-- Slumdwellers, Nellurahalli --
St Mary's Basilica, Shivajinagar -- 09/05/10
Saturday 09/04/10 :
Palm Meadows - W. Trail - Nellurahalli - Through
Pattandur Agrahara - by ITPL - straight on the other side
of the main road, down to the railroad tracks - along the
railway to Kadugodi: 0:51:55
Patalamalevet (layout, really) - Chansandra - Northern Trail -
Ajgondanahalli - Madhuranagar - Varthur - back to PM: 1:11:11
Time: 2:03:07
Mileage: 13.7 Miles
Wght: 154
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
For a change, I decide to take the longer way, approaching
Kadugodi from the West, a straight shot to the rail tracks from
ITPL, then after crossing through a narrow tunnel wide enough
only for foot and bike traffic and filled with a rarely
interrupted stream of construction workers, I turn right on
the other side, following the tracks on a small road. I haven't
run there often, and usually to or from work, and had been discouraged
by Sampa and Valli to venture off the paved road into the trails
that create a shortcut reaching Kadugodi. Today I follow their
advice, although I never know if I should take their warnings
seriously. Along this stretch, mostly occupied by the bustling
traffic of construction workers and road side dilapidated shops,
a man on a motorbike slows down to ride along my side for a few
yards, striking a conversation. He works for Adobe. The paved
road bifurcates to veer from the rail road tracks, which is
new territory for me, but soon I reach the school grounds
(that Sampa, Valli and I had once traversed) and the familiar
little shop where we've often shopped for the ration.
I arrive in Kadugodi in less time than I would
have expected.
As usual, Kupamma is well installed, sitting in the center,
reading Tamil Newspapers on the ground, in front of her
tent. The kids greet me, Bagoundi, Bagoundi, with round jocular
faces, Gaiatree and her playful smiles, Nagulu and her
hoarse adult voice. Velangani is laying outside on a mat, seemingly
despondent. Her face, which she keeps contemplating in a mirror,
all puffed up, her eyes grossly swollen. Sampa arrives looking
equally tired, unkempt. We all sit on the ground outside,
as Kupamma is reading some Tamil Newspaper, sharing with the others
the pictures of some famous actor's wedding.
For some reason my presence draws less interest than usual,
except among the children,
with whom I start playing
our usual fun hand games. I propose Tea, by now also a tradition (for
which I always carry a few 10 Rs. bills), offer to go get it myself,
but they insist that
Velangani be the one. I protest that she's sick, that I too have
two hands, but they insist that it'll be too hot
for me to carry. Finally her and I
go together, buy four teas which are poured in thin plastic
cups. She takes the metal lid off one of the cookie containers
to carry. She gestures to me to follow her back,
but I'm busy comforting one of
the little ones who's crying because of a fight with Gaiatree.
Sampa orders Uti (Velangani) to get a mat for me to sit,
but scolds her when she comes back from her tent with
a mat that's perhaps too nice for outside. I sit but
we don't talk much for once, and I wonder for a moment if
this might be the end of Kadugodi. Perhaps they've decided that they
should no longer associate with me. Ruxanna's house is closed,
the door locked with a steel lock (yes, her house, one of the
few with a solid front wall supporting the tent, does have a door).
she's been absent as her husband has finally been admitted
to Bowring hospital, Sampa tells me, she had
to go urgently last Friday.
Suresh arrives and he too remarks why sit so quietly?
But finally Sampa does invite me in, as is custom, and I realize
that her tent wasn't ready (it has been swept clean now).
As it turns out, after such a tentative
start, this will be one of our best times
in there, where we're somehow able to talk and talk and talk, in spite
of our limited Hindi.
Sampa has been wanting to go to church everyday
all the way in Shivajinagar, riding by train (I've seen this church
with her once before, as it is where we went to buy the tarps), like
she did last week. But she passed on the past few days because
of her alleged fever (I never know what fever, Jwara in
Kannada, really means with them). But Suresh and her had a fight
about this, she admits, as he got tired of her complaining
about her health, and says that is her throat hurts, it's
because she tells too many lies (Jhut bolna). She vehemently
debates this, then lifting her eyes, kia karna, as
she often does.
An idea comes to me: Why wouldn't we go together to
the church in Shivajinagar tomorrow (Sunday)? I ask her
about other churches closer by (I know a few myself), but
there seems to be something unique about that particular
one, which others wouldn't fulfill. But on Sundays, the
trains are off, so we would either have to drive with
Xavier, or go by bus (which takes considerably longer
than the train). She exits to ask more information from
Kupamma, they both come back with a Tamil calendar which
has all the information: The masses start at 6am, first in
English, then Kannada, Tamil, etc. We could leave here at
6 and be back by midday, she says, while I'm wondering how
I could manage to get here so early if I don't have Xavier
(he himself goes to church in Whitefield on Sunday mornings,
and besides, I would rather go with Sampa the way she
goes, instead of using the car). I like the plan.
We try to call Xavier a few times to see if he would
be available, but the phone never answers, which satisfies
me in a way as it pushes for the bus scenario.
I am as often asked again about my religion. I describe
as best I can, the one god. What does he look like, they
ask, but I explain that no images are ever allowed,
like muslims they comment. Both women are Christians
married to Hindus, still abiding though by portions of
the Hindu tradition (like wearing the Tikka for example).
We mime how different religions pray, joining hands
in different fashions, or bowing to the ground, but
I can't quite demonstrate how Jews pray other then
by oscillating my body. Aur Pooja karne ke lie?
they ask me, putting me a bit at a loss. So I sing
the first few verses of the Shema Israel,
accompanying with fluid gestures of my hand the
melody of the ta'amim, as carnatic or sufi
singers would. Sampa who has listened with focused
interest, asks: "Urdu?" (this is the language
related to both Hindi and Arabic, that Muslims use.)
I correct her, but of course she's never heard of
Hebrew, or of the Jewish religion.
We've agreed for sure to go tomorrow morning,
even if I don't manage to call her back to confirm.
She tells me stories about the Maryamma in
Shivajinagar which I don't fully understand. It is
important for her to go every day for this period
which will end on a gigantic procession on Sep 10th.
With gravity, she tells me of this story of a young
boy who was punished after kicking the bible with
his feet by being transformed into a half-boy half-snake
monster. Yes yes, she insists, you could see this
on the computer, making me wonder how she
knows any of this.
(Later, Xavier will indeed show me on his
cellphone the video this
story refers to, a bumpy handheld camera orbiting
around a fake looking creature.) Sampa seems genuinely
concerned with these religious matters.
She herself cannot read. I explain that my religion
wrote the first part of the Bible. Concluding the
conversation, she insists on offering me a little
food, which I ask her to keep down to a small
symbolic portion to fulfill her duty as a proper
hostess, while not eating food away from them.
Amazingly, it's mutton.
I am left alone with Velangani, Sampa's younger sister,
who doesn't speak any Hindi at all. I gesture for her
to teach me a few words of Tamil, Sapadu, Tanni,
and Vana (Food, Water, and "Don't want").
But I struggle with the prononciation, which I find
far more challenging then Hindi. Sadly I can barely
hear the difference when she corrects me with inistence,
as if I had pronounced horribly wrong. She jokingly
loses her temper, threatens me with a stick. We laugh,
as I finally (but shakingly) manage to pronounce the
words right, although perhaps she's just giving
me a break. The lesson continues for some time
after Sampa and Kupamma have returned. I make
such big efforts to articulate properly that
Sampa advises me that it would sound a lot
better if I stopped doing bara to pronounce
Chhota instead. To retaliate, I teach them
the word bonjour, which they can barely pronounce
as well. Sampa says she spoke some decent English
as a girl, but now has mostly forgotten it. She
recalls nostalgically her days with the other
Philippe, this man from Switzerland who had
befriended the family and even asked her for
marriage before leaving in India, with whom
she must have learned whatever English she knew.
She continues to pronounce Scissorline
for Switzerland, so I patiently correct her,
but this proves too challenging.
It's been a long time in the tent, and I finally
indicate I should go, but as always, Sampa retains me,
Kyu? Kia Jaldi Hai?. - Sahi, Koi Jaldi Nahi,
I respond, and the conversations continues, time lazily
passing by. Where else would we go?
Suresh joins us eventually. He plays with my phone.
I ask him if he's looking for someone in particular
to call, but Pahrna nahi ata (he can't read),
Sampa reminds me. He is again in his sarcastic mood,
his flow difficult to follow, seems to ask that I offer
a ration for Kupamma's daughter's son for 10,000Rs this
time. The joke is difficult to hear. We try to call Xavier
one last time to arrange for tomorrow, but his phone
continues to be switched off.
Although we agree that I'll call her this
evening (reaching her rarely works anyway), I assure her
that no matter what, I'll be here at 6, whether with Xavier
or by myself, in which case we'd go by bus.
Outside, Velangani, taking care of the children
as often, has organized a mini-race: The kids in
pairs of two
start from the side wall, run to a pole buttressing
a half collapsed structure, then run back.
She counts, one, two, three, in English for once,
setting the start for each pair. We all laugh at little
Prashanth competing against Arpudam's younger son, as
Prashanth is running the wrong way, yet graces us
with his pristine smile.
I leave finally, in the direction of Patalamalevet/Chansandra,
where I haven't gone in a long time.
-- Ramaka, in Patalamalevet --
Under the tree in Patalamalevet where Manni and
Sathia have lived, the tent is gone, although from a
distance I can see a few slumdwellers living again
directly under the tree. I can't see well enough from
a distance, but as I approach, I recognize Ramaka
who used to live in the Kadugodi community (no
sign of Sampa and Murgesh though). The young woman has
an ever striking figure, marked by destitution, strong
facial features, teeth gnawed and colored by Paan, traces
of many wounds on her arm, remnants of old deep
burns on her chest, her clothes today particularly
ragged, a dirty men's shirt covering her tattered Saree.
She holds a jute bag inside which she's been picking trash.
Yet we're happy to see each other, a relationship that
has grown from that day that we walked up on the overpass,
her face lightens
to a curious smile. In Kannada or Tamil, she explains to
her companions that we can take photos, which we do,
including a few of her sleeping child on the ground.
A little later, seeing the door open while passing
by Ubagarimary's tiny dwelling, I cautiously approach.
A lying figure rises and waves me in, Uncle, Ao.
It's Deivani.
I thought Deivani, one of Sampa's younger sisters,
had left for TamilNadu.
We sit together in the tiny decrepit space. The tarpal
roof is full of holes again, letting much water enter
under the current monsoon rains. Deivani hardly knows
any Hindi (or English), but we try to speak somehow.
She has returned from TamilNadu and soon her husband
will follow her. She shows me a few of the photos we
had taken together, unfortunately largely spoiled by water
damage. She produces two posters of the gods, Ganesha,
Lakshmi and Saraswati, pokes a hole in one (with a utensil
served to chop vegetables), hangs it to a nail on the wall.
Occasionall violent gusts of wind
make it seem like the roof is about
to collapse on us, the tarp being held by cinder blocks which
are shifting dangerously. She shows me the picture of
a rat on the God's picture, explaining that the rats
are eating the tarps, creating all these holes. We
repeat the word Rat in Tamil, Kannada, Telugu, Hindi
and English. She mentions a few times a certain
Komati, a girl I had met once in Chansandra, who apparently
left to get married, but it seems some fight must have
resulted from that, although I don't really understand
the point of the story (for some reason, in the weeks
following, Komati's name will keep coming up
among the slumdwellers).
I show her whatever pictures
are on my camera. While looking for Sampa's or
Prashanth's, she runs into the pictures of
Ramaka that I've just taken,
and qualifies as a bad person.
She explains to me again Ramaka's arm's many cuts,
that she draws blood for 2 rupees. Who would pay for
this I ask, but she doesn't understand my question.
(I'll hear many different explanations of why
Ramaka's arm is wounded that way).
Apparently, Deivani is back to being pregnant,
and complains again about her weakness. (I had
previously been told that the baby had been
lost). Like Sampa,
it seems that her husband got into an argument over
her incessant complaints of feeling weak.
