-- Slumdwellers, tent community "by the railroad",
Kadugodi --
In search of Sathya and Manni -- Kadugodi, Chansandra.
Monday 04/19/10 --
(Link to Monday's photographs on Flickr)
ECC route - cross the main road - to the Kadugodi railroad crossing
Through Kadugodi into Chanasandra and back
Back to ITPL, through the trails
The very next day, impatient I run to Kadugodi, avoiding the
main road by first taking the ECC route (the old way) and exploring
the way past ITPL road. I reach the Whitefield Railway Station in
Kadugodi with no trouble.
I walk by the miserable tent community that is under the bridge,
by the railway crossing. I am actually not carrying the photos of Sathya
and Manni, and don't quite know how to introduce myself in, a little
intimidated. Having spotted a boy about to cross the tracks, I ask
him for the children's names, pointing at the tents. He nods but keeps
going, not accompanying me into the community. Among the crowd, I
pick an older woman next, sitting on a small wall at the edge of
the community. "Sathya, Manni?", I ask, she waves me into the tents,
confirms that it's ok for me to go in (I'm addressing her in Hindi,
whether she understands or not). I walk through the small open space
in between the miserable tents (particularly decrepit here), asking
slumdwellers along the way, who keep pointing me further in, until
we reach some sort of central clearing. "Sathya, Manni?", sure
says a young woman, and leading me to one of the tents, she calls
loudly. A young girl eventually comes out, unkempt and perhaps risen
from her sleep. I hesitate, she seems the same age, but no,
this is definitely a different Sathya. Manni is next, although feeling
that this won't work, I try to stop them, but they take me to a youth
lying on the floor outside, shake him up out of his slumber. Clearly
this is not my Manni, as the boy is in his teens. I apologize profusely
for having risen him, but he seems cool yet bewildered (in spite of
the filth, the scars on his face and neck, he's a beautiful young
man).
I am led by the women, and we take a few photos with the beautiful
children. This turns into a small feast as usual. I let some of the women
take photos themselves, in particular a beautiful young woman wearing
a green saree, who speaks some Hindi. She even takes a picture of Manni
who, in great pain, is getting some sharp object removed from
his bare feet. She then explains to me that the children
I'm looking for have indeed come here, but have since left
towards Chandsandra. She gives me careful directions, so
I run towards that area, looking for dwellings
like these, to no avail. I don't have much time and run back,
having reached the next railroad crossing in Chansandra.
On the way back, I try to take one of the smaller alleys instead
of the paved road. I meet two children who must have seen me earlier
in the tent community. They take me to their mother, the same
woman in the green saree, who offers to show me the
shortcut trails in direction
of ITPL. Along the way, she displays the content of a cloth bag that
she is carrying, containing various items of trash that she is gathering
for money, 1kg for 15Rs. 1Kg of rice costs 30Rs, she comments.
-- The woman who showed me the trail --
-- Manni in pain while something is being
extracted from his foot (photo by one of the slumdwellers) --
Sunday 04/25/10 -- A miraculous reunion
(Link to Sunday's photographs on Flickr)
PM - W. trail - through Nellurahalli and Pattandur to ITPL: 0:27:35
Across the main road, across the rail tracks, then left along railway
to Kadugodi: 0:24:52
On the rail tracks - to Chansandra - In the alleys and dirt trails -
Find Sathya and Manni - then continue through Chansandra - Imadahalli -
back to PM: 0:49:11
Time: 1:41:38
Mileage: 11.3 Miles
I have been feeling mildly sick. Mostly dizzy, and a strange
back pain that seems to accumulate throughout the day and into the
night, but is mostly repaired in the morning. Yesterday, I decide
to take a day off running, slept a lot, and hope that this morning
will be better. I have big plans for today, returning to Kadugodi
through a new route in search of Manni and Sathya, visiting again
the tent community "under the bridge" along the way.
