls her some Kannada name which I
repeat. It actually means "doll", and we repeat
the Kannada word a few times, take pictures
of the baby.
There is agitation again at the car. We've
actually gained in passengers after all. For some
time, it looks like we won't be able to fit
everyone, and the two women have to come out.
I'm deeply apologetic, but then at some point,
as if through some unspoken decision,
everyone comes out, the two women climb in at
the back and we magically manage to stuff everyone
in (I'm sitting with one of the boys on my lap).
There are sixteen people in the car, including
five adults. I warmly warmly thank our host,
Roopa's father, happy that we've somehow managed
to communicate, charmed by his smile and good
nature.
On the way out of the village, we pass Arun's
school. Why is it that he stayed here while Roopa
was sent to Aurohalli, I wonder. In the end, she
speaks good English while he doesn't. Xavier takes
a different road which eventually connects with
the main airport road. Vehicles are again so
abundantly decorated for Dessara, and I can't help
but smile at the sight of the usual overfilled trucks,
motorbikes, rickshaws, some of these three-wheelers
seeming to be lugging even more people then we
are. We've kept all windows open in spite of
the terrible odors of pollution on this busy route.
At stops beggars can freely insert their hand
inside, but this is not a problem.
The children have done well, kept from motion
sickness by constantly smelling lime,
everyone in excellent
spirits now, at several points the children's
curiosity excited by huge Ganesha temples,
probably their favorite god (how could it
not be?). We
play with my glasses (they've never seen me
wearing them), pass them around
for everyone to try on, deciding
that all girls look like teachers while all men
look like grandpa's (Dada, Dada!, Neetra
laughs at me).
All this until Vandana gets sick again after all,
almost near Palm Meadows, and has to be laboriously
moved to a window where she throws up again. The
return trip this way has only taken an hour
(vs. two this morning through the rural route)
but I'm really in no hurry.
We drop Cecile and Madeleine at Palm Meadows and
proceed to Aurohalli. There, the villagers come
out with water jars to wash the vomit from
the doors. Roopa is actually mad at Vandana
for being constantly sick, next time, we
won't take her, if I we're like her, I wouldn't
even come. But I argue back, how then would
she ever get to go anywhere?
The villagers
offer me coconuts before leaving. I don't want
this day to end. "This has been a good day Roopa?"
She and Neetra smile back.