I don't know to believe her pregnancy, as it seems
to have been on and off at times. Does she know
herself? Like almost every one here, she hands
me a few papers scribbled by a doctor for her, but
I refuse to help her. How much she has changed from
when I first met her only recently, when she seemed
like a wild raudy adolescent.
We go out for some tea, in a nearby shop, with
cookies and water. But we're both hungry, and walking
further along the main road towards Chansandra, we meet
a young man who looks exactly like her husband, but must
be his brother. The three of us land in a small typical
eatery, a room that could sit ten at most next to a
chaotic kitchen (for once I cautiously avoid drinking the water
from this place). Deivani satisfies the shopowners curiosity
by explaining about me at lenght in Tamil. I hand her over
the camera with which she photographs the people here
(sometimes against their will, which I forbid her to do),
but some of her photos cut people's head, so I redo
the shopowners'. I pay 48Rs. for the meal, a prize that
Deivani wants to argue. Walking
back, after the brother has returned to his work (whatever that
is), we meet a young girl along the road who I had
seen before, who is walking in school uniform (but is
she coming back from school?) carrying a load of
cheap plastic jewelry for sale. Deivani asks me for
the camera again, takes her friend's picture
in front of the Patalama temple. We then enter
a little community in a small courtyard, where
Deivani also photographs children and adults alike.
As usual, I promise to brings prints of these photos
to these people (one woman speaks Hindi).
I am about to leave, but as it's getting a little
hot, Deivani invites me to sit in the shade of the small
temple, where we're soon joined by a group of children from
that community. We play at repeating everyone's name,
until they leave one by one, leaving us with just one
of Deivani's friends, a teen girl. Deivani goes into
a long litany of complaints, asking me to help, particularly
with the rent for a room, for which she wants 200Rs (although
I don't understand what that could do). We are joined by a man,
curious, with whom I can speak comfortably in Hindi. It turns
out this is a Sai Baba devotee, who takes my number to invite
me to the Ashram. The man also knows Vijay Kumar, a newcomer
whose name is on everyone's mouth these days, an Englishman
(or American?) who frequently comes here on a motorbike
and helps out people (Sampa, Deivani and even Ruxanna
have all been talking about him). In spite of his Indian
name, this man apparently only speaks English.
The Sai Baba devotee appears earnest and compassionate.
We discuss our respective personal situations. After
he's left, Deivani lies down right
on the hard stones (as is common here, people liberally lying down
and sleeping in the most inhospitable places), and resumes
her complaints. Now tired of our difficult communication,
she addresses me straight in Tamil, which of course I don't
understand at all. Her friend laughs at almost every sentence
for some reason, and sometimes Deivani reprimands her,
as this is clearly undermining her prayer. We
eventually move back inside the tiny room,
as Ubagarimary still hasn't returned
from shopping. Deivani continues, particularly about needing
money to pay rent in this other place, she says, showing
the decrepit walls in this small enclosure, the torn roof.
Her friend continues to giggle though for some reason.
Deivani makes me promise to come back, but I stop short
of promising actual help, asking to speak to her mother.
I leave them both about 10Rs before leaving.
-- Inside Ubagarimary's shack -- Deivani and friend --
Along Chansandra main road, I buy Coke and Kinley water,
carrying the latter as I resume the run. At the intersection,
the road is particularly jammed with trucks, exhaling
painful pollution, but I soon turn into the charming
Northern Route, into the fields, the lush rural landscape
surrounding Bangalore. This takes me past the beautiful
village of Ajgondanahalli, then through to Madhuranagar
where I'd like to see Shilpa. She herself is absent,
but I am greeted enthusiastically by other family
members who have been sitting outside in front
of their house. I'm happy to meet Laksmi and Dilip
who I haven't seen in so long. They insist on offering
me food which I adamantly refuse, but do accept water
from the young woman. She also offers me Prasad
which of course I can't refuse.
They invite me for
next Saturday to the Ganapathi festival which I happily
accept, although I plan to also go to Harohalli for that
special day. Before leaving, Lakshmi hands me over a
plastic bag which she has filled with Prasad.
I finally return home after this particularly
long day, but at that very moment, Roopa
calls inviting me to Harohalli for a festival, where each
house has prepared meal and Pooja in their homes.
-- MaryAmma, Shivajinagar --
SUNDAY 09/05/10
Yesterday, Sampa said that we should leave at 6am
from Kadugodi. This early start time has stressed me out,
as I'm not quite sure how to get there so early without
the car (Xavier is not coming today). I've elaborated
a few odd plans (for example running with a change of
clothes), but settle on the idea of walking there, and
possibly catch an auto or bus along the way if I'm late.
But when to leave? Running there normally takes
40 minutes, so doubling that time for walking would
take 1h20, almost a 4:30 start. I intend though on taking
the more direct main road (at this hour free of traffic)
but how much shorter is that compared to my usual running
roads? I sleep poorly, not quite sure how this will go,
and what to find outside at such an early hour. Although
awake, I postpone my departure a little bit, thinking
I can probably catch an auto on the way if need be.
I set out shortly before 5. I have of course taken
Sampa hour way too literally, and could easily have
started an hour later, in daylight.
The street is just about deserted. Luckily, some
public lighting makes it walkable, in spite of the patches
of pitch darkness. There are no vehicles in site - so
much for the idea of taking an Auto-Rickshaw - except
for rare buses, which for the most part are coming
in the other direction, from Kadugodi.
Anxious about arriving on time, I settle into a fast
walk, which quickly warms me up in the pre-dawn cool.
I am careful navigating the alternance of light and
shadows, to
to not fall into a hole on the uncertain sidewalks.
I seem to be making good time, ticking one by one
the familiar landmarks on the road, different at
night, but still worried about the time it could
take, I continue to press harder, even break into
short moderate runs.
But as I approach Hope Farm,
the sole of my right shoe partially comes
off from the back, now flapping awkwardly with
my footsteps. I can
imagine losing my sole entirely and having to finish
barefoot, and wonder if that will compromise the day's
plans. I press forward neverthless, now covered
in sweat from the fast pace walking in spite of
the nocturne freshness.
The streets are still nearly deserted,
light has not broken out, and the embarassing sound
of my loose sole seems to dominate loudly the
unaltered quiet.
I am particularly uncertain of the distance left past
Hope Farm (I picture in my head how it must relate to
the road through Dinur), so I keep pressing ahead,
not releasing the effort. I pass a rare solitary couple
on a morning stroll, too aware of my sole and its dreadful
flap, flap, flap, but they salute me nicely not
questioning this strange appearance.
Finally, much sooner than I thought,
I spot the familiar descent to the
bridge, as first light is breaking through.
Amazingly, I've covered the
distance in only an hour, showing how much shorter
the main road is (but completely impractical for running
during the day). I slow down to a normal pace, realizing I'm
now too early, while the young couple passes me then proceeds
up the bridge in the direction of the Sai Baba Ashram.
I have hurried so
much that I'm pearled with sweat, my shirt embarassingly tainted.
A good ten minutes are
left before six, so I walk back and forth a few times
looking to catch a little cool breeze, desperatingly
trying to dry up - in vain.
I am wearing an orange shirt (Sampa had told me this
is the devotees' colour), but the sweat marks are
long to dissipate.
I finally approach the slum, hesitant at this
early hour, but I am encouraged by meeting the fat
Hindi-speaking woman
who tells me that she too will be going
to Church later today, and assures me that Sampa is awake,
so I can go right in. The slum is deserted in the early
morning light as I timidly enter. Prashanth, for some
reason coming outside and the first one to spot me,
returns to his mother's tent (whose door is half open)
to call Sampa.
I approach the door calling her name softly.
She appears, immediately jumps startled at my sight,
then bursts out laughing. (I must be quite a site
with my broken shoe and wet shirt, so early
in the morning).
Needless to say, she is not ready at all!
How could I have taken
6 o'clock litterally, I think in defeat, vouching
to not make the mistake again. Does she even have anything to
read time?
She leads me into valli's old tent, where waits
another surprise: Deivani is sleeping here, with that
other man, who must be her husband after all.
I have brought biscuits (these are wrapped
into individual packets of three, which fascinates
Velangani) which we share with the few children who have
started to join us (Gaiatree, Nagalu). I'm feeling quite
cold, especially being wet from the sweat, and really
empathize with the children, most of whom
are not wearing much at all (Gaiatree in particular is
only wearing a light dirty dress, but she shows her beaming
smiles as usual). Nagalu is wearing a thicker sweater, and
from her pockets she extracts a few of these slimy plastic toys
that stick to surfaces when thrown (where did she get
these from?). The children remember the barbichette
game, and all insist on grabbing my chin.
In the tent at this early hour,
we're attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes, big fat ones,
who's unavoidable relentless sting I can feel on
my naked feet. Deivani's husband
goes right back to sleep, breathing heavily, while she, lying on
the hard ground without a cover,
lazily rests her head on his legs.
I am too tired to get much of a conversation going.
Sampa has left us, and one by one, Prashant then Kalpana
appear, hair carefully combed, nice clothes on (although
Kalpana's don't cover her fully). Prashanth, playing in
the tent, is shooed away a few times from a tiny dirt
mound, which Deivani and Velangani call as the bathroom
(using the English word). Sampa herself eventually
appears, in her immaculate orange Saree, ready. It has taken
a good hour, now past seven. We call after Kupamma
from outside her tent (inside which I can see a fire going), but
she's nowhere to be seen, and declines to
come with us after all.
Sampa and I leave, waving to Velangani goodbye.
We take a first bus at the Kadugodi terminal across
the street to nearby Hope Farm (where I just came from).
Sampa pays this one, with a 10rs bill, gesturing
to the collector that she's
paying for me as well. She has sat in the Ladies section
(in the front) and shows me to sit further back, away
from her.
After this short trip, I ask her whether I'll
have to sit away from her the whole way, which she
confirms, we cannot sit together.
We cross the Hope Farm intersection
as it's slowly getting much busier, Sampa carrying
Prashanth on the side, me holding Kalpana's hand.
Here, on the road to ITPL, we wait for some time,
but our bus isn't coming. She asks
if we could take one of the more expensive Volvo buses
(to which I agree), but one quickly leaves without us. We're
not exactly waiting at the bus stop itself
for some reason, but I let her
guide things, feeling in her territory. Since
we're standing next to an
AutoRickshaw (Kalpana is playing with it), eventually,
Sampa engages the driver, her stern expression displaying
that she's hard at negociation. Another RickshawValla comes
from across the street, perhaps to say that we need to
take a Rickshaw from the station. Finally, our bus arrives,
but it's so jammed packed that we don't even try to enter.
We reconsider the Rickshaw. Sampa has gotten the prize
to 120 Rs., (bahut zyadaa, she comments, although I can't
imagine what I would get charged for the same one hour
journey if I had negotiated), to which I agree.
I follow her puzzled as we walk down the
road a bit, soon joined by the Rickshaw into which we
embark, probably to escape the other drivers' vigilance.
I shiver again from cold in the morning wind.
I wonder about little
Kalpana, who's playing with another one of these plastic
throwing things (everybody got them today?), and Prashanth
who's absentmindedly playing with my arm hair. Sampa discusses
with the driver in Tamil. A few words indicate that at times
she's describing me. When the man realizes I speak Hindi,
we talk as well. The man speaks 5 or 6 languages, Kannada,
Urdu (language of the Muslims),
Telugu, Tamil, Hindi, and even Malayalam. Gulbarga,
Sampa adds, a region of Northern Karnataka which I didn't
think had its own language. Kannada / Hindi mix,
she specifies. Even though we're still far from Shivajinagar
(the whole drive takes over an hour), I notice a few people
wearing the exact same color as Sampa, a bright Orange / Pink
color, undoubtedly headed to Shivajinagar as well. The driver
asks me if I'm christian also, but I respond yehoudi,
which he for once clearly understands (the Hindi word
is the same as the hebrew word, but most people
haven't heard of the religion). He himself is Muslim, so
we compare similarities between the two religions, one god,
no images...
We approach
the main plaza in Shivajinagar through chaotic busy small
streets, as many orange clad devotees have invaded the area,
women mostly in their beautiful plain sarees, but also men
wearing that exact color, as well as a few children. The
Rickshaw Valla drops us at one end of the plaza. 120 I ask again?