The weather has been tempered by the regular storms that seem
to hit every evening. My running is lethargic though, unable to
shake this dizziness, feeling a feverish heart rate,
as I run through the familiar route towards IPTL, waving to Akbar
along the way who has spotted me in Nellurahalli. After ITPL,
I continue straight past the main road for the first time, hoping
to hit the railroad tracks. This is a gently descending paved road,
with many dogs (peaceful), in the middle of recently build apartments
or tech complexes, until it does dead-end at the tracks. A small
tunnel allows me to pass, crossing a long line of construction
workers on their way to duty, which continues on the other side,
on a road that along the railway leads me through small villages.
Eventually, I leave the paved roads for trails to stay by the
railway, and after some errance eventually recognize the bridge
under construction, signaling Kadugodi, and the newly found
tent community, "under the bridge".
-- Slumdwellers, tent community "under the bridge",
Kadugodi --
-- Sampa --
I decide to accompany Sampa and her mother to the shop, to buy rice with them. Before that, I leave all my stuff with them, water belt, photo enveloppe and all, and they preciously put it away in the tent. We walk across the railtracks into Kadugodi, along the fly-over and near the Sai Baba Ashram, then left up to a small crowded roadside shop. I eventually buy them 10kg of rice, then another 3kg of Daal, all for RS. 540. We walk back, Sampa's mother carrying the load on her head, with ease.
-- Valli, dressed for her wedding, washing dishes --
Sampa invites me inside her tent. It's dark inside as usual,
and three teens are already eating there, and a bunch of children.
Sampa herself takes many pictures again, including one of me.
At one side of the tent, Valli, kneeled over a basin, is busy
washing dishes, in spite of her beautiful clothing, while Sampa
is breastfeeding one of the little ones. I ask her about the
Kannada letters tattooed on her forearm, her father's name,
she explains.
I ask again how to find the "Children of the Lake", since
I had failed last monday. Sampa proposes that her mother walk
me over there, but not before afternoon, which would be too
late. She insists that I stay for "nashta", which eventually
someone brings small dosas and Sambar for me, probably from
the roadside cart at the entrance of the slum. Once outside
I meet Sampa's husband, a handsome young man whose face
looks strangely familiar, perhaps from last Monday. I ask yet
again, can I not find the children myself? Sampa gives me
detailed instructions, as far as I can understand: Follow
the railway, do not cross, then right, into Chassandra,
then houses, like these...
-- Tent Dwellers, Chansandra --
I follow her advice, and end up running on the railroad tracks
themselves, along a stationned train (many people are walking
here anyway). This leads me to Chansandra road, and a bit
confused. Where to go now? I revert back on a dirt trail
along the tracks, approach a first tent community, do my
best to explain while showing the pictures, but the kids
are unknown here. I retrace my steps, and randomly run into
the small alleys and dirt roads of Chansandra. I come across
sporadic tent communities and walk right through,
but for some reason they're completely
dead, the tents carefully closed, as if all occupants had left.
After a few of these, a bit lost, I give up all hope,
discouraged by this impossible search, and try
to head in the right direction to return home. I am on dirt
trails which sometimes dead-end in people's houses, forcing
me to occasionally retrace my steps. I'm somewhat dehydrated
and my water is running low.
Another tent community presents
itself, this one more lively. As I approach, I
notice a small group,
walking in my direction further up the trail, waving at
me. I can't quite make them out at first from a distance,
but soon after, I recognize them, completely bewildered:
It is Sathya and Manni!
I simply cannot believe this, Bhagvan!, what were the
chances of finding them, yet here they are!
The tent dwellers, a friendly group of people, witness our reunion.
I drop to my knees as often, to be at the children's eye level,
hand them over their pictures from the Hanuman shrine that I've
been carrying for some time. The slumdwellers as usual urge
me not to kneel, always protective and very particular that I
should not get dirty in any way. I finally learn the little one's
name, Ganesha, and the other girl, Sangita.
Why is Ganesha, who I know is a boy, always dressed up so
ostensibly as a girl? Does this have some significance?
In any case, I'm once again fascinated by the boy's
tiny face, his strange distant look that only seems to come
in focus when I engage him.
We take another set of pictures with this new group of slumdwellers,
many of which I let Sathya take herself. A mother proudly presents
a tiny girl in a red dress to the camera, but the girl pees on her,
to everyone's hilarity. Not quite sure where I am exactly, I hope
I will be able to find this place again.
