-- Giryamma and Lakshmi (Nellurahalli slums) --
Training Run "Water Jars" (6.3 Miles) -- 01/09/10
Palm Meadows - W. Trail - Dunmore House - Nellurahalli -
Pattandur Agrahara - ECC route - Whitefield Circle -
Borewell rd. - E. Trail - PM Hamlet.
Time: 0:57:00
Mileage: 6.3 Miles
Wght: 154.5
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
The weather has been gorgeous all week, but today is overcast
and heavy. Before the break, I had printed a large number of
photographs, which because of the precipitated departure to
France I hadn't distributed, so I'm bringing them today.
Earlier in the week, I had gone run through the Dunmore House
slums, a happy reunion with Giryama and her friends after
this abrupt separation. Today is no different. As I pass through
the communities, a growing number of friends joins me, first
Manikarjun and Ishwaraja, then Lakshmi and Giryama, and we
all crowd around the prints. I have printed a few extra
large, especially the one of Giryama by the water source,
and proudly offer it to her. We take more pictures of course,
where water jars are a recurring theme. Anumanta, Lakshmi and
Giryama are inspired again today, and it's hard to leave them.
I even get to take a few pictures of her mother, whom I hadn't
seen in some time. At some point too, I hand over the new
camera to Anumanta to take pictures of me with the slumdwellers.
The adults talk to me a lot in Kannada unfortunately, one
man with sketchy Hindi helps translate, but it's still hard
to understand each other. The men work today, and a number
of the slum dwellers, men and women, climb up into the back of
the read truck and leave.
-- Lakshmi and her mother - Lakshmi with Anumanta --
-- Lakshmi, Giryamma, their mother, Anjapa and Anumanta --
Finally, hand in hand with Giryama,
we move on to the 3rd community, accompanied by
Lakshmi, Anjapa and the gang, and the plastic water jars.
By a big tree, we meet another group of children
and take a few other pictures, before meeting
a woman who had been so featured last time. She's washing
laundry at the source, dries up her hands before taking
the photographs that I'm offering her.
Still escorted by my young friends,
I learn a few other names (this time from the
3rd community), particularly Kiran and Shuwamma,
the boy and girl whom I had photographed inside Ganmitra's
house before the break. But to my disappointment
Ganmitra himself is not there.
I first fear that he may have gone for good, but I eventually
understand that he's gone back to his village for the holidays,
being Christian. I keep the large photos of him, wanting to
offer him in person to thank him for inviting me to his house.
In the temple is a large gathering of people clad in
red, and many buses decorated with palm leaves. A man explains
that these people are about to leave to Tamil Nadu for some
festival. I respectfully do not take pictures.
-- Children from the 3rd slum community (Shuwamma is
on the right wearing the white shirt) --
-- Anjapa, Lakshmi and Giryamma --
Training Run (12.5 Miles) -- 01/10/10
Palm Meadows - Varthur - Left at the School - First stop
in the outskirts of Varthur: 0:28:32
Muthsandra: 0:18:33
Through Kottur to Aurohalli: 0:13:30
Back through Kottur - Right turn in the village -
Dirt trails - Timanahalli - More trails - Ajgondanahalli -
Imadahalli - Varthur Circle: 0:52:02
Time: 1:52:38
Mileage: 12.5 Miles
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
The day starts with the same weather as yesterday, heavy clouds,
and a bit too hot. Like all this week, I don't feel comfortable
running, heavy and out of breath, which should probably be blamed
on jet lag and poor nutrition, not to mention readjusting to
the Bangalore altitude and climate.
I'm carrying a heavy stack of pictures in the usual DHL
enveloppe. I make a first stop on the outskirts of Varthur,
where lives this nice family that I had met just before the
break. As often, one of the little girls has the most incredible
face. We try to talk, but her the language issue really gets in
the way, and I'm irritated by this increasingly frustrating
limitation. Should I attempt to learn Kannada as well? English
and Hindi are not spoken here.