120 mene kaha... , he answers, perhaps hoping for
more.
Sampa and I enter the church grounds, open around the
Basilica. The crowd has gathered outside in prayer, without
much order, microphones singing, in Kannada, comments
Sampa. Prarthna Karna, she encourages me,
while we stand
amongst the crowd.
But this is soon over. Sampa guides me to a
side building, where we are each given two candles wrapped
in a flower garland, which we light from other devotees
before in turn offering our fire to others.
This is a long hall which leads to the Virgin Mary's
statue, which is kept behind a glass pane. With the
crowd, we slowly progress towards that goal, while
some stand on the side in prayer, while
others near the central aisle crawl
the distance on their knees.
Sampa, carrying Prashanth on her hip the whole time
while I carefully hold Kalpana's hand, takes us to the
front relatively quickly, where a man extinguishes
our candles with another flower garland then discards them,
while we make a small donation. I have not taken pictures
so far out of respect (and not wanting to annoy Sampa),
but she asks me for the camera, hands it to a man who behind
an enclosure can approach the idol, and asks him to take
pictures for us, which he does with great care (and taking
ample time). We are eventually asked to move on into smaller
rooms where other religious statues are under display,
in front of which people stop, bringing their hands from
the statues to their lips as in Hindu fashion. We have not
entered the main basilic which looks so crowded that Sampa
doesn't even want to try. We're taken outside through a
hallway, into a narrow street busy with religious merchants,
from whom Sampa asks to buy candles and a chapelet.
As we come out, we also buy two balloons for Kalpana
and Prashanth.
-- Sampa and Kalpana inside the church --
Bowring Hospital is right nearby, a government
hospital where the slumdwellers from Kadugodi typically
come for treatment. Ruxanna should be there attending
to her sick husband, why not try to visit her, proposes
Sampa. I agree of course. We make our way through the
busy street, carrying Prashanth, holding Kalpu's hand,
passing the cour des miracles of street merchants,
beggars (among whom one woman's feet are deformed
beyond recognition, an amorphous pile of swollen
flesh). I ask Sampa about her relationship with
Ruxanna, having seen so many of their small conflicts,
but she smiles beautifully betraying her profound
affection
for her friend.
As we're passing by, a street shoe mender hails me,
having noticed
the flapping sole of my shoe. After a quick hesitation,
I ask Sampa for one minute while the man scrapes it,
applies thick
glue with a brush, dries it,
then pounds the shoe back together,
indeed sticking it back. Tis rupey, translates
Sampa for me, which I give to the man.
Several times, Kalpana lets go of her balloon, which I'm
able to catch back, until it eventually pops. Kalpana
remains stoic. We enter the hospital for the poor.
I confirm with Sampa that
treatment is free. But how to find Ruxanna?
Sampa doesn't even remember the husband's name, and
for a moment can't even remember Ruxanna's name, fixed
on her slum nickname Buma (used for muslims)!
Somehow thinks she can ask someone she knows (she herself
comes here for occasional check-ups). We enter one
of the few gray tall buildings.
Sampa leaves Prashanth's balloon inside, concealed
behind a sign, and we climb the stairs. Sampa checks
some of the large dormitories but no sign of Ruxanna.
She asks a few people,
to no avail.
Looking into one dormitory from the door,
the asks me to enter to explore what seems to be a
second larger room. I enter followed by the quizzical
look of the patients, bit still no sign of Ruxanna. We've
only explored two floors, but Sampa tells me the higher
floors are for cancer patients. I should have
challenged this, but we end up leaving the hospital.
Having returned by the church,
we look for Nashta, all feeling
hungry. Sampa has a tiny shop in mind in one of the
ajoining alleys, but it's closed, so we enter
a crowded restaurant on the main plaza, open to
the street, where people stand around small high tables.
We buy tickets for 3 Masala Dosas which I present
to the open kitchen. We then eat outside,
sitting on the steps of the shop, by the bustling
crowd of the street. As we're almost finished,
Sampa disappears with Prashanth (I assume to go
potty), but she eventually starts buying clothes
for Velangani from a street vendor, which I pay for
once she has negotiated the price. The second balloon
eventually pops as well, and we buy a small plastic
toy for Kalpana.
The bus station in Shivajinagar is relatively
large. Sampa, not knowing how to read,
asks around for the right bus,
"Hope Farm" (which is pronounced
something like Hope Pharam.)
We take seats
in a near empty bus. Sampa invites me to sit in the ladies
area this time, with Kalpana, but not directly with her.
Char Admi, I ask the controller, thinking I need
four tickets, but unbeknownst
to me Sampa corrects my mistake: Children are actually
free, so our two tickets come to 42Rs.
(as opposed to the 120 of the Rickshaw).
Kalpana and I play, marveling at sites along the way,
a lake, temples... The little girl plays at dropping
her chapals, putting them back on again. We somehow manage
to stay entertained the whole way, until the bus gets
fuller, and I take her over to a single seat, sit her
on my lap. Sampa has crossed her legs, sitting here as
she would in her tent, laying Prashanth on her lap,
putting him to sleep by breastfeeding him. A man carrying
a baby boy has sat next to us, the boy plays with my
Rakhis. I eventually feel Kalpana going limp in my arms,
falling asleep, so peaceful. The exhaustion has caught
up with me, but I do not sleep.
When we exit the bus in Hope
Farm, Sampa and I are each carrying a sleeping child. We take
the next bus to Kadugodi, only a few minutes away,
5 rs per person, says Sampa, which I figure would be
20, but she corrects me, only adults pay. She admits
laughingly
that earlier when I had asked for 4 tickets, she
had corrected down to two with the controller.
-- Sampa and Prashanth, Kalpana, inside the bus --
Back in the slum, my exhaustion takes over,
the early morning, all the events of the day.
As usual when tired, my Hindi shuts down,
I can no longer make the effort. Sampa remarks
that I'm no longer able to understand her, as
she's reminding me that I had promised to buy
her ration, but she lets it be, recognizing
my despondence. We'll see if
Ruxanna has returned she proposes, but instead,
it's Ramaka we run into, having moved back
here from Chansandra. I sit at Ruxanna's doorstep,
in front of the closed door, while Sampa and Kupamma
are chatting about the day's event. Some argument
erupts with Ramaka who makes the gesture of spitting
several times at Kupamma, but the older woman's
hoarse voice takes over (as it always does),
chasing Ramaka away. Just then Ruxanna appears.
Wearing a green outfit, she's returning
from the shop carrying plastic bags. She looks
weary, preoccupied.
The women start talking
in Tamil, she enters her home while we all stand
at her doorstep. Sampa pauses to tell me that Ruxanna
doesn't beleive that we were at the hospital, otherwise,
wouldn't we of found her? She gives us instructions,
take the lift, third floor... (we were only on the
first two). She is packing clothes from her tent,
bundling them up in a cloth. Her children have nothing more
to wear, she explains. They are staying with her
husband's mother, not allowed in the hospital. Nothing
will happen for her husband today,
as no doctor is available. She
asks me if I would follow her back to Shivajinagar.
In a tired daze, I tentatively accept that plan,
not able to quite grasp the long journey back.
They talk more in Tamil, among
which I can make out that she's describing how they're
being fed at the hospital. She asks for Sampa's number.
We're unable to find paper or pen at first, Sampa has to
look through all of Ruxanna's children's schoolbags
to produce one. I write both Sampa's number and mine,
although it sense that Ruxanna might be irritated
that I wrote mine, potentially confusing her.
Tense and rushed, full of uncertainty,
she finishes packing and heads out to take the bus,
on the other side of the street from the slum entrance.
She finally advises me not to come with her today.
Sitting again in the community, I admire
these women's great solidarity, in spite of their
frequent quarrels, coming together in times of
distress. Bahout taklif hai usko, tells
me Kupamma with emphasis, insisting that I
should help her if it came to that.
We make plans to visit Ruxanna
for the next day. I insist that it being a work day,
I wouldn't be available
before evening.
We come to the agreement of meeting after 6:00. Last
bus is at 7:30 they object, but with the car, this
shouldn't be a problem. We part on that promise.
I decide to walk back, not taking the bus. But
it's only 7 rupees!, yells Kupamma as I disappear
along the road.
A little later, up the road, a long slender arm
clad in green
waves at me from a passing bus:
It's Ruxanna, who, on her way to Shivajinagar,
must have waited all this time for
her bus to start.
Later that night, the events of the last couple days
play again in my head. But tonight the fascinating music
of their voices, the sounds, the smells, turn into a
strangely deformed half-nightmare, bits of sentences
peeking out of the chaotic fray, My Helping, My Helping,
keeps repeating Deviani's voice. This unpleasant garbbled
nonsense, as if from a sensory overdose,
leads me to sleep, no longer able to distinguish
fact and dream.
The next day though, the enthralling melodies of their
language will captivate me again.
Bowring Government Hospital, Shivajinagar -- 09/06/10
The next evening, Xavier and I show up at around 6
with the car. Kupamma is ready,
her hair pulled back as she usually does when going out,
her Saree a little tidier. But we wait for Sampa for some time,
who’s still getting ready in her immaculate orange saree for the
church. We exhort her to hurry up, as I’m anticipating a lot of
traffic at this hour. She comes out carrying Prashanth to her side,
who I didn’t think would be coming for this, as I thought children
were not allowed inside the hospital. We board the car, me on the
front seat next to Xavier, Kupamma in the middle seat, and Sampa
in the back with Prashanth.
Soon we hit heavy traffic, and sure enough the whole trip
will take about two hours. Sampa, having put Prashanth asleep
leaves him lying on the backseat and comes sit by Kupamma. We’re
talking quite a bit at first, some in Hindi, although they tend to
quickly slip back to Tamil with Xavier. I’ve only recently learned
just a few words of Tamil, and amazingly, I’m able to spot them in
the conversation here and there, particularly Saparu, food.
Also from the rare English or Hindi words I make efforts to follow,
fascinated as usual by the extraordinary music of the language, the
contrast of Sampa’s singing voice versus Kupamma’s endearing hoarse
debit. Sampa seems to be describing to Xavier our trip yesterday to
Shivajinagar, and occasionally I ask him to translate. Indeed,
she’s related small anecdote of our day, for example how I had
asked for four bus tickets thinking children had to pay! The topic
drifts to housing, with Kupamma saying that she could possibly be
moving to govt housing in Chansandra, and she details the procedure
of payment, which after a few years could guarantee the slumdwellers
ownership of a house. It seems that these apartment complexes could
fit everyone, with the move happening in 4 to 6 months. I ask Sampa
if she intends to pursue this as well, but pata nahi is the
answer I get. As the long journey continues, we gradually fall into
silence, with the exception of Kupamma who talks on and on, with
Xavier assenting occasionally. I eventually tune out. Sampa is not
feeling so well in the car and covers her eyes. I offer her water
(which she drinks Indian style, lips not contacting the bottle)
and cookies, but they recommend that we keep most cookies for
Ruxanna. As we're approaching Shivajinagar, we come to life again.
A familiar smell comes from the backseat, that of Kupamma's Paan,
and I dream with premature nostalgia what overwhelming memories this
pungent odor will no doubt trigger if I ever leave India. I ask
Kupamma for Paan, but she says it's gone bad, too hard. I recall
that I've tried even Gutkha with them, stealing it from Valli
one day, and Sampa proceeds to tell Xavier how Ruxanna had
once stuck tobacco in my mouth (I can understand by her gestures).
She insists that I've done this three times, whereas I can only
remember two.
I tell them how I used to smoke a long time ago, and the topic
drifts on to alcohol, which I tell them I drink on occasion.
This immediately raises their concerns, and they press me
with questions, how often, how many glasses a day? I reassure
them, and the conversation has drifted again before I can
explain that my country is such a producer of wine. I occasionally
ask Xavier the meaning of these Tamil words that have entered
my head, day after day, and while we're on the topic of teaching
me Tamil again, I repeat Sampa's bad word, Kurikotti, which
draws a shocked mask for her, as she silently urges me to not
say such things in front of Xavier. As we're passing a taller
building, she embarks on a long tirade in which I spot a few
times the english word helicopter. Xavier explains:
She thinks that some movie, presumably Godzilla, has been shot
here (how would she know anything like this?). We try correcting
her that it was shot in New York.