Then I walk with Sathya's and Manni's group, hoping to see
their house. They actually look better then when I last saw them,
less dirty. Sathya leads us to an area where there is a single
tent, "to meet her friend". As we approach, Manni stays behind
for some reason, refusing to come near. From a short distance,
we see Sathya's friend, a girl about her age, finishing to bathe
in a water hole in front of the tent. As she's getting dressed,
I encourage Sathya to take the picture herself, while I politely
ask the parents if we're allowed to approach. But in a rare
gesture of hostility (in fact the only one that I can remember
since arriving in India), an older man gestures me yelling
in Hindi to leave,
which we do respectfully.
-- Sathya's friend, finishing her toilet (photo
by Sathya) --
I would love to meet their parents, see their tent, but I sense that they are reluctant to do so. Are the horror stories that I heard from the Pattandur slumdwellers really true? We've looped back around to one of the deserted communities I had visited earlier, but I don't think this is where they live either. Finally, I follow them through the small gullies and trails towards the main road. We part after a long goodbye, still incredulous that I've found them.
-- Sathya, Manni, Ganesha and Sangita, the "Children
of the Lake" --
Training Run "Shilpa's house in Maduranagar, Aurohalli" (9 Miles) -- 05/01/10
PM - through Varthur - Left - To Shilpa's house in MaduraNagar: 0:27:23
To Kottur: 0:12:17
To Aurohalli: 0:09:49
Back through the trails - Timandahalli - Ajgondanahalli -
Imadahalli: 0:31:25
Time: 1:20:54
Mileage: 9 Miles
Wght: 153
-- Shilpa and her children, Maduranagar --
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
The heavy rain last night has finally managed to cool down
the weather some, but the trails are left muddy and sometimes
impractical. Last Thursday, I decided to take a late start at
work and already ran here to meet Shilpa and her family in
Maduranagar, sharing a nice breakfast of Ragibol and Sambar
with them, since I hadn't seen them in some time.
My emerging knowledge of the Kannada alphabet is finally
allowing me to decipher road signs (slooowly), in many
cases the only way to know the village names, which allows
me to correct a few misinterpretations (for example,
Shilpa's lives in Maduranagar, not Mandranagar
as previously stated).
Today
I don't plan to stop by their house, but of course this proves
impossible. Shilpa herself, wearing beautiful clothes today,
finally agrees to be photographed for the first time. I also meet
the Grandmother, a beautiful old woman.
I am invited in all the tiny houses that constitute
the court, Lakshmi's, Dilip's... But the nicest development is
my blossoming knowledge of Kannada. I've managed to teach myself
the alphabet, and this proves a new perfect activity with them.
I'm now always carrying a small notebook and a pen in my photo
pouch, and today attempt to write everyone's name in the
curly script. I of course
make many mistakes, which they all enthusiastically correct.
I couldn't be more satisfied with this new idea, which I plan
to use in the slums as well, as it provides a new illustration of
reversed charity: How must it feel, I wonder, for these
kids, some of whom barely go to school, to be able to teach
me, the white learned man. Their faces certainly reflect their
pleasure. As usual, it's hard to part with this
wonderful group of people,
but I know I'll be back. I let Dilip and Laskhmi run free
with my camera, shooting all kinds of pictures inside the
houses, particularly of the Bhagvan displays.
But Aurohalli is once again the destination
of the day, so I resist Shilpa's and Lakshmi's insistent invitations
for Nashta and run on.
On the way, I make a brief stop in Kottur, which I haven't
visited in so long (I know so many places at this point that
it proves impossible to keep everyone happy). In particular,
I'm happy to give Giresh his great photos with his sons, and
Tanuja's by the water reservoir. But here too I resist the
invitations for food, and carefully conceal my camera to not
prolong my stay in the village.
In Aurohalli, I am first greeted by this girl whom we
had visited on Ugadi, whose name is also Shilpa (her and her
mother live in the servant's quarters of one of the bigger
houses). Heralded by a growing escort, I make a point of
going straight to Ambuja's house, worried that I might
have hurt their feelings at some point. But on the way,
I am intercepted by Anjun's dad, and we all sit in the
alley to distribute the heavy backlog of pictures (some
of which date back to Ugadi) that I've brought. Inside
Ambuja's house, with Rakesh, Lavannia and little Chittu,
I am served a delicious rice with some Aloo mix
and Ghee. After eating, we repeat our Kannada writing game,
and with some help, I manage again to write everyone's name.