-- the family near Varthur --
Second stop in Muthsandra. It's unusually quiet by the road
today, so I timidly venture into the small dirt streets with
my pack of pictures. Little by little, people greet me, and
recognizing themselves or family members on the photos, erupt
in laughter, so that the crowd grows around me. I am taken
deeper into the village, and take many more photos. A man
comes out of the crowd to shake my hand. He speaks some
Hindi and we're able to well communicate at last. This is
the man whom I had first met in Muthsandra a few weeks ago,
while he was tending to his cow. He actually remembers my
name. He invites me to enter his house, which to my surprise
is pretty big and has modern electronic equipment (TV and
Stereo) inside (I previously had thought that he lived in
a small farmhouse at the corner). After offering me
a delicious tea, he tells me his name,
at my demand writes it on a piece of paper which unfortunately
I'll later lose. Inside the house, he proudly shows me his
Pooja room.
Another woman insists that I visit her house as well. She is
Christian, and wants to be photographed in front of her images
of Jesus. This is a much smaller typical village house. Finally,
after many more pictures, I leave Muthsandra. I need to reach
Aurohalli by around 9:30, as today Jayanti and Maddhavarao will
join me there.
-- In front of the Pooja room --
Inside the Christian woman's house --
Worried about being late, I go straight through Kottur. The
villagers notice my conspicuous DHL enveloppe, but I explain
in Hindi that I'll come back later, give the pictures then.
Aurohalli is also unusually quiet. I am escorted by only
a single kid through the village, and when I arrive in
Roopa's street, she seems somewhat unprepared or precoccupied,
even though she has been expecting me. Jayanti hasn't arrived
yet, so I take this opportunity to visit Ambuja first at
the end of the street. But Roopa warns me, please come back
quick, Neethra has prepared food, and after looking at
Neethra who's making a funny face, she adds laughing
"Neethra says she will
be very angry if you don't eat with us.
After a short visit to Ambuja and Rakesh's house,
Jayanti arrives by car with Madhavarao. We are invited
inside Roopa's house, and as usual the plastic chairs
have been dressed in the room, but I choose to sit on
the floor. "It's your choice", comments Roopa, as she
unfurls a straw mat. Since many of the kids are present,
I distribute my pack of pictures, all of them from that
day where they had come to work. Neethra and Roopa wash
our hands, as usual letting us eat by ourselves, and serve
us a rice dish accompanied by a sweet orange paste. Neither
Jayanti nor Maddhavarao were prepared to eat this much,
but we honour the meal. But now just about everyone has
left the room, and we're let to eat alone. For some reason,
we feel somewhat uncomfortable, noone speaking much,
and we're unable to find our usual happiness. Roopa
even encourages Anjun to speak to us, but he pretexts
that if he were to talk to me while I'm eating, I'll
have bad digestion. Maddhavarao, who speaks Telugu,
is able to talk directly to the villagers.
Before the break, I have found nice calendars
for the children, with stickers to place on each day
of the year. Jayanti has brought them over for me,
and we give one to Roopa. This eventually
serves as an ice breaker. Because it's already January
10, the kids, starting with little Ruchita, Monika and
Vandana, all take turns gluing the stickers in the
appropriate square. Then we look at each month's stickers,
describing the drawings in a few different languages,
Telugu, Kannada, Hindi and English. Maddhavarao tells
us the Telugu word for butterfly which is hilariously
long! Roopa through Maddhavarao invites us to an
Andhra festival this Thursday, where bulls will be
decorated and let free running in the streets, but
unfortunately we're unlikely to be able to make it.
We next walk down to Ambuja's house, and on the way,
I have to resist Anjun's mother's invitation to another
meal. In Ambuja's house, we are our good old selves again,
feeling happy and carefree, and start playing a fun game
of "hitting each other's hands" (whatever that game is
called). They end up creating a line to play with me,
one after the other, and I'm careful to go extra slow
with the little ones (Monika in particular seems to be
having the most fun, while Hyemanth quickly gets the
hang of it and is actually quite good). A few of the
children have Mehendi designs on their hands, which
Roopa and Ambuja have drawn for them (even Rakesh
has it). Little Chittu turns on the TV, a Telugu
dubbed version of some particularly silly chinese
movie. I resist more food here again, but Ambuja's
mother offers us nice tea. She wants to invite us
all for dinner on the 30th.
We then all decide to go to the Shiva temple.
We all set out on foot, holding hands. The small
girls crowd around Jayanti, and along the way,
start running in spurts. I'm with little Chittu
who in spite of his tiny legs runs too, wanting
to catch up with the girls. In the temple, the
bigger kids as usual loudly ring the bells, then
we have to carry the little ones (Ruchita, Chittu,
Vandana) so they too can touch the bells. For the
first time, led by the kids, I go inside the altar
itself. Both Ruchita and Vandana, gathering colored
powder on the statues, place a Tikka on my forehead.