We finally arrive.
Xavier is able to park inside the hospital itself.
Night has fallen by now, and we’re dominated by the lights
of the nearby Mariamma church, as well as the hymns sung on
loudspeakers. As we exit the car, Kupamma reminds me to not
forget the biscuits, which I place in a plastic bag, wondering
whether this is a suitable offering (I have also taken the pack
that Sampa had been eating with Prashanth on the backseat). We
enter that same building that Sampa and I had explored yesterday,
this time knowing our destination. Walking through the dark
corridors, Xavier admits to me that his father died in this
very building, of alcoholism. We follow Ruxanna’s instructions,
press the elevator button this time, peeking as we wait through
a window which opens to a large pile of trash at the sight of
which even Sampa recoils. Galich, shc comments. Inside
the elevator, an employee begrudgingly presses the 3rd floor,
then makes some unpleasant remark to Kupamma, which causes the
women to laugh behind his back. He has just told her that the
usage of Paan is strictly forbidden inside the premises.
The third floor opens to large rooms on each side.
Kupamma explores the left side but comes back unsuccessful,
and as we contemplate asking a busy looking young nurse, Sampa
is the one to call us from the other side. She waves us in.
I had planned on not intruding on them, staying outside at
least at first, but the women invite me in, as well as Xavier.
To my surprise, Sampa still carries Prashanth right into the hall,
although I thought this was prohibited.
This is a large hall with beds evenly spaced throughout.
In many ways, I was expecting a much more traumatic picture.
While the setting is extremely simple, the room is not overcrowded,
and none of the patients offer the horror visions that I was perhaps
romanticizing (a vision similar to that of Lawrence of Arabia in the
Damascus hospital). Each patient has a simple bed and a nightstand,
most hosting spouse or visitors at their sides. There is however
no privacy whatsoever, not even curtains between the beds.
Sampa has found Ruxanna’s husband. I had only caught an
imperfect glimpse of him in the slum (he saluted me once from
the half obscurity of his tent), and I am immediately struck
by the beauty of his features, even in this difficult spot. I
stay a little back while Sampa and Kupamma talk to him, and
actually, the man seems to avoid acknowledging my presence. I
respect him, knowing how people of the community hate being seen
while in difficulty. The man is wearing a red turban, and uncomfortably
shows his naked feet, of which the skin seems generally swollen but who
must have regained some of their initial shape, as the deformation
isn’t as pronounced as Ruxanna had described it. But no sign of
Ruxanna herself, and I can feel that neither Sampa nor Kupamma
have much to say to this man. Sampa moves towards the window as
if looking down for her friend. She explains that Ruxanna has gone
down to buy food, and invites us to go look for her. I hand over
the plastic bag with the cookies to Kupamma, which she gives to
the man, placing it on the busy nightstand. Back at the 3rd floor
entrance, we debate whether we should wait here, or go look for
Ruxanna at the store, which is on the hospital premises. Kupamma
and I vote to go down the stairs, but Sampa is worried that Ruxanna
might come up through the elevator in the meantime. A solution is
found: Xavier (who’s met Ruxanna once) will stay here and alert
me by phone if she shows up. Kupamma quickly heads down, but
Sampa and I haven’t gone far when Xavier soon calls us. Ruxanna
was so fast out of the elevator that he barely got to intercept
her. We call on Kupamma who has already made it a couple floors
down to climb back up, and reunite with Ruxanna.
She’s wearing that same green outfit than yesterday,
now covered by an old sweater. She looks a little gaunt,
but in much better spirits. Here too, I was planning to erase
myself from the moment, leave them to their moment, but Ruxanna
smilingly invites me in, back in the room, and insists that I sit
(even though everyone else is standing) on her husband’s bed itself.
I elect to sit on the next bed which happens to be free, wondering
why is it always so important that I be made more comfortable than
other people, but feeling that it’s a small insult for me to refuse
their proposed comfort. Her husband has removed his turban, and I
am once again struck by the strength and beauty of his features.
So this is the abominable alcoholic husband, creating terrible
fights on the rare occasions when he returns home. The mental
image I had formed differs from that of this beautiful young man,
whose face is now finally lighting up with a striking smile as
Ruxanna is updating everyone. She’s tremendously relieved. She
shows his feet again, explaining that they’ve already swelled
down quite a bit, that, having been given daily injections,
he’s been told that he could exit in about four days. She
also tells me that she sleeps here, that she daily visits her
children who are staying with the husband’s mother about an
hour away from here (by bus). Kupamma, the ever quarrelsome
Kupamma, approaches Ruxanna and swiftly slips a few bills
into her blouse, where the women keep their money, pressed
against their chest. The gesture has been quick and irrevocable,
a display of extraordinary solidarity which suddenly captures
the moment. I have seen everything in Kadugodi, from the lowest
quarrels to this admirable display of friendship. I realize
that both Ruxanna and Kupamma have gone out of their way to
be here for there friend today, showing whatever help they could,
putting aside religion or petty jealousies. Even though Sampa
has declared she hated these people, that she would do all
she could to move away from them, today surfaces her deep
devotion to the community.
The nurses are wheeling in a tray to get ready for the
patients’ injections. It’s late and the hospital should be closing
soon, so Ruxanna escorts us out. Immediately in the hall,
she stops to retrieve Kupamma's bills, which have slid down
into her clothes. She also draws her small wallet from inside
her blouse, checking a few crumpled papers to verify that
she still has Sampa's number. As we proceed through the
semi-obscure corridors, we cross a few arriving patients
being wheeled on more steel beds, seemingly half dead. In front
of the ER ward outside, Ruxanna shudders, visibly recalling
the first few nights here.
Sampa stops at the little shop
at the entrance of the hospital. I first decline wanting anything,
but since everyone's having coffee I have it too, and some biscuits.
I am getting ready to pay, but Sampa produces a 100Rs. note and
treats us all. "Thank you", I say ceremenously. Ruxanna
makes fun of me, using a few words of English, I usually say
No Thanks, then "Welcome", she adds. Will you be
back home for the Eid, I ask her before leaving. Pata nahi
comes the inevitable answer, and we leave her to go join back
her husband, for another night in the hospital.
I propose to go to the basilica, since Sampa is wearing
her circumstancial Saree. We walk along the chaotic sidewalk
by the bus station, even at this hour littered with beggars
or streeside vendors, some of them eating on the ground. I
recount to Xavier my shoe incident from yesterday, how it had
been repaired here, but it turns out Sampa already told him
the story (she has really told him everything!). The lights
of the church bring and the orange clad worshippers bring
a magical atmosphere to the night as we cross the busy intersection,
squeezing our ways through the swarm of motorbikes and Rickshaws.
We return to that long hall like yesterday, a ritual I'm now
used to, given flowers and candles, lighting them off other
worshippers, slowly making our way to the front where Mariamma's
statue is displayed. After handing over Prashanth to Xavier,
Sampa kneels down today, spends some time
in prayer, while I follow Kupamma with the crowd. We hand back
our candles which are extinguished with another garland of
flowers. Sampa, as other people, touches the various images
of the gods, touches the glass panes shielding them, touches
the grey back wall behind the altar, as if to capture its
spirit. Sure enough, as we're passing the basilica itself,
the power goes down, the soft glow of the candles replacing
the harsh electric light, the sound of the loudspeaker fading
to the beautiful unorganized chorus of the worshippers.
-- Deivani fetching water, near the slum --
Sampa and Deivani (17.4 Miles) -- 09/10/10
Palm Meadows - through Imadhalli - Northern Trail -
Through Chansandra - Patalamalevet, "Sathya's Tree": 0:47:14
To Kadugodi: 0:05:12
Through Dinur - Across ITPL main road - into Pattandur
Agrahara - "Lake Community": 0:22:47
Through Pattandur - Straight by ITPL - Descent and
across the railway -
Along the railway back to Kadugodi: 0:30:17
Back through Patamalevet - Same way through the Northern
Trail - Imadhalli - Varthur Kodi: 0:51:23
Time: 2:36:54
Mileage: 17.4 Miles
Wght: 154
I have been invited today by Sonu Khan in the Pattandur Agrahara
Lake Community, to celebrate the Eid, the end of the Ramzan, at
12 o'clock. But I decide to first visit my friends in Kadugodi,
particularly curious to find out if Ruxanna (also Muslim) will
have returned home from hospital. A pristine sunshine is illuminating
the morning, in contrast with the nearly
constant overcast rainy weather, but this beautiful episode
won't last, yielding to variable conditions.
For once I decide to take the
longer route through Imadhalli, and I what I call the Northern
Trail, which leads to Chansandra but avoids the busy main road.
Even though Sampa had once advised me against this route, I actually
feel very safe here, not drawing undue attention from anyone, the
only thing to look for really is snakes (more on that later).
In Imadahalli, I come across a boy on a bike who recognizes
me. Although I know his face, I'm not quite sure who he
is, and leave him with Eid Moubarak Ho, but he
gives me a Pata Nahi look. A little further, another
boy, unknown to me, calls me by name, and asks me to visit
Harohalli tomorrow for the Ganesha Chaturthi.
I reach the tree in Patamalalevet where Manni and
Sathia's family has been living, and where last week I had
met Ramaka. Today, Murgesh and Sampa (Manni's parents) are
here, as well as two other couples whom I've seen around before.
The tent, for which I had provided the tarpal, is however
gone, and I don't understand their explanation (these people
barely speak any Hindi). But the father excitedly tells me,
Sathia, Hostel, Hostel, indicating that the girl is now
staying at a hostel for studies. He even produces a piece
of paper with her number, so we call her, and both parents
and a little boy (the only one of their six children here
now) are excited to talk to her. I speak to her as well, but
in Hindi our conversation doesn't go very far. Somehow, they
manage to explain to me that she will be coming home on Monday
for a break, that I could meet her then. Apparently, the
hostel is not far, but I'm unable to get accurate information.
They start asking for money for her bus, but I refuse, knowing
these people's terrible reputation. They don't insist.
From there it's a quick run to Kadugodi. I am first greeted
by Suresh and two other men, who invite me to drink Tea at the
makeshift Dukan, very friendly today. Suresh then takes a leave,
saying he needs to go to work, although to my knowledge he never
works. I first run into Arpudam, whose usual energy has left
her, as she complains of fever. we see Kupamma from a distance
who, busy arguing with a group of people, barely acknowledges
my presence.
Inside, I immediately meet Sampa, sitting in the middle
of the slum with her children playing around her. She's wearing
a green / yellow Saree, her throat covered with what looks
like a green paste. She too complains of illness, throat problems,
fever, and explains to me that the paste is made of tree leaves.
She invites me to sit outside with her, and we're soon joined
by Deviani (who has left Patamalevet and now lives here,
in Valli's old tent) and younger Utti, her two remaining sisters.
-- Prashanth and Kalpana playing --
The children have taken to the French game of "je te
tiens par la barbichette..." and now routinely grab my
chin to play, particular Gaiatree with her extraordinarily
playful expression.
Today little Prashanth also plays, although he doesn't understand
much at all, it makes him smile to be treated like the others.
I have brought the usual tea from the stall at the entrance.
The doukanvalla asks me if I'll meet his friend today, a girl in
Kadugodi who wants to get into animation. We call her, she
should arrive shortly. To carry the warm plastic cups, the
man gives me the tin cover of one of the jars that I should
return later, like he would with Uti. I offer tea to Arpudam,
Velangani and Sampa.
Sampa and I sit outside on a sort of bed cover, on the ground.
We spent a long time talking, as usual with her, with no regard
for time. Her children are playing around us with old plastic
balls and sticks, while Velangani comes and goes. I explain to
her my plans of going to Pattandur Agrahara for Eid today,
to visit my friend Sonu Khan. She looks dubious, convinced
that Eid is not today - she even says they saw it in the
newspaper. "In Tamil Nadu, perhaps, but in Karnataka, not today..."