I have brought many pictures today, some from Shrikanth's
house at the other end of the village, which I insist on giving
myself, so the children take me in that direction, led my
Monika who is limping slightly having hurt her foot probably
on a sharp object. On the way, we meet this man, one of
many who had
received us for Ugadi. He explains that Shrikanth
has left the village permanently, and rather abruptly. I
feel for the boy, whom I know was living in harder
conditions than the others, often away at work
when I tried to visit him. It doesn't seem like I'll be able
to track him though, as no one knows of their exact
whereabouts.
Back in Ambuja's street, I spend some time in Neethra's
temporary house, joined by the Grandma and Anjun's mother.
We somehow manage to speak, even though it's all Kannada
and Telugu, of which I'm barely starting to pick occasional
words, to everyone's amusement. I accept the Grandma's usual
offer of Paan,
possibly not the best idea before the run back home.
-- Left to right: Shilpa, Vandana, Shirisha and Monika -
Aurohalli --
Ball games in Nellurahalli
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
Monday Apr 26 2010 --
Since I didn't hold my word of visiting them SUnday, I have decided
to come this monday morning, and have arranged for Jayanti and Anand
to join us. I'm also bringing a set of Kannada books, and most importantly
a football, that Tayamma/Gauramma have been asking for insistently.
I'm there first and spend time deciphering the Kannada with the
children. (Their mother offers me water and tea, as I am extremely
thirsty from the short run). Jayanti calls that she's running a little
late, then we hear the car across the corner and all kids run to
meet her. Jayanti's niece is very shy at first, but the kids make
her incredibly welcome, treating her like a little sister. Malikarjun
in particular, carefully plays ball with her, very soft and so attentive,
always passing her the ball gently. I am fascinated by their kindness
towards the little girl. Madeomma has to leave, takes a picture with
Jayanti. We try to drag as many children as possible into the game,
most of them playing bare feet (at some point I have everyone move
away from shards of glass), and even Gauramma's father kicks the ball
a few times. Yet another fantastic moment. THe children escort us
back to Jayanti's car, wave us goodbye for some time, before Jayanti
drives me to ITPL.
-- Malikarjun, Tayamma and Kirthi with Jayanti's niece --
Sunday May 02 2010 --
My plan for the day is to organize an "inter-slum" ball game
in Nellurahalli. Essentially, I'd like to bring Manikarjun's and
Akbar's communities together, some of the children already know
each other from attending the govt school. I have also invited
Jayanti, Anand, and Swetha to join.
I arrive early in the tent community, carrying a small football,
and a stack of pictures from last time. I am greeted by some of the
young men, then Uligamma, and made to sit on the usual stone bench,
right in the middle of the tents, where we can comfortably discover
the pictures together (it's the usual feast). I however am at first
adamant about not taking too many more pictures today. It's early
still, I ask for Akbar and Ambika (who speak Hindi best), but
neither show up at first. We play with the ball here, in spite
of the limited space between the tents, until finally they both
show up. I ask repeatedly if they would follow us to Malikarjun's
area to play ball, but Ambika, in spite of her agreement earlier
this week, flatly refuses. Instead, the girls talk me into following
them to a nearby temple. In the end, Akbar and a few other boys
walk me into the field right next to the community, at the end
of which is a small beautiful temple which I had never noticed
before. We play in the field, throwing long passes, and it amazes
me how recklessly the boys run around barefeet, not hesitant to
jump right into thorny bushes to catch the ball. We are soon joined
by some of the girls and women, gorgeous in their sarees, and we
all proceed to the temple, where the priest grants me permission
to take their pictures. But in the meantime, I had told Anand
and Jayanti I would meet them in the Dunmore House area, and
need to somehow direct them over here. This proves pretty difficult,
and we all walk back to the road, to give them a chance to spot us
(I too am barefeet now!). Finally, we're all united, including
Jayanti's little niece, and walk back to the temple. But the kids
are getting a little raucous, Ambika in particular has become
extremely bossy, and directs me too strongly on which pictures
to take. At the temple things get a little too chaotic, to the
annoyance of the priest, but I eventually manage to quiet everyone
out of respect for the Pooja which is about to start. The priest
performs the ritual for all of us.