We next walk down to the river. Chittu won't
go anywhere without holding my hand. A few of the
boys go in the water, but after I produce the camera,
all the kids want to go to for a picture, even
Ruchita and Vandana. Anjun jokingly tells them
there's a snake in the water so they all rush out.
We walk back to the village, but Ruchita is dragging
her group again to run part of the distance.
Time to go home. I want to run home, but thinking
it's too hot by now, the kids try to convince Maddhavarao
in Telugu that they should take me in the car as well.
I ask Neethra to fill my water bottle with Water
(Neeru, in Kannada), and set off. On the way,
children riding on a hay stack on a bull carriage
call my name goodbye.
-- Jayanti and Madhavarao by the river
with the children of Aurohalli --
-- Monika and Vandana also in the water --
On the way back, I stop this time in Kottur, to the warmest of welcome. I not only meet an increasingly large number of women from the village, but I'm also delighted to find again the "laughing girl", and offer her her wonderful picture. Her name is Chilpa.
-- In Kottur -- Chilpa --
The rest of the way home is indeed a little hot, and my lack of shape manifests itself. I have to take a few short walk breaks, managing the little water that I have. At some point, I decide to turn into a small dirt trail, and of course get pretty lost, having to retrace my steps a few times. Somehow though, I end up on the road to Timanahalli, from there on trails again to Ajgondanahalli, but get partially lost here again. By now it's sunny and warm, the heat weighing on me a bit.
-- Near Ajgondanahalli --
-- Woman with her herd of sheep on the "Lake Trail",
right by ITPL --
Sankranthi
Part I: Pattandur Agrahara (7 Miles) -- 01/14/10
Palm Meadows - Main Road - Sarjapura - Dunmore house -
Through Nellurahalli - Borewell Road - Lake trail
through Pattandur Agrahara - Back through Nellurahalli -
Sarjapur rd. - W. Trail.
Time: 1:03:23
Mileage: 7 Miles
Wght: 154.5
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
The Rangollis have been made colorful today, for the
festival, some saying Happy Pongal (Tamil), others
calling it Sankranthi (Kannada, Telugu). I follow
the main road to Sarjapura and take the right turn
towards Nellurahalli, then follow the sign towards
Dunmore house, leading to this wide open space where
those slum communities are.
The woman from the first community seems aloof,
in fact, earlier this week she barely acknowledged
my presence. Could something be wrong? I am carrying
a pack of photographs and ask for Manikarjun and
Ishwaraja, but Manikarjun has cut his finger, another
woman is putting him a bandage. The boy seems hesitant
to meet me, perhaps because of his wound, but he does
wipe up his hand to take the photos. Today, he does
not follow me to the next community.
Turning the corner, I'm soon heralded by a voice
crying out my name in the distance. I notice the small
silhouette perched on the roofs of the slums. It's Giryamma.
Her hair is tied back today, making her look almost
like a boy.
Responding to her call, other kids are running out
of the shacks to meet me. With the children, I walk
up to Giryamma to get a picture of her up there, but
soon, my feet are stung by scores
of tiny painful thorns, which have pearced right through
my shoes. How do these people manage it barefeet?
I distribute the pictures, and a few of the
slum dwellers come out, including this nice man
who is becoming my closest friend here, although
he only speaks Kannada. Giryamma's mother is here
too, and of course Lakshmi and Anjapa, completing
the family. We take a few more pictures, and I've
started associating them with the process, always
asking them their opinion on framing etc. Giryamma
and another older boy (whose name is Reddis) have
become my assistants so to speak, and at some point
I let Reddis take some of the pictures. As usual,
we all crowd around the camera to see the results,
and a few times, I have to warn the kids to not
put their fingers on the lens. The adults
understand this too then help drive the point home.
For some reason, Anjapa is crying today. I look
for a picture of him to cheer him up, but still
sulky he leaves and goes sit by himself in front
of the shacks, his crying still audible from the
distance. With the adults, I take a picture of him
like that, using the zoom, which makes everybody
laugh.
In spite of the difficulties, we patiently
try to talk. Reddis does know rudiments of Hindi.