In fact, she is so sure of her facts that she asks me several
times whether I'm sure that I truly have the day off from
work (I use the word Chutti, she uses Raza, which
I didn't know).
I don't believe her though, and intend to visit Sonu anyway.
Answering her many questions, I describe him as best I can.
To explain to her exactly where the Lake Community is,
I use sticks and rocks to build map.
Speaking of Eid, does she know how it's celebrated I ask, but
she replies that had Ruxanna stayed here, then we could have
found out, but after leaving the hospital Ruxanna has now gone
to her husband's village for the holiday. Going to the hospital
was good, it made me very happy, I tell Sampa. She nods in assent,
Ruxanna was happy too, she says mimicking her friend's expression.
I have also bought a few cookies at the tea stall which we
all share. I explain to Sampa that I'm supposed to meet this
girl by the tea stall, which draws many suspicious questions
from her for some reason. I eventually meet the girl just
oustide the community, in front of the tea stall. She speaks
English and would like to find out about Animation Schools
in Bangalore. As we're talking, I notice Sampa passing by
a few times with a dark look in our direction. Once the girl
gone, Sampa and I resume our seating outside. I make fun of
her, could she be jealous, I tease her? Perhaps she's angry
that someone can speak to me directly in English. Your friends,
she asks, Kannadavalle, Tamilvalle, Teluguvalle, no Englishvalle?
True, here I've spent most of my times with people like her,
no associating much at all with the expat community. She says
she's the opposite, seeking the friendship of white people.
The conversation drits to her family. In addition to
the four girls, Ubagarimary also had two boys, one who died,
the other who roams the streets of Chansandra mental
(she uses this English word as usual), sometimes throwing
rocks at people for no reason. Valli has left, Deivani
will leave too with her husband once the baby is born,
Velangani now sixteen will eventually marry. I then realize
that Sampa fears being left alone, having already lost one
of her sisters. She says that all the sisters have married
by themselves, helping each other, with no support from
Ubagarimary their mother. She confirms that they will indeed
get kicked out of here in about six months. As Kupamma
has said, the government is building a complex for the poor,
cotress (I don't understand this English word). Those
able to pay an initial sum of money (I forget the amount) will
be allowed to move in, others will be kicked out. You spoke
Jhut last time, she says with a smile, resuming
her argument from last week, that you would buy ration.
I respond in mock anger: Sampa, we went to the church,
to the hospital, we brought back clothes for Uti, wasn't
that enough? But Velangani didn't like her clothes, they
were too big, to which I remind both of them that Sampa
herself had chosen. People say that it's not good to help
in this way. Jhut bolte, she replies, why would
they say that? I hesitate searching an answer. If I left
what would happen to you? Her eyes light in sudden worry,
kab jaoge?, she asks with some urgency, but I reassure
her that I have no intention of leaving. Still, why do you
not work Sampa? Why does Suresh not work? Ruxanna goes to
work, why can't she do the same? This time, she points
to little Prashanth, that she has to breastfeed him still.
And Suresh no work either, nahi mila usko. She
describes how she prays at the church, for her children,
for her husband, for the community, and yet she herself
gets sick so often. Kia karna Uncle?, she concludes
using one of her leitmotiv phrases.
For some reason, the names of Vijay Kumar and Komadi
keep reoccurring in conversations. Vijay Kumar is the American
man who's been helping people here, but according to her, he
stops only briefly to play with the children, sometimes
giving money or food to people, but doesn't spend any time
talking (besides, he knows only English). As for Komadi,
she's a young woman living in the slums in nearby Chansandra,
whom I had met only once. For some reason, both Sampa and
Deivani hate her and keep talking about her bad reputation,
even though I repeat to them that I couldn't care less.
The girl has apparently moved to Tamil Nadu anyway so
what's the point?
Time has passed, yet I can't quite bring myself
to end the conversation. I know I can be a little late in Pattandur,
as there hardly is a notion of hour. Before I leave, she insists
on feeding me, pointing to a little left over rice in a tin pot.
But I adamantly refuse, asking her to keep her food for herself.
She still doesn't believe I'll find any Eid celebration, so
we agree that if truly nothing is happening in Pattandur, I might
come back later. As we're getting up, Deivani has crossed the
low wall to the other side, into a sort of garden that belongs
to a veterinarian dispensary (Sampa points at a doctor walking),
in the middle of which the slumdwellers get their water. As usual
here, they carry the water in colorful plastic jars, creating
a constant traffic. This water is actually good to drink, a service
for which they pay 20Rs. per month, says Sampa.
After a short run, I make it to the Pattandur Lake Community
where indeed things are awfully quiet. I am greeted by the children
who alone have stayed in the slum while the adults are working.
No sign of the celebration. I have brought photos from the other
night's clothes distribution here. We all sit together under the
tree where the little slum bar used to be where people
used to share Tody, which I am told is now closed in the absence of
Shrinivas the liquor maker. As we're sharing the pictures,
we're joined by Tegamma, Sonu Khan's wife, who confirms that
indeed, nothing will be happening today, but invites me for
tomorrow around 8pm, as they're will be both a celebration
for Ganesha Chaturthi and Ramzan. Indeed, by the Hanuman
stone, a few men are putting together a tent to host the
Ganapathi idol tomorrow, and ask me to contribute (this is
very common, at this time of the year, children and adults
alike ask for contributions to their Ganesha shrines, offerings
that they dutifully record on a receipt.) I follow one of the
men inside the old house, from where he produces a register.
Seeing the other entries, I realize that most people have
been giving 100 Rs. so I do the same. Perhaps not knowing
to write, the young man hands me over the book, in which I write
my name in Kannada followed by the amount.
So Sampa was right, no Eid! I decide to return to Kagudogi
as promised. I pass by ITPL, stopping briefly along the road
to buy a drink, and go straight across the main road down
to the railtracks, crossing them and turning right to follow
them to Kadugodi. As last time, I follow Sampa's advice,
not taking the trails which she warned me are dangerous,
sticking to the paved road that leads me to the little town.
But it's getting late and I have not eaten, and I struggle
a little running on this stretch. Luckily, I soon arrive
in Kadugodi.
-- Sampa putting the broom back together --
Sampa and I resume are position from earlier, sitting
in the middle of the tent settlement. which continues
to be quiet. I shrug my shoulders,
you were right, and her face takes on an amused triumph.
I explain to her that I'm very hungry by now, would gladly
accept her food, then go with her in Kadugodi to buy her
ration. She agrees, but hurry is unknown to Sampa,
so we sit outside a little longer. She arranges her children's
hair, rubbing them vigorously with oil, until I tell her that
I'm getting Chakkar from not eating. She points to a bunch
of long blades of hay, shrugging her shoulders,
look, what have the children
done with the broom..., then sits down to put it back
together. She won't let me inside her tent before she
has swept the floor clean.
Their own food is deemed insufficient, just white rice
with not much accompaniment at all. As we're waiting,
Gaiatree who has entered the tent entertains me with
animal noises, of which I show off my full repertoire.
But eventually she's sent out by Uti, who then obeying
Sampa's orders goes outside to some street vendor
near the railroad crossing to bring back
Rice and Chutney in plastic bags. She then
brings me a steal plate and washes my right hand,
as customary. I eat with
apetite, for once not leaving anything for anyone. Meanwhile,
Sampa has put Prashanth to sleep by breastfeeding him.
Kalpana gives me a long lesson of Tamil, making me
repeat several food items, Sapadu, Dosa, Idli....
The little girl is a hard teacher, unforgivingly
correcting my struggling prononciation, as Tamil
feels like the most challenging language so far.
Sampa for once advises me to not drink her water,
saying that it'll give me boukhar.
Thanks, I conclude the meal, to which Sampa
replies no thanks like Ruxanna had done at
the hospital, perhaps imitating my usual refusal
of them thanking me for anything.
As soon
as I'm done, we leave, crossing the railtracks into Kadugodi,
turning to the right in the direction of Patalamalevet,
accompanied by Deivani and carrying sleeping Prashanth.
We soon turn left into a new road, taking us past a nice
garden. A couple blocks later, Sampa asks us to sit to
the side and wait for her, as my presence alone could
inflate the prices at the shop (I have told her that
I have 500rs. today). Deivani and I sit with the sleeping
child, on the dirt ground of a side alley, in front of a
public water tap which draws a constant traffic of people
filling their large colorful water jars. I am extremely
thirsty myself and ask one of the women if this water
is fit for drinking. Upon her assent, I fill my plastic
flask and drink wholeheartedly, repeating the gesture
several times. Deivani starts to complain like she often
does, putting forward her teeth into a strange expression
that she always wear when begging. I tell her to share with
her sister.
Sampa is taking time. Eventually, Deivani places
Prashanth on my lap and goes to see her sister in the shop.
I am left sitting in the dirt for some time with the sleeping child,
a sense of momentary peace. Strangely I attract no particular
attention, as if I had somehow become part of the landscape,
not drawing those insistent stares that the presence of a
white men normally elicits. I'm almost disappointed when
Deivani returns to interrupt my peace, taking Prashanth
away from me, unfolding a piece of newspaper she's found
on the ground to lie him down. She eventually lies down too,
weary as usual, complaining of her pregnancy. She orders
some kid to fill my bottle once again from the tap.
Sampa finally returns, presenting me a list written
in English of everything she's bought, for the exact
sum of 500Rs. At that same time, an itinerant merchant
wheeling a cart proposes us bananas, which I buy 1/2 a Kilo
for 10Rs. Soon, Sampa is back again, carrying 5 kilos of rice,
various groceries and shampoo, and a plastic canister containing
blue oil for her portable stove (which she can use
instead of wood for cooking). She places the entire load on
Deivani's head, and off we go. I leave them at the
intersection though, turning right towards Patamalevet/Chansandra,
resuming the run.
I pass again by the tree in Patalamalevet, empty at this hour,
reconnect back with the obscure trail on the far side
of Chansandra. On the way, two peasants are fixedly staring
at a point on the ground across the trail. I pause to look
as well, quickly spotting the long shape of a snake,
not far from where I had seen one on the trail. Saap?,
I ask them, bahut bara hai vo. Cobra?. - Ha, Cobra,
they nod in assent. The animal, observed from a safe distance,
is again of extraordinary length, brown in color (I have never
seen the black ones). After lifting its head, it slowly
disappears inside a thick haystack.
Further on the trail, in a hamlet along the road, I am
called by a boy and his little sister. I accept to take their
photographs. I am still carrying one banana from before, and
offer it to the little girl. For some reason, even though
it's been over two hours of running (although discontinuous),
it feels particularly easy, as if I would never stop.
-- Little girl with my banana, in a hamlet along the
Northern Trail --
-- Shilpa decorating her house, Madhuranagar --
Ganesha Chaturthi, Ramzan (Eid) - (12.1 Miles) -- 09/11/10
Palm Meadows - ECC / ELIM road - through Dinur -
Kagudodi: 0:40:35
Patalamalevet - Chansandra - Northern Trail -
by Ajgondanahalli - Madhuranagara: 0:43:18
Back through Ajgondanahalli - Timandanahalli -
Harohalli: 0:25:22
Time: 1:49:15
Mileage: 12.1 Miles
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
Today, in a rare coincidence of dates, is the Ganesha Chaturthi
festival, and the Muslim Eid festival, the end of Ramzan. I have
ambitious plans, as I somehow would like to visit the several
places I've been invited to (this in
spite of having already run very long yesterday).
But to make matters worse, I've lost my cell phone yesterday,
probably in Kadugodi, so decide to go there first, lengthening
the distance. It's still raining in the morning after a wet night,
which makes me postpone my departure. The rain eventually abates,
leaving a blustery humid weather, with only light sporadic showers,
actually rather pleasant for running. I don't plan to stop in Kadugodi
after all the time spent there yesterday. The slum is actually rather
quiet, and particularly muddy. I peek at people in Kupamma's tent,
huddled around a fire, without advertising my presence, before
running into Velangani, who says that Sampa has left for the day
with Prashanth and Kalpana, perhaps for the festival. Unfortunately,
she has not heard of anyone finding my phone. We look in the tent
(which has been swept clean), on the ground outside,
in vain. In one last attempt, Velangani
lifts the drenched cover outside where we had sat yesterday, revealing
my phone on the ground. It has spent the night out but is still working
in spite of the rain. I have several missed calls from Roopa, inquiring
if I'll come to Harohalli for Ganapathi festival today.