-- Pooja with the slumdwellers nearby the tent community,
Nellurahalli --
I try again very hard to persuade the girls to come with us,
Churti, Uligamma, Ambika, but they won't hear it, and decide
to stay in the tent community. So leaving Jayanti's car there,
we walk down the road towards the Dunmore house entrance,
with Akbar and two of his friends. While walking with them
I take my notebook to write their names, in both Kannada
and English. Here again, the boys enthusiastically correct my
spelling, and once more I marvel at the idea of having them
teach me, instead of the reverse.
Past the "Dunmore House" turn,
everyone notices the simple beauty of the area, the lotus pond,
the small banana field and the beautiful tree, which leads to
the open plain of the slums. On the way, Akbar hurts his bare
foot on some sharp object (how often do such things happen?
I've kept noticing such incidents recently...)
As usual, in the Dunmore House slums, we couldn't be
more welcome, amazingly, this place, months ago so intimidating,
really does feel like home. While a small cricket game is being
organized, I visit a few of the dwellings, give away a few
pictures. Jayanti's niece, as last time very well attended to
by the slum children, is immediately invited in by Gauramma,
and the little girl spends some time outfitting her with jewelry,
make-up. As usual on a Sunday, various merchants are crisscrossing
the area on foot, in particular women carrying large suitcases
full of cheap jewelry on their heads. One such woman has stopped
at Gauramma's house, and we all explore its contents, the
slumdwellers insisting that both Jayanti and her niece should
get something. As it turns out, this is the same woman that
had come on that day where I parted with Durgamma's family,
now three months ago. I ask her if she remembers me, which she
does, and if she knows anything more about Durgamma, but no,
Raichur, she responds. Since we have several balls, we
play a few different games for all levels (I of course will have
nothing to do with Cricket, and prefer to focus on the little
ones). We learn that it's now Kirti's turn to return to her
Gaok, also in the Gulbarga area, where we're told she
will attend a better school, including English tuition. She
is about to turn five. The sunlight has again gotten very
hot today, and before leaving we take one last rest in
the dark shade of Madeomma's shack. Once again, she confides
in Jayanti, as if they were sisters.
-- With the Jewelry merchant (Gauramma's mother, Yiramma) --
As we're about to leave, Jayanti's niece somehow cuts
her hand, gushing a little blood, which creates quite a stir.
Madeomma in particular seems very affected, as if she had
somehow failed as a host by letting this happen to the little
girl. With great sollicitude, all the slumdwellers eagerly
want to help, but Jayanti rightfully so pushes them back to
handle it herself. Madeomma runs to her with a dirty cloth
and some unknown product in a rusted tin dispenser, but we're
forced to push her away gently but firmly, probably deepening
her distress. We do our best to quell the small incident, and
convince Madeomma that everything is fine. Eventually, after
many goodbyes, (particulary with Kirti whom we may never
see again), we set out on the trail, carrying Jayanti's niece,
and accompanied by both Malikarjun and Kiran.
Amusingly, Akbar is a true chatterbox, talking incessantly
in an endless stream of Kannada. We make elaborate plans about
who will get to keep the ball that I brought today, he agrees
to share it with his friend, keeping it in each ones tent
on alternate days. When we reach Jayanti's car, the boys
spend a long time saying goodbye, carefully making sure
that her niece is fine.
Anand and I are left, returning on foot and bicycle.
Akbar and his friends leave us at their tents (I wish
I had time to introduce Anand to everyone else, but it's
already later than I had planned), leaving
Malikarjun and Kiran to walk us into the village, where
a festive small pooja is being held, a few people dancing
to the loud rhythm of the drums. Fueled by the enthusiasm
of the music, by yet another extraordinary day, my mind
is bubbling with new ideas.