I learn more names, particularly Giryamma's mother
whose name is Durgamma. I ask the nice man for
a pen so that I can write it down on the enveloppe
I had used to carry the pictures. For fun, I also
write the name in Hindi, and the man then writes
in Kannada, Durgamma he repeats, pointing
to all three handwritings. His own name is
Durgapa, which I also write down before
writing my own for him. He then insists for me
to keep the pen but I return it to him, before
explaining in Hindi that I'd like to give these
people a few things that have been given to me
in France.
Giryamma, Lakshmi and a few other kids wave
me goodbye as I proceed to the third community,
where I distribute the remaining pictures. These
people speak more Hindi. I have brought back
Gnanmitra's pictures hoping he'd be here today,
but upon asking, I find that he still hasn't
returned. Eventually, a man identifies himself
as his brother, and explains that Gnamitra,
having found work back in his village, will not
return. I offer the photos to this brother, but
am sad that I cannot thank in person
this man who had had the rare gesture of
inviting me into his humble metal shack.
The community is rather empty at this hour,
but upon leaving, I notice the woman from
the first community who having walked here is
talking sternly at the door of one
of the shacks. I'm overcome with one of those
fits of doubt, and imagine for some reason
that she doesn't like my presence here, that
perhaps I have extended my welcome.
After leaving the area, I'm forced to stop,
taking off shoes and socks to try my best
to remove all those pesky thorns from my feet.
I then proceed through Nellurahalli towards ITPL, following one of my normal work commute routes. I decide to take what I call the lake route today, which even though I've now run it quite a few times, continues to feel mysterious, as it takes me deep into the small alleys of Pattandur Agrahara, only a few blocks away from ITPL. Before turning into the trail, I pass one of those loud altercations, which has gathered a small mob around two men fighting it seems, but I pass to the side as nonchalant as possible (caught in the strife noone pays attention to me). By the lake, the dirt trail is blocked by a herd of sheep which makes me slow down to a walk. The sheep are kept by a young boy and an old woman, and upon approaching I realize that two men are in the water washing the animals. For the first time in this area, I respectfully ask the woman if I could take her picture and am granted permission. The man in the water explains to me in Hindi that they are washing the cattle for the Sankranthi festival. Past the lake, as I enter the narrow alleys of Pattandur Agrahara, I'm struck again by the colorful Rangollis that have been painted on the ground, in front of each house. I finally make contact with some inhabitants here, particularly with a man who is washing his teeth outside and speaks Hindi. He has noticed me running here before and makes me feel most welcome. People are happy for me to take pictures of their Rangollis, and I feel that finally, after several weeks of the usual patient buildup of running through the area, people have accepted my presence and are happy to open up. I promise to come back with prints, and wish everyone I meet a happy Sankranthi.
Sankranthi
Part II: Aurohalli -- 01/14/10
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
Last week, Roopa had told us the Sankranthi celebrations
in Aurohalli would happen in the late afternoon. But she's
been desperately trying to call me, text me, etc., to
ask us to come earlier, as the "function" should be starting
at 2:00. I finally yield to her insistence so Cecile and I
reach there in the early afternoon,
driven by Xavier, who
responding to my offer has also brought his daughter Joyce.
The village center feels unusually empty, and I wonder
if everyone has already gathered at one of the temples, but
we do found Roopa and the gang in their street. We are invited
in Roopa's house for a quick meal, and eventually realize
that nothing will indeed happen before 4 as previously planned.
We still have a great time with them, and they ask many
questions to Cecile, her father's death, her family etc.
Having brought Cecile's camera, we're able to show them
pictures from France, our respective families, Paris,
the unusual sight of the city under snow and ice, which
of course they've never seen. Both the children and
the Grandma take great interest in this, until the battery
for the camera runs out and we have to stop the show.
The children have all dressed up nicely for the festival.
Roopa has a new beautiful outfit,
a nice Kurta that looks
more beautiful then the polka-dot
outfit that we had seen her
wear on all previous big occasions,
which had grown dramatically
too small for her. Ruchita and Vandana play with their
kittens, just as if they were babies, although eventually
Ruchita starts torturing hers. Cecile notices her
character, as she starts whining and hitting
as soon as someone else wants to touch the cat.