-- Shilpa and Family, Madhuranagar --
I cut shorter then yesterday through Chansandra, preferring the
road to the trail, also eager to witness the activity. Further into
the villages, entering the beautiful rural area East of Bangalore,
the temples are loud with music, improvised huts have been erected
to receive the Ganesha idols. Approaching Madhuranagar, I pass along
low stone idols on the side of the road, which have drawn a small
crowd performing the rituals. Two little girls call my name, then
point towards the women doing the Pooja, among whom I recognize
Shilpa's tall slender figure, whom I haven't seen in months. She
smiles at me from a distance, then proceeds to complete the rituals
while the children (now joined by little ShriLakshmi and others
from her court) lead me along the road to her house. There, in
the small courtyard, two garlands of lights lead to a makeshift
tent that has been erected to receive the idol (which currently
is kept covered under a cloth). The men are quite busy completing
the decorations, which are actually rather nondescript, mostly
plastic stars and signs bought in Varthur, as well as a large
poster proclaiming the festival which they are now unfurling
on the ground. I am greeted by Lakshmi, Dilip, etc., to whom
I present their photos from last week. Eventually, Shilpa
returns from the Pooja and today for the first time presents
me to her husband, a handsome young man who like her only
speaks Kannada (I use Dilip's limited Hindi for translation).
Shilpa ties flowers at our
wrists with a thin string then applies the Tikka to our foreheads,
before
inviting me inside for a delicious rice plate. Inside she
continues her preparations, sitting in front of me, decorating
her Pooja utensils, hanging garlands of flowers and candles
by the row of images of the gods that adorn her wall.
The Ganesha Pooja itself won't happen for another three
hours, so I leave this marvelous family to proceed to Harohalli,
where I know I'll be expected.
-- Shilpa preparing her house --
As I resume the run, I feel the Tikka dripping along my nose with the sweat, as in a rivulet of blood, which I wipe off regularly. Deciding to avoid Kottur where the children last time had been a bit out of hand, I retrace my steps towards the beautiful village of Ajgondanahalli, where from a distance kids with familiar faces start calling me. Among them is little Krutika (with her sister Savana she had once led me to her banana garden), who insists on showing me her home in the village, after having paid a necessary visit to another Ganesha tent. I am greeted by the girls' Auntie (from what she once told me, the two girls stay with her having lost their parents, going to school in nearby Imadahalli). We play with two cats, take pictures of course. I mean to offer the girls some biscuits that I've been carrying for myself but the Auntie protests that they've already had their lunch. She instead offers me bananas which I eventually accept after she's assured me they come from her own garden. On the village central place, by a temple and under a beautiful tree, we take more photos, and the girls proudly fill my water bottles at the village tap.
-- Children in Ajgondanahalli (Krutika in the blue dress)
The muddy trails lead me to Harohalli. I had promised to Neethra
that I would give her photos of her "in her pink saree" that
I had taken a while back, as she has requested them to help
with her quest for a husband (eventually, the family has yielded
to her lack of enthusiasm and cancelled all plans for her to
marry this man Muniraj who had once been presented to me).
Neethra of course wants me to eat at her house, her extraordinary
generosity creating as often a delicate situation as I'd like
to visit other houses today. In fact, little Roopa (Monika's
friend), insists that I should come to her house first today
in the next alley, a house whose interior walls are painted
in beautiful green color. Of course her mother offers me
some food which I eat with parcimony. we then proceed down
the street, invited in several of the other houses, where
people are all performing various poojas for the festival.
Many children, who have put on their best clothes for
the occasion, proudly pose for the camera.
Here too, several makeshift tents have been built and
decorated to receive the idols for the festival. For some
reason though, none of this is as spectacular as one would
expect, especially compared to the wonderful decorum that
I've witnessed here on other occasions. The decorations
are mostly made out of plastic, often English signs instead
of the beautiful Kannada script, none of the idols have yet
been placed in their shrines (Roopa tells me this won't
happen before 6). It's sure keeping everyone busy though,
as children and adults alike are putting finishing touches
to the decoration in many places of the village, while
others are performing rituals at the many (many)
worship places.
-- Preparations in Harohalli --
Roopa has the idea for us to go to a nearby nursery
to get plants to surround the idol. We set out on foot with
her, Monika and Dikshit, exiting the village on the road
in direction of Timandhalli. Roopa is not wearing shoes,
and not having come here for a while, we take a few dead
ends through the muddy fields before reaching our
destination, a large nursery which we explore walking
through the plants. The children are scared of a dog
we spotted from a distance so they start collecting
rocks to throw at him, giving me one too. I reassure them
that dogs are fine, and with Roopa, recall my early days
of fright. I tell the story of this man on one of my first
village runs near Negire who had reassured me that dogs
would never hurt, in spite of my incredulity, and how
he had proven to be right.
We eventually reach a low house and meet a man in
white clothes. Roopa asks him for plants but he explains
in a gentle voice
that this place is private and they don't sell plants any more
to the general public. But after asking us a few questions
(turns out he speaks Hindi also), he decides to give us a
few plants for the festival, that we will need to bring
back in a few days. Roopa and I each grab a pot and head
back, placing them on either side of the pile of bricks
which will later support the statue.
In the central temple of the village, drawing
attention is a bigger
Ganesha Murthi, still covered in plastic. These are colorful
statues with vivid colors, actually rather ugly, which are
sold everywhere during the festivities. We should go get
our own though (I still don't fully understand where it
will be coming from) so we proceed to the edge of the village
where the rest of the group (Anjan, Hemanth, etc.) are already
waiting. Here too is another small tent, with Ambuja's father
installing wires to bring electricity to the garlands. I am
made to sit on a plastic chair (in spite of my protests)
and we wait. Roopa is asked to draw rangollis on the floor
inside the tent. As if obeying some unknown signal, we
finally take the idols out, which have been kept in a nearby
little house. They are wrapped in Newspaper. The men take
one for the tent here, while Roopa's brother carries the
other one for ours, and here is our loud little troop,
a small procession around the idol, carrying banana leaves
while the children shout out, making our way back into
the village. Roopa asks me to carry a smaller statue, Gowri,
also wrapped in paper. She soon realizes that I shouldn't be
wearing shoes while carrying the god, so she wears my shoes
while I continue appropriately barefeet. Our entrance into
their street draws a kind smile from Manjula, Philippe,
Gowri... (I later find out that Gowri is another name
for Parvathi, Ganesha's mother). The idols are placed along
a house next to the tent where the pooja will happen.
There is a new pause. I am starting to worry that I will
not be able to attend the Pooja as it's getting late. I fully
intend to keep my promise of visiting the Pattandur Agrahara
Lake Community at 8, as I've told Sonu Khan's wife. But in
the meantime, I have negociated with Neethra and Roopa
to eat at Manjula's house for once (she's been asking
so many times), and I'm "granted the permission" (Neethra,
in rare words of English, says "one time, one time"...)
Playing with little Manish (who has now completely adopted
me) and Monika, we wait for a delicious dinner to be served,
first, sweet stuffed delicacies then the usual rice and Sambar
(which we eat sitting on the floor as usual). The grandfather,
translated in Hindi by Anjan's older brother, wants me to
come back next week for mutton and chicken, insisting that
I bring wine, while Manjula laughing in his back waves
at me with don't listen to him signs.
Xavier, whom I've called for 7:30, has arrived. In spite
of pleas for us to stay for the Pooja, we leave, dropping
a young man in Varthur along the way.
-- Monika with large Ganapathi Idol, Harohalli --
We reach the Pattandur Agrahara Lake Community in pitch
darkness. Here, by the Hanuman shrine nearby the slum, a tent
has also been erected, a splendig display of fruits, flowers
and decorations adorning the idol,
by far the most beautiful I've seen so far. In front of it
is Sonu Khan, sitting with his little daughter Nisha and
another of the slumdwellers. He happily greets us, and
even though Muslim, performs the Arthi for Xavier and I.
He then leads us into the tent community, where he and his
family occupy a room inside the old house. We sit with them
on the floor, his wife Tegamma washing leaf plates then our
hands in preparation for yet another meal. I am probably at
my fifth or sixth meal today, but this one I would never
refuse. Sonu Khan is one of my best friends here, a beautiful
powerful young man, an incredibly positive spirit, who seems
to dominate this community with his good nature. He has been
waiting for me earlier today, wondering if I'd ever come
as promised. I explain to him that I had come yesterday
for the Eid, surprised not to find find the celebration, to which
he replies that other countries may had the Eid yesterday,
but in India it was postponed, perhaps because the purnima
(full moon) had not been properly visible. They've raised
some money in the slum, which allowed them the nice display
as well as a lot of food, which they complain will spoil
since not quite enough people have come.
Being Muslim, Sonu and Tegamma's
Hindi is quite good, and for some reason, Sonu is one of
the people I can most comfortably understand. The four of us
talk a while, about the life of the community, about the outside
world. I relate my experiences in Kadugodi, the difficulties
there. By contrast, this community here is so much more peaceful,
so good-natures, thanks in large part to Sonu Khan's magnetic
personality. I tell him of the people I've met in Kadugodi who
previously lived, seemingly rejected from the Lake Community.
We speak of Manni and Sathia, the "Children of the Lake", and
others, whom he confirmed have been kicked out from here,
creating too many problems. He describes their bad behavior,
alcohol, drugs, the many cuts on their arms, which he says
they inflict upon themselves during fights to then complain
to the police. Here, to protect the children, they've chosen
to not tolerate such behaviour, and have chased away those
who created disturbances. But Sonu and his wife know the
communities in Chansandra and Kadugodi, in fact, they visited
there just this last Friday. They confirm that government
housing is being built for them, but say that in most
cases, the slumdwellers try to resell the houses and the
money disappears in alcohol or other addictions (I've heard
of similar stories from Mumbai). We talk for a while
into the night.
The day has been dominated by the Ganesha celebrations,
while the Eid remains more concealed. Sonu tells me he went
to the Masjid in Whitefield today to celebrate the end
of Ramzan.
"Eid moubarak, Eid Moubarak", we repeatedly
shake hands. The Ganesha display is closing as we roll out
into the night.
-- Sonu Khan and daughter Nisha - Nisha with me --
-- Ganesha Chaturthi, Katiregupa, Nerige --
A fight in Kadugodi, (18.2 Miles) -- 09/19/10
Palm Meadows - Main road through Varthur then Gunjur -
Left to Katiragupa - Neriga: 0:50:55
Muthsandra - Kottur - through Harohalli - Timandanhalli -
Ajgondanhalli - Northern Trail - Chansandra: 1:08:47
Patalamalevet - Kadugodi - Dinur - Elim / Ecc road -
back to Palm Meadows: 0:43:51
Time: 2:43:34
Mileage: 18.2 Miles
Pahela Hissa: Ganesha Chaturthi in Nerige
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
After days of heavy overcast weather, it's finally a clear
sunny day, perhaps ushering the beautiful winter season.
I decide to try for something different today, planning
on a particularly large circuit which will take me from the
first roads I had explored in the Varthur area all the way
to finish the day in Kadugodi, where I am as ever drawn, enthralled.
So like in my early runs, back when I didn't dare venture off
the main roads in spite of the trafic, I go through Varthur
(as usual busy with the local market on Sunday morning) and
straight to the smaller town of Gunjur, where I turn left
into the fields, following what I used to call the beautiful
road, then dirt now a paved road, which takes me through
lush agricultural landscape and small villages,
beauty and peace. The road is
soon empty, in sharp contrast with the bustling main road,
I am only passed by the occasional motorcyclist or local bus,
which all salute me.
The first village is Katiregupa where I've visited the
school a few times before. A group of people is gathered
around two chariots displaying Ganesha idols. The children
are covered in colored powders as if this were Holi. We take
a few pictures, then they offer to lead me deeper into the
village (which is very small) to see other Ganesha displays.