-- Sleeping babies, Nellurahalli slums, Dunmore House
1st community --
-- Sampa at Rosie's doorstep,
Tent Community "Under the Bridge", Kadugodi --
Training Run "Kadugodi, Chansandra, Pattandur" (13 Miles) -- 05/08/10
PM - ECC route - Shortcut, right, through Whitefield - Past
ITPL main road - To Kadugodi through the trails - Tent
community "under the bridge": 0:42:17
To Chansandra, tent community: 0:06:38
Through Chansandra (avoiding the main road) -
"Northern Trail" - Up Whitefield Hill: 0:31:30
Back roads back to ECC route - Pattandur "Lake
Community": 0:16:23
Back home through Nellurahalli: 0:21:24
Time: 1:58:11
Mileage: 13 Miles
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
An early start, but even in the morning
the weather has gotten
hot again, so immediately drenched in sweat
I adjust my rhythm accordingly, trying to keep heart rate
and temperature in check. My goal is roughly a repeat from
two weeks ago, to first meet Sampa and her family in Kadugodi then
find Sathya and Manni in Chansandra. I take the shorter way though,
crossing through Whitefield from the ECC route, then through the
trails that Sampa had showed me the first time, although in reverse
I get somewhat lost and have to wade through a field before reaching
the slum. I am immediately welcome into the tent community, and
meet both Sampa and her sister Valli. We sit together on a rock
in front of their hut, share the photos together (I am particularly
fond of the one of Sampa hugging her child). On the ground
are a pile of dirty straws that the kids are rummaging through,
and a couple cell phone chargers, but Sampa says she's not doing
much with these (I imagined she would sell them along with other
trash she collects). Last time, Valli was
about to marry, and proudly displaying a special necklace
she confirms that this has indeed happened,
then shows me a couple small images from the event, shows me
her husband, sisters (among which is Sampa) and mother (whom I had
met last time). Valli is in a particularly good mood, often sings,
I try to learn a song from them but am not that good at it.
I shake her hand for some reason, but she protests that her
hands are too dirty, compares them to mine. She then
wants to show me her house as well, so we all get up and
walk through the tents. Her tent is being built, so far only a
green tarp covering an open wooden structure, where she will move
in with her husband. Some of the children have gathered with us,
and I let Sampa take most of the pictures. Manni, the teen boy
that had been awaken for me when I had first come here in search
of the Children of the Lake, has also shown up, bringing
a lot of humour to the photographs. We then return to Sampa's
tent, where I'm invited for the usual Rice and Sambar. I'm
about to sit on the ground with them, but Valli stops me
quickly to deploy a mat for me. The food is
pretty much cold, but good nonetheless, but I insist on eating
little, careful to no take food away from these poor people.
-- Valli, under her new tent --
-- Sampa's children --
Sampa explains that the rice from last time has been entirely
eaten, and both her and Valli ask if I could help with the tarps
for the tents, as the monsoon rains will soon be coming. But I
haven't brought money today, and try to stick very hard to my
plan, which is to not donate money, unless there is a clear
reason to do so. I stare at their splendid faces during this
conversation (in broken Hindi, as usual), and struggle with
my emotions, as if cast under their spell. How, and why,
refuse helping them? In the moment the moral grounds
on which I thought I was basing my decision seem tenuous.
I do plan to help these people somehow, but will need
to find a way that is meaningful.
Sampa seems to understand and stops pressing the point.
As I'm about to leave, she asks for the camera and disappears
in a tiny abode inside the tent community. She has taken pictures
of the gods there, actually christian deities, and introduces
me to the owner of the house, an older woman who also speaks
some Hindi. Since she invites me in as well, I take my shoes
off again, step through the cow dung that she is carefully
applying around her doorstep, and enter the little room,
where she proudly shows me the Christian imagery, among
which is a picture of her dead young daughter. Newspapers
on the floor are all in Tamil. She makes me sit on an elevated
wooden plank, probably serving as a bed, then sends a child to
get Tea for us outside. Rosie herself resumes her activity,
painting Rangollis at her doorstep, while I wait inside with
Sampa and her baby boy, who she often breastfeeds then tries
to put to sleep, as he's apparently running a fever. I move
to sit on the floor with her to be at her level, but both
women protest immediately that I should stay in my privileged
position, something I have often found in people's homes, in
the way guests are treated. In the slum or villages, people
are always very particular about my comfort and cleanliness,
and are shocked if I somehow get dirty or sit in some
discomfort (even though everyone else is). We all drink
tea together, including the little child.