We make a point of visiting all three houses, Roopa's
Anjun's, and Ambuja's (Rakesh's), which leaves out the house
of Anjun's sister Monika. Her mother, a beautiful young
woman, humourously threatens me with a stick, waving
it while saying in mock irritation Happy Sankranthi
Philippe!. In Ambuja's
house, the little girls, Vandana, Monika and Ruchita,
make a hairdo for cecile, who patiently endures their
rough treatment. We are served a delicious coffee
by Ambuja's mother, and they renew their invitation
for the night of the 30th.
The children well remember my hand game from
last time and ask to play again. They've apparently
practiced.
I have also brought my old HP camera, and give it to
Anjun and Roopa, telling them to take whatever pictures
they'd like.
-- Vandana, Monika and Ruchita give Cecile a hairdo --
We eventually leave for the Shiva temple. Little Chittu
has solidly grabbed my hand just like last week, while
the little girls are holding Cecile's. As usual, some of
the kids offer to carry our stuff, and Vandana
ends up with Cecile's hat and backpack, which she proudly
carries. A little bit of activity has started at the
temple in the village center, but Roopa warns me
earnestly as we are going by: "Philippe, you must
promise me, you shall not go with these people, please."
- "Sure, but why?". She doesn't answer at first, then
offers "they are bad people". I drop the argument for
now.
As we make our way to the lower part of the village,
she excitedly points to another girl, portraying her
as her best friend. But the young girl, visibly ignoring
us, passes by without our eyes meeting, a small incident
which leaves me sadly wondering whether my friendship
with Roopa might be alienating her from some villagers.
Led by Anjun, we go down to the river. I notice
the kids calling Roopa Sindhaka, probably
a variation of the nickname Sindhu.
They'd like to
take us to visit some other temple today, but
we eventually
realize that this means crossing the river.
It never occurred to me that his river was fordable,
as it looks deep and has a strong current. But Anjun
assures us that he's crossed it this morning itself,
that there should really be no problem. In fact, they
point out to three young women in beautiful Saris who
have come to the Shiva Temple by crossing the river
and who are now ready to head back. We follow them along
the river, noticing on the way huge beehives in
a big tree, from where Roopa tells us that they've
have been gathering honey. We've reach
a group of rocks where a long time
back when I barely knew the village I had been led
to a family laundrying their clothes.
Anjun, Rakesh and the boys are soon in the water,
and we decide to follow them, first Roopa and Lavannia,
the Cecile and I. We've taken off our shoes, rolled up
our pants, and left our valuables on the bank, where
Xavier and Joyce are staying with all the little ones.
Past the first few rocks, the river bottom feels soft
although the water
seems a little too cold for the girls. Even though
Anjun has promised that the water wouldn't rise
higher than knee deep, we're quickly in it up to
the waist, the nice clothes soon getting drenched.
But we progress easily all holding hands. In fact,
the river bottom presents no hidden obstacles,
entirely made
of a pleasant warm mud, feeling soft against our
bare feet. On the other side, we climb a short hill
through the forest. For once I am bare feet like
my friends, and luckily don't experience any problem.
We reach a small deserted temple on top. Seeing
sculpted feet print, I suspect it's devoted to Vishnu,
but the kids answer that it's in honor of the
god's sister, a name which I'm unable to
memorize. As we resume our trek across the river,
I guide Xavier from a distance to take our picture.
We're all safely pulled out of the water, but of course
the boys stay and play a bit. Vandana and Monika also
want to put their feet in water, but we adamantly don't
let them go past that first rock. Finally, we get
everyone out, and proceed back, Chittu happy to find
my hand again.
-- Crossing the river --
Back in the lower part of the village, we are joined
by Shrikanth, whose house must be here. "These are
government houses", explains Roopa, "the government
built for us poor people". We're all happy to see
Shrikanth's smile, as contagious as ever. We later
meet he whom I call bird man, walking with
a boy who's about Chittu's size and is wearing a
similarly striped shirt. We try to take the boys'
picture together but Chittu no interested acts
restless. Eventually both boys leave with
bird man. Along the streets, we see peasants
still busy painting the horns of the cows in
bright colors.
In the village center, the activity has
now picked up. The loud sound of drums is heard
from the central temple, and a small crowd has
gathered. But Roopa stops us. "Remember, you
promised you wouldn't go there", she repeats
again with intensity. She invites us to stay
with the group of children on the side, as
the cows can get dangerous during the ceremony,
as villagers are first presenting them at
the temple for a Pooja, then letting them
run through the street. My camera unfortunately
runs out of battery too, so I have to take the
old HP camera from Anjun. At one point, Rakesh's
father walks to us, inviting us to the temple.