I am incredibly well received by the villagers, who tell me
they'll be taking the idols for immersion in Nerige. A man
carefully draws a large red Tikka on my forehead. I promise
to come back with prints (a few men speak a little Hindi), and
decide to visit the school again, which I should have done
a long time ago.
Not much further down the road, I approach the next
village, Nerige. I am worried about my nutrition today,
having fasted yesterday for Kippur. Not quite knowing what
to expect, I am carrying a few biscuits which I start eating
now on the run, without stopping. But approaching Nerige,
I see new chariots, also carrying the idols, hauled by
tractors, colorful children and teens. The procession, preceded
by a group of musicians, sax and loud percussions, is making
its way slowly through down the road, gathering offerings
along the way, distributing food in return. I am immediately
welcome, offered a plate of rice as well, but the teens playfully
assault me with the colors, until I'm completely covered, just
like at Holi. A young man offers me to wash off a bit in his
courtyard (which I do imperfectly), hands me a new plate of rice
(the old one having received some of the colored powder), and
sits me down to eat. He invites me to follow the procession,
which is taking the idols for immersion in a nearby lake.
We walk slowly through the village, the chariots making
multiple stops, allowing villagers to offer coconuts,
bananas, etc. A man, looking at the colors that I've only
partially washed off, kindly asks me if this is ok.
As usual, I have been handed over a honorific
portion of food (my plate seems fuller than anyone else's)
which I can't quite finish. A man offers the remaimder
to a peasant woman alongside the road, for her dogs.
Having reached the village center, we veer right onto
a dirt road, where we mark a longer stop while a few men
start dancing. This road takes us into nature, through
a poorer section of the village, where also people have
gathered on the sides, ready with offerings, wearing their
best clothes, and receive food back, that the helpers are
scooping out of large metal pots. Many children are riding
in the chariot, their faces all colors.
-- In Nerige, along with the chariot --
We soon reach a pond, towards which the tractors descend carefully. The idols are carried to the water edge, two Ganesha's, and smaller representations of Ganesha and Gowri. Many of the young men have already gone into the water, but are called back to order. A Poojaree performs the rituals, particularly right by the water, where three small rocks have been placed in the mud to support incense sticks. We perform the Arthi in front of the idols. I cross the water to get a view from the other side, as a small group takes the first two idols into the water, wading far into the little lake, until after having reached sufficient depth they drown the colorful statue in several goes, leaving only long garlands of flowers floating on the surface. This repeated for the other idols, as onlookers throw bags of flowers from the banks. To conclude the ceremony, a man places flaming camphre on a leaf and sets it off on the water, like a little boat. A sugary mixture of rice is then distributed to the over-enthusiastic crowd of children (I am offered some too).
-- Idol immersion, Nerige --
-- Food distribution after the Pooja, Nerige --
If my goal was to become somewhat famous
around here, I've definitely
accomplished that. Every 500 meters or so, I am stopped by
people who call me by name whether I know them or not, even
on the smallest dirt trails. Today I pass by Harohalli but
decide to not enter the village, sticking to my goal of
reaching Kadugodi. Among my various stops, I get called
into a farm where women are preparing silkworms into
large circular weaved plates. On the trail that leads to Timandhalli
I cross a group of men who have dug up an entire ant hill
(aren't these things full of snakes?). I decline their offer
and proceed through the trails to Ajgondanahalli, where
a group of young men is playing cricket by the temple. I
have brought none of the photos from last week.
The meal in Kottur has made me feel surprisingly better.
I am now running with ease, although drinking a lot of water
which I refill in every village. I therefore keep going on
the Northern Trail to reach the Chansandra main road, where
I walk into the small town. Along the busier road, I eventually
find the restaurant where I had taken Deivani and her
husband (this is a small boutique open to the street).
Even though it's closed at this hour, I manage to give
the photos of the owners to a man who happens to be
cleaning inside. A little further down the road I run
into the familiar silhouette of an older tall woman,
clad in Saree and carrying a load on her head: Ubagarimary,
Sampa's mother. I haven't seen her in some time and we
spent some time discussing on the street. Later still,
by the Patalama temple (which gives its name to the
neighborhood), I offer the set of photos that I had
taken with Deivani, of these families living in these
humble dwellings. I leave the main road into the alleys
of Patalamalevet, heading for Manni's tree.
All is quiet there. Passing the house under construction
which has sometimes shielded Manni's family, I do notice
a few inert bodies sleeping there, but no sign of the children.
Crossing the tracks though, I run into them, their
fortuitous occurence
as often feeling like an act of providence. Their appearance
is particularly desolate today, black with filth, clothes
only imperfectly covering their bodies. They are returning
from Kadugodi, carrying plastic tarps and trash, and ropes
around their necks, Manni, his two brothers (little
Ganesha is butt naked as usual), and an older boy named
Salim. I meet while crossing the railway
tracks, Manni, who's carrying the tarps on his head,
immediately recognizing me, and articulates his name,
as if I could ever have forget him.
I walk back with them to the house under construction.
The lying bodies I had spotted earlier are indeed Sampa
and Murgesh their parents, fast asleep. In fact, in spite
of my protest, the children try hard to wake them up -
in vain. It is midday and they look almost unconscious,
perhaps recovering from a night of drinking. On the side
of the house if the grandfather, equally unconscious.
We take a few pictures, but suddenly my camera, which
has been battered pretty hard in the few months that
I've had it, goes crazy, the objective coming in and
out uncontrollably. I manage to turn it off cleanly,
but worry that I might lose some of these precious
last pictures.
-- Manni and friends, Patalamalevet --
-- Salim, Manni and little Ganesha - With sleeping
parents Murgesh and Sampa --
Dusra Hissa: The fight in Kadugodi.
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
Everyone's here in the Kadugodi community, many sitting in
their tents or outside, on the open central area. Ruxanna's children
are all here today (is it five or six?), including a little girl
that I didn't remember. Ruxanna reminds me that this is the girl
we had bought a tricycle for in Kadugodi, that first time I had
gone "shopping" with her and Valli (the tricycle in question,
which I never saw since in had
apparently created conflict). Ruxanna tells me that her husband
is recovering, but won't be able to work for perhaps another
month, as he still couldn't walk a kilometer because of his
inflated feet.
I explain to Ruxanna then Sampa
the Yom Kippour holiday yesterday, explain the fast, the day
at the temple. Neither of them had heard of the Jewish
religion before meeting me - incidentally, the Hindi word
for Jewish is yehoudi just as in Hebrew. We draw
parallels with Ramzan that has just ended, Ruxanna teaches
me the Hindi word for "fast".
A man wearing a read robe approaches us. It's a fortune
teller, and soon, a little group gathers around him. He takes
the women's hands, rummages through his books, works with
small white stones. With my camera gone kherab,
I cannot take picture, but perhaps that's a good thing.
Sampa seems captivated (although not
directly participating), Ruxanna sits on the side. I ask
her whether she believes in any of this, she shakes her
head with a smile, raising her eyes in disbelief. Meanwhile
the children are all around me, playing our usual games,
trying to wash off the remaining color from my hair, ears.
Pushpalata who has taken out my earring carefully puts
it back. The children continue to enjoy the barbichette
game, in fact, Nazia who has begun to memorize it sings
in a near perfect accent je te tiens, tu me tiens...
But in spite of my efforts we're making too much noise,
distracting from the fortune telling, which draws
a reproachful look from Sampa. We also play with my
running water bottles, take turns at drinking properly,
and the children run back and forth to Ruxanna's tent
to refill with water. Nazia and Nagalu play with my shoes,
each wearing one, and start hopping around in the slum.
We are again disciplined by Sampa.
Ramaka is now sitting in front of the fortune teller,
which makes Sampa laugh. "Ramaka marriage", she explains,
and I joke too, but the mood quickly becomes more grave.
Sampa explains to me that Ramaka's husband died, leaving
her with six children, and she will never be able to
re-marry. A young man hands me over his scarf as a gesture
of friendship, a scarf to the colours of the State of
Karnataka.
In comes the famous Vijay Kumar, whom I've been
hearing so much about. This creates some commotion,
taking away whatever attention was left for the fortune
teller. Vijay Kumar, in spite of his name, is indeed
a white man, American actually, who's been in and
out of India for the past ten years, and has known
Sampa's family since they were children. He is invited
to sit next to me on the cover outside, immediately
surrounded by the children. After painfully trying
to make them sit quietly, he produces various items
out of his backpack which he starts to distribute,
health product samples, little star-shaped candies...
Sitting next to me, Ramaka is staring puzzled at
the toothpaste sample that she's holding.
I explain to her what it is.
THe man's name is not actually Vijay Kumar of course,
rather, it's something like Jay Michael, ("cheating"
jokes Sampa, using the English word), and he further explains
that he uses a few other names at his convenience. I joke
that I'll go as Krishnamurthi from now on, but
Sampa protests that my name is fine as it is.
Jay is
linked to the Sai Baba Ashram, as well as some Christian
Organisation, and describes what he does as dealing
with the emergency of the ultra-poor. He plans
to first help provide food and shelter, then insert
them into some sort of economical activity, for example
selling Idlis under the bridge in front of the slum
where many such vendors are. The man doesn't speak
any of the Indian languages, so I serve as translator,
admittedly flattered by my relative mastery of Hindi.
We talk about the housing situation, and I ask again
about these government lots that are supposedly
being built in Chansandra (Sampa and Kupamma
agree to take me there one day).
Vijay recalls fondly when Sampa and her sisters were
girls, how he has associated particularly with
that family.
Jay plays briefly with some finger puppets, then feels
some of the children's temperature, most of whom have
been complaining of jwara (fever, in Kannada).
He says they've been sick for too long, and promises
to return with medication. Deivani puts on her begging
face, jutting her chin forward, her mouth in a frown,
but to no avail. You're not sick, answers Vijay,
you're just pregnant... He leaves soon thereafter.
Life resumes. The fortune teller is gone by
now. Ruxanna says goodbye, she's leaving for work
(I didn't realize she worked also on Sunday afternoons).
Arpudam softly complains about her health, but not
in that whining tone that Deivani usually adopts.
Arpudam is a strong woman, working as she can,
supporting since her husband passed away her two
children and mother Kupamma, together with her
sister Mary. But her only work is trash collection,
which she gathers in the wider area, then takes
it in Kadugodi for selling (I ask her to take me
there one day). She rarely asks me for anything,
although today, she wonders if I could buy anklets
for all the children in the community. We spend
some time figuring this out. They think a silver
chain would cost 1500 Rs. (not metal, they insist,
which would only cost 10Rs.) Not good at math,
I ask for a notebook which Asha produces from one
of the tents (to my surprise actually, usually,
we can never find paper). we estimate the number
of children to 35, which actually later will prove
too low. It's quite a project. As usual, they would
have to negociate the prize in my absence. I certainly
don't promise anything, although perhaps for Diwalli?
Arpudam also shows me doctor prescriptions for the
kids, and two bottles of syrup. The prescription
calls for a third syrup but having no money for it,
she wonders if we could buy it together. Deivani
also hands over a medical piece of paper, so
hastily scribbled that I can't make it out.
My phone vibrates. Sampa amused asks me if
it's still working, after having passed here a rainy
night outside. It's my mother. They all stare at
me wide-eyed as I speak in French, mouthing the
word Amma to them. Sampa never timid asks
to speak to her, walks away with the phone. They
have a brief chat.
Valli has returned to the community. They tell
me a fight happened with her husband, and she won't
return, living here again for the time being. She is
pregnant. Valli's marvelously expressive face shows
her sorrow.
Sampa borrows my phone again. I happen to have
saved the husband's phone number last time we had
called Valli together. Sampa disappears to call him
for some time, and the two sisters are not seen
for a long time, probably discussing in the relative
intimacy of Valli's tent.
We've grown a bit thirsty sitting and chatting
under the afternoon heat, and Arpudam is the one
to suggest juice. So a small group of us leaves the
slum for the bus station across the street. As we
walk, the children compete fiercely to hold my
hands, making we wish I had four or five arms to
keep everyone happy. We ask for juice at the bus
stand, although Valli pretexting her pregnancy wants
a milk drink for herself. This causes Deivani to ask
for the same (after all, she's pregnant too), but I then
have to disciplin her from not buying other things, as
I want to save money for Arpudam's medications. Arpudam
and I silently agree that we'll go buy those right
after bringing back the drinks into the community.