-- Rosie drawing Rangolli - Sampa and her
child inside Rosie's house --
From here, I run into Chansandra, trying to find both the tent community from last time, and Sathya and Manni. The community is easily found (to my surprise, but I was completely lost last time), but no sign of Sathya and Manni. Opinions diverge, as I'm being pointed in several directions, or other people seem to think that they have left. I ask again why little Ganesha would always be dressed as a girl, or try to find more about their parents, but noone volunteers an opinion. I walk back through Chansandra, in search of some other tent slums, eventually introduce myself into another community, showing my pictures. The kids here speak Kannada only, but it feels too that they are saying that Sathya and Manni have left. We eventually walk to a rickshaw driver who's sitting in his nearby vehicle in front of his house with a little girl. They too confirm that the kids must have left, these people often travel, he explains, pointing out also that this isn't quite part of Chandsandra, but rather some long complicated name that I'm unable to retain. Not very hopeful, I retrace my way towards the main road, but don't find anyone. I have lost the Children of the Lake yet again - likely for good. Their probable tragedy will remain unexplained.
-- The Rickshaw driver, Chansandra --
SNAKE!!! I have taken the little remote trail that leads back towards the northern route (I had run this once before a long time ago), when suddenly, coming off a turn in a deep wooden area, I discover a snake right in front of me, crossing the trail. It's HUGE (maybe twice the length of a rattler?), its long brown'ish body extending through the whole span of the trail, quickly slithering to the other side, my first good plain sight of a Cobra. I freeze then immediately turn around past the bend in the trail, take a few deep breaths, making noise to manifest my presence, then again sprint through the section while shouting to give me courage. The trail is clear now of course. Phew!
I drank all my water thinking I'd replenish in Chansandra, but having veered from the main road I was unable to buy water, and feel dangerously dehydrated. Along the trail, I see a little girl climbing a coconut tree, talk to her and her older brother. Even though they don't speak Hindi, I still make myself understood by pointing to my empty water bottles while repeating Neeru, Neeru?. They kindly point me to a house on a side trail, and noticing my hesitation insist that I go there. I am first greeted by loudly barking dogs, but a young man quickly comes out, quiets them, and understanding my request fills the bottles for me inside the house. I thank him warmly. Would a simple episode like this happen so easily in the West?
From the Northern route, I take the small alleys, through
the villages, up to the Whitefield hill, where I'm able
to buy water and a Coke, as I've been drinking feverishly.
Finally kind of rehydrated, I cut through Whitefield to
Pattandur to visit again the Lake Community, my last stop
for the day. A few of the children greet me, as some
of the adults are working on the construction site of
a small house adjoining the slum, particularly Sonu Khan
who hails me loudly from the roof (the children are
playing below on the construction site, as is common).
The Maalik is
also here accompanied by two stern looking young men,
and I wonder if I'm upsetting things by my
presence, but the older man eventually talks to me (this
is the third time I meet him). These photos,
what's the point?, he asks me quizzically,
witnessing my playing with
the children and the camera.
A good question that I've been asked before.
Ve usse khooshi hai, main khooshi houn is my tentative
answer. The man repeats how poor these people are,
uneducated,
none of the children going to school (although one boy protests
that he does attend the government school in Pattandur). During
this exchange, since we've been sitting together on the ground,
the children are feverishly trying to clean my pants
from the dirt. I
write my name in Kannada for them, as well as some
of theirs, further intriguing the
Maalik.
I plan to take the trail along the house for the first
time to return home, but Sonu Khan calls me gesticulating
from up on the roof: "Udhar mat jana, kutte,
kutte, Naï !!",
apparently warning me of dangerous dogs.
"Khatarnak?" I confirm, and seeing his vigorous nod,
I elect to follow the usual route into Nellurahalli to return home.
-- Children of the "Lake Community", Pattandur Agrahara --