I turn to Roopa, asking her what to do, and
seeing her face try to politely refuse the
man's invitation, waving with my hand that
we'll come later. But he insists, and I see
Roopa's embarassment growing. "Don't you
think I should follow him?" I ask her, but
she answers, "this man has been drinking."
Lavannia, Rakesh's sister, standing next
to us may have overheard us, and I wonder
if this could create more problems for Roopa.
But finally she yields, "Ok, but promise me
that you won't dance with them", and upon
my insistence she finally explains, "If you
dance, people will laugh, and I don't want
that". I am greatly touched by the girl's
sollicitude.
Our whole group, children and all,
follow the man to the Temple, and are
invited inside, where a Pooja is being
held. The priest performs the Aadith,
distributes us the water. Hesitant about
how much money would be appropriate to put
in the plate, I awkwardly end up not giving
at all, which makes me feel silly. Luckily
Cecile has no such qualms and places a 100 Rs.
bill on the plate, which is otherwise full
of coins. An old man is looking after us,
guiding us through the ceremony, inviting
us with hand gestures to stay longer. Here,
my emotions perhaps exalted by the persistent
clamor of the drums, by the beauty of the
people in their colored clothing, the smell
of the incense, I fully realize that I will
not be able to leave India, and wonder whether
this will end up being the defining moment
where I seal my final decision. Roopa
interrupts my reverie: "Why are you
crying?", asks Roopa interrupting my reverie.
I don't feel that I am, but didn't
realize my emotion could be so transparent.
She asks again a few times, her voice barely
audible over the clamor of the drums, while
I try to look brave.
We stand outside in front of the temple
with our whole group of children, while cows
and bulls are brought in for the Pooja. They
are well decorated, their horns painted in vivid
colors, with balloons attached to them.
Some
of them too difficult to handle cannot be managed
and eventually give up, made fun of by the villagers.
At some point, little Chittu reappears alongside
birdman, proudly guiding a herd of sheep with
a stick, his small size even more apparent here.
A good crowd has gathered, many people watching
from the rooftops. Once the Pooja over, the
animals, excited by the drumming, are sent into
the village center where a lively crowd of
young men tries to grab the money bag from
their horns. I feel poised to grab Monika and
toss her to safety should some bulls get out
of hand.
Back at Roopa's house, Neethra has prepared
for us a sweet dish, especially for the festival.
As we're leaving the village, the old man from
the temple insists on inviting us into his house
for tea. This is a bigger house, which he claims
to have built himself, in addition to two of the
village temples.
Since he doesn't speak English and barely any Hindi,
Joyce is able to translate for us, for once
breaking her silence. The man doesn't let our group
of children enter the room, but a few old women come in,
curious and friendly. When we go out, the children
have stayed in front of the house to wave us
goodbye.
-- Wannapa, Giryamma's father --
Training Run "The Shoes" (13 Miles) -- 01/17/10
Saturday:
Palm Meadows - E. Trail - Borewell rd. - Over to
the other side - In the streets of Whitefield, through
tiny alleys etc. - Down to the fields and to the North
Trail: 0:35:01
Back up, exploring many different alleys - Up to the
Whitefield Hill - Back via Borewell road: 0:51:21
Time: 1:26:23
Mileage: 9.6 Miles
Sunday:
From the Shell Station on Sarjapura / Nellurhalli road
to the Dumore house slums - Back through Nellurahalli -
E. Trail.
Time: 0:27:23
Total Mileage: 13 Miles
Wght: 154
-- Durgapa and Wannapa jokingly wearing the shoes --
(Click here to view all photographs on Flickr)
On Saturday morning, I decide to explore something fairly new
and run through the small streets of Whitefield. I've been in
this area only once before, and today near the top of the hill
find a broad dirt road which takes me down straight into the
fields until I eventually reach the "northern route". This
is particularly intense, as I end up in very small alleys right
inside the communities, but I'm as usual welcome, although
a subject of curiosity. Retracing my steps towards the top of
the hill, I take more of these tiny alleys, gently connecting
with people who salute me back. At no point do I take pictures
though. Although people live in houses, this area strikes me
as particularly poor, the houses are very small, the alleys
in great disrepair, but people are as friendly as usual.
As I'm about to return to Whitefield center, I notice a few
rocks on the road, which is later blocked by a indian tent,
of the kind that's put up for festivals or functions. I
am encouraged to pass by, squeezing between the houses and
the cloth of the temple. The other side reveals a burial,
an dead woman has been placed on a bed of flowers, while
only a few mourners are seated at her side. A cross reveals
that this must be a catholic ceremony. I respectfully pass
by.
My running has felt particularly good today, one of those
days where it feels like flying, encouraged by the superb winter
weather, sunny but relatively cool, with a pleasant breeze.
After crossing the main road, I decide to make a detour through
the Dunmore house slums to visit Gyriamma and friends, and
visit a few small alleys in Nellurahalli as well (I promise
myself to do a lot more of that in the future.) I have forgotten
to mention that by now, dogs no longer present any kind of
problem at all, even a pack of dogs seems to be easily
disciplined with a confident enough demeanor. I pass by
a government school which could be Manikarjun's (I still
have this plan to walk him to school one day). In the Dunmore
house slums, I am greeted as usual from a distance by the
children, and today, Reddis is particularly talkative. I resist
their desire for more pictures, not concealing that I'm
carrying that camera in my pocket. I explain that I have
not had time to make prints yet from last time, and tell
them that I'd like to return tomorrow with a few gifts
that people have given me in France. A man whom I've seen
many times walks with me to the first community, and we're
able to chat in Hindi. His friendliness wipes away most
of the doubts that I was feeling last time. He reveals that
he works for security in one of the nearby tech complexes.
-- Anjapa --
On Sunday, I put my plan into action. I have some old clothes,
pens and pencils, and a few pairs of old running shoes that
I'd like to give to the slumdwellers. But I still want to
run there and have not quite figured out how to carry all
that stuff. I had first thought a backpack could do the
trick but the package is too bulky so I settle for two
large plastic bags. I am as usual overcome by doubt,
fearing to look stupid and wondering if my gifts will
be perceived as inappropriate. After all, I am bringing
so little, and don't really have a plan on how to share
it appropriately. Xavier and Cecile are able to drop
me by the Shell station in Sarjapura shortening the way
somewhat. As soon as I start the run, I realize how awkward
it is to run with such large bundles, and quickly
feel exhausted from the extra effort, which takes
a toll on my breathing.
I gradually find an arm position which makes the weight
manageable, and only have to worry about some people's
stares, although they're probably used
to my eccentricity by
now, some even saluting me with a friendly "Hi Sir".
I soon reach the wide desolate plain where the slums
are. A pack of dogs is on the trail and starts barking
but I pass through with confidence and no harm.
In the first community, I am greeted by the "chief
woman" whose washing dishes outside in typical kneeled
down posture and by Manikarjun's mother.
The woman is very nice
today, showing none of that reserve that I had perhaps
imagined last time. They go through the contents, and
start grabbing some of the clothes, pens and pencils,
washing attire. I have to explain in Hindi what some
of these might be for. I also don't want them to grab
everything. Manikarjun arrives and seems happy with
pens. "I have to give to these people also,
I explain pointing down the trail, Giryamma..."
The women understand, and I watch them fascinated
rationning the children here to put some items back
in the boxes so that the other kids will get some too.
I had feared a looting frenzy but their generous
attitude moves me.
The tradition holds as I approach the second
community, and from the distance see my little friends
running to meet me, calling my name. Here too, I display
the contents of my bags, but not all these things
are interesting to them. The clothes in particular
have hardly any success. Durgapa comes and I show them
a few pictures on my camera, particularly from the
river crossing in Aurohalli, showing them my
"other friends". I finally meet Giryamma's father,
a beautiful young man with inspiring facial features,
whose name is Wannapa. He does speak some Hindi
and I'm happy to be able to converse with him.
He works in as a construction worker, "cement"
as he decribes it.
Anjapa, remembering the picture from last time
crying in front of the slums, resumes the same
position, this time eating rice and laughing.
Durgamma (giryamma's mother) offers me rice,
and am invited into their shack. After having taken
off my shoes, while Durgamma is hastily wiping the
dirt floor, I enter their tiny living quarters.
This is the most humble dwelling that I've entered
so far. It's very small, dark, and nothing
is inside, with the exception perhaps of a few
divinity images on the corrugated metal wall, and
a small mat that has been placed on the dirt floor
for me. I sit down with wannapa, soon joined by
Giryamma and Lakshmi, and a small cat (Bekku,
in Kannada). DUrgamma offers me a full tin plate of
rice, a glass of water, and encourages me to eat.
The others are also eating, but my portion has
been made much bigger than theirs. Wannapa
describes himself as a construction worker,
"cement" as he puts it, and raising in this tiny
place a family of five children. The girls
here do not go to school. I compliment him on
having such beautiful children. At some point,
Durgamma produces a thick enveloppe which contains
all the pictures that I've made of them, and
she thumbs through the many photographs, laughing
at some of them. That she has kept all these
so carefully means the world to me.
-- Inside: Wannapa, Durgamma with Lakshmi, Giryamma
with Anjapa --
I try to take a few pictures inside, but
it isn't easy, as my right hand is busy eating,
and I have problems with the flash. Besides,
Durgamma and Wannapa encourage me to eat more,
tolerating no distractions. He himself concludes
his meal by a loud long satisfied burp.
Eventually they both
leave the room, leaving me with the kids, so I
soon join them outside.
We take more pictures here, but
I make a point of making the slumdwellers take
the pictures themselves, after having explained
at length the operation of the camera. I start
with Giryamma who, after a few attempts at clicking,
eventually gets it. Then Durgapa takes over the
camera and is able to take a large number of
photographs, as I let him run around and direct
other people on his own. We just check occasionally
that everything went fine, crowding as usual around
the camera, careful that even the eager little ones
can also get a look. But soon Durgapa learns how
to do that as well and is off on his own.
Giryamma has been intrigued by my arms before for
some reason, and points them amused to her younger
sister Lakshmi. The mother Durgamma finally explains:
"White...", and I roll up my sleeves to confirm with
even whiter flesh. They laugh.
I ask them about little Sunil, whom I haven't
seen here (or his family) in some time. But they
don't appear to even remember his name. And for
that matter, I haven't seen Diurach either, this
man who had first invited me into his dwelling.
This, and the disappearance of Gnanmitra, illustrates
how these transient populations operate, often
moving for new jobs, mostly near construction sites.
With painful anguish, I fear that some day, without
warning, I might come to lose these friends too.
I want to make sure that I don't forget
Giryamma's father's name, so I ask Giryamma to go
back get one of the pens that I've brought. Wannapa
carefully tears a piece of paper from a tiny
notebook that he carries in his shirt pocket (which
containes a mess of various papers) and I carefully
write his name and phone number. I myself have
forgotten my mobile, but instead of writing my
number down for him we agree that I'll call him
later (which I do that afternoon, and am happy
to hear him enthusiastically recognize me after
a moment of hesitation, finally calling "Ha,
Bhaya", as the slumdwellers like to call
me).
-- Wannapa with his daughter Lakshmi --
-- Durgapa and I --
Thanks to Durgapa's photo spree, I get a
few group pictures with the family, Wannapa,
Durgamma and their daughters Giryamma and Lakshmi.
The third daughter who's older is very amused
by all this, but falls to repeated bouts of coughing,
which I've noticed in her before (she's the only
member of the family whose name I don't know).
I'm not quite sure what to do with the remains
of the bags, whether I should still leave it with
them or take it back. Wannapa and Durgapa finally
attempt to put on the running shoes, but Wannapa
in particular is struggling to put his on, obviously
not used to wearing such shoes, and I have to help
him fit them on. The two men humorously display
their skinny legs, lifting their cloth garment
as if it was shorts, and take the funniest poses,
not afraid to caricature their silly appearance,
making good hearted fun of each other.
Wannapa has even put on my running belt.
-- Durgapa and Wannapa wearing the shoes --
We have a costume party of sorts, trying on the various items of clothing and striking silly poses. Wearing the hideous cap that I had bought in Belur, I strike a Bollywood pose at Durgamma who herself responds with a funny glamour face. This small gesture shows our marvelous complicity, a mutual fondness with these people that has grown far far beyond what I would ever have imagined possible. I stay a while laughing with these friends, as in spite of so little language we continue to find new ways to engage each other, play together, strengthening our amazing friendship, an experience that possibly affects me far more than it affects them.