We walk back with the milk drinks, and two bigger
bottles of Soda, whose taste actually is actually
very unpleasant to the slumdwellers, causing them
to sometimes spit out.
But suddenly, as we're passing the first few
tents that lead through a narrow muddy path to
the community, Arpudam breaks into an alarmed run. She
must have heard voices from a distance, hinting at
what's about to unfold. We enter the community also
to discover a difficult scene. A group of slumdwellers
is standing in the central open area, in front of
Kupamma's tent. Mary, Arpudam's sister, who normally
appears so meek, is yelling and crying, while her
husband and a man are standing in confrontation.
She has been punched in the face, her right eye
half closed. The man - he's the one who had offered
me the Karnataka scarf earlier - is furiously
confronting them, while Mary's husband silently stands
there, a frail silhouette, his hands extended up as
if to somehow quell the anger. The scarf guy has
blood behind his ear, as someone has apparently
thrown a rock at him. The argument won't die down,
various characters taking turns. Even Kupamma intervenes,
seizing a large branch with which it seems she's going
to start beating people. A few times the situation
nearly degenerates into utter chaos. But the ebb
and flow of the dispute continues, sometimes quieting
down, always flaring up again, overall escalating.
Mary unable to control herself continues to yell
in tears, while frantically moving around, sometimes
looking like she'll leave the scene yet always
returning. Arpudam has jumped right into the middle
of all this, acting like a fury, yelling at each
one in turn, trying to control the situation.
Asha, Valli and I have staid on the side,
silent witnesses. I ask Asha to explain what's going on,
but she doesn't understand much, other this is probably
another conflict about how people treat each others'
children. Valli is silently staring into space, absent.
She eventually proposes that we move over to the other
side as if not much was happening,
which would imply walking straight through
the scene. We stay put for a while longer. Mary's eyes
and mine briefly cross, and for a split second I think
she's going to drag me into this, but I am left rigorously
alone, as if I wasn't there.
Velangani makes her way up to us. She
hands me back my phone which Sampa had kept all this time.
It has blood on it, which Asha dutifully cleans.
We eventually do cross over to the dirt mound where
we usually sit, and stay there outside, where Sampa and
Velangani are organizing wood piles. They look at me
desabused, their expression minimizing the fight, as
if this were common. But some argument is thrown our
way: Velangani is taken apart from a distance,
and vehemently defends herself. Then Sampa gets up,
walks right to the group, adds her loud shouting to
the chorus. What a vision to see these women carrying
their babies at their side, yelling at each other, about
to exchange blows. At that point, from behind Sampa's
tent, appears Vijay Kumar again.
But the earlier relative nonchalance has made place
to an apparent graver concern. The fight seems more serious
now as it continues to go on. Valli and Asha invite us
into Sampa's tent, shielding us from the quarrel. Vijay
Kumar has brought back medications for the children
(vitamins and antibiotics) and explains that we need
to boil water to take them, which I translate. Velangani
starts building a firewood in the tent. But it's hard
to ignore the alarming noises coming from the outside,
loud blows, to the point where Valli and Asha eventually
rush out of the tent to see how things continue to escalate.
Meanwhile, Velangani is still working on her fire, drawing
reproaches from Jay who tells her not to use plastic
to light it. He feels so strongly about it, saying that
plastic smoke causes cancer, that he wants to leave the
tent right away, so I followhim out. The altercation
is still going on (how long has it been now?). Asha's
mother, now downright concerned, urges me to follow
her to Rosie's house, on the far side of the slum,
along the tracks, where I'm surprised to find Jay who's
already been safely tucked away. We are joined by the
Hindi speaking woman. Rosie is also preparing a fire.
I learn that they actually buy some of this firewood
instead of picking it up in the forest. Which forest,
they ask me, before saying that the woods are dangerously
infested with snakes.
There, in Rosie's house, we find relative piece,
in sharp contrast with the agitation outside. We stay
there for some time, occasionally hearing the horrible
clamour of the fight that just won't abate. We
sometimes send Asha to get news from the front - not good.
Rosie offers us tea, boils the water according to
Jay's wish. I again serve as translator for him.
I use this opportunity to clear things with Rosie and
the Hindivalli woman. I know they have been angry at me,
for associating with Sampa and friends, not as much with
them. Indeed, they confirm this, that people got angry
at times when they would see me spend so much time with
the others, but not with them. They point to Vijay
Kumar as a better example of how this should be done,
tell how he has brought blankets to the whole community,
not just certain individuals (Rosie shows me the blanket),
and now has plans to get those small petrol stoves for
each family.
When we bought tarps, or organized a meal, that was good,
they add, but buying individual rations for people
has been too divisive. They
too are in the same hardship then Sampa, Valli or Ruxanna,
so why wouldn't they get help as well? The Hindivalli woman
complains that, since she speaks Hindi, she could more
easily associate with me, but that Sampa has forbidden
her to do so, and they're no longer in speaking terms
(Sampa had alluded to something like this as well). I
can't help thinking that Rosie was all too happy to participate
that day I went shopping with her, and was the first to
encourage secrecy from the rest of the community. They
suggest that I should perhaps buy rations by rows of tents,
roughly dividing the community into thirds. We talk again
about our projects for the children, and so we send Asha
outside to count how many children there are. She comes
back with that same notebook we had used earlier, having
methodically counted each tent, coming up with a total
of forty-five children, more than our original estimate.
Meanwhile, the fury has finally abated outside.
It's nearly six, I have been out for the past ten hours,
I should really be going home. Rosie and the Hindivalli
woman propose to organize food next time we come (to which
I object that we should really be the ones bringing in
food.) I walk through the community
again, now nearly deserted, strangely quiet after the
storm. Traces of blood are soaking into the dirt. Before
I leave, the girls insist on showing me the small altar
that they've been in honor of Ganesha Chaturthi, behind
one of the tents, an alcove where they've placed three
small idols and some improvised decorations. I decide
to give my camera one last try for this, and it
miraculously starts working again (in spite of part of
the side cover having come off). We take pictures of
the display. Finally, as I'm exiting the slum, I'm stopped
by Suresh, looking much more collected than usual. "Kaam
se aaya", he tells me, but doesn't describe what kind
of work he may have been performing. He insists on offering
me one final tea. We see Vijay Kumar in the distance, also
preparing to leave. "Your friend?", he asks me. "No, mein
usse aaj paheli bar mila...", I reply, before asking him
if he's what he's heard of the earlier fight. "Bura aadmi vo",
he simply concludes, referring to the Karnataka scarf man.
I'm running home via the familiar ELIM/ECC route,
as if slowly re-entering the habitual world. As I'm
passing the hamlet behind Palm Meadows, I cross another
long procession, drums, Ganesha on a chariot, splendid
clothes, colored powders. I simply pass by.
-- The children's Ganesha altar, Kadugodi tent community --
Ganesha Chaturthi, Part III: Harohalli -- 09/26/10
Saturday 09/25/10:
Varthur - Madhuranagar: 0:28:34
Muthsandra - Nerige: 0:35:47
Katigerupa - back through small villages: 0:41:12
Time: 1:45:34
Mileage: 11.7 Miles
Wght: 153.5
Sunday 09/26/10:
Varthur - to Harohalli via the "low road": 0:43:36
Back via the trails - Timandhalli - Ajgondanahalli -
back trails to Varthur Kodi: 0:40:31
Time: 1:24:07
Mileage: 9.3 Miles
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
On Saturday, I want to run to the Nerige area,
both to distribute last week's photos, and arrange plans
with the village school in Kariregupa. I'm also carrying
photos from Shilpa's house as I plan to stop in Madhuranagar
along the way. Speaking of which, I actually meet Dilip shortly
after Varthur, and give him his photos, to the amazement of
his friends with whom he's going to school. Shortly after,
Lakshmi waves to me from the back of a mortocycle, also
on her way to college in Varthur. I reach Shilpa's house
to offer her the beautiful photos of her family. The
old Grandmother insists on being photographed in front
of a small room which is being built for her it seems.
(None of them speak Hindi so communication is hit and
miss). Shilpa warmly invites me for breakfast, but I
refuse, not wanting to reach Nerige too late in the
morning. She invites for next Sunday at 1:00.
From there, the road through Muthsandra gets
quieter (the village itself feels nearly deserted),
until I am completely alone on the dirt road to Nerige,
reveling in the sudden peace, away from the constant clamor
of people. Nerige is quiet as well, and for a moment
I fear that I may not be able to distribute my photos
after all. But a group of young men helps me, and soon
a small crowd has assembled around us, including one
of the men who had taken me under his wing last week.
People recognizing friends or family members promise
to give them the photos. But certain photos I insist
on offering in person, particularly those from the
lower poor portion of the village, as well some from
the tiny village school taken weeks ago.
I proceed towards the lake with photos in hand.
On the way, another a few young men stop me,
curious, watch the photos. They then ask me to help
them push their tractor to get it started. After
having gotten it out from under a bamboo shed, we
push it uphill a bit, then back down for it to start.
Back on the principal road, I meet other people
who have been looking at their pictures. In front
of a shop, a man who has come here by car insists
on offering me a cold drink. The school is unfortunately
closed for holidays (this will probably thwart my
Katiregupa plans), but a young man leads me to the
house of the teacher. She is absent, but I offer
the school photos to her husband.
Luckily, in Katiregupa (which is even smaller
than Nerige), school is open. The photos, which
are a few weeks old, are very successful of course
with the kids. A boy talks to me in English,
"I wasn't here last time you came", he says,
before revealing that he's the teacher's son,
here to help her teach today. I speak to the
teacher about my plans for next week of coming
here to conduct an art class. She happily agrees
to it, and confirms the number of children to
be thirty. I then venture into the village wanting
to distribute my last pictures of Ganesha Chaturthi.
A boy and his sister take me to a house. There,
a young man shows me his photo album: In it is my photo,
which he himself has taken last week!
THe next day (Sunday), Roopa has asked me to arrive
in Harohalli at 8 in the morning. But I know better
than to take times literally by now, and purposefully
decide to not hurry, to leave whenever I'm ready.
It's another beautiful day, although not as intensely
sunny as yesterday. For a change, I decide to run the
old road through Varthur (which I call the low road),
which compared to the early days has now been completely
paved, although it's already falling apart in places.
After leaving a few villages, the road cuts through
the woods before emerging in the fields approaching
Harohalli. Distant explosions, the unmistakable
rhythm of the drums, increase in volume as I approach
the village. It's about 8:30.
The procession, two chariots carrying Ganesha
idols, pulled by tractors, has made its way to the
upper part of the village. A group of drummers in
fancy costumes has been brought for this, in addition
to the village musicians. I soon run into Anjan and
a few others. We decide to join Roopa in our street,
and wait for the procession there. I settle for
a while in Roopa and Neethra's house.
Neethra has new plans for marriage. This time,
she likes the future groom, whose name is also
Muniraj. He visited here last week, and the men
have gone to visit him as well (the women don't),
near Devanahalli, north of Bangalore. Roopa describe
how after marriage, the newly weds play games to
better know each other.
The sound of the drums rises, indicating
that the procession is slowly reaching our street.
We all come out, ready for Pooja (plates with coconuts
and colored powders). The chariot pass, on their
way to the last street of the village, where they
turn around in a field. There, we are joined by
a group of five tranvestites, with whom start unending
frantic dances, in which musicians and villagers
participate. The procession heads back past Roopa's
alley, slowly making its way by the houses. Some
of my little friends are riding on the chariot
themselves, helping the Poojaree with the constant
offerings, for which they give back prasada.
The music is incessant, loud. I walk with Monika,
who holding my hand, wants to see everything.
Jets of colored powders tag us all, including
the transvestites, who do their best to wash off
at every public fountain, before being covered
again. The rhythm of the music seems in a perpetual
crescendo, sweat mixing with the colors coalescing
to a thick coat of paint on people's faces. We pass
by our street again, where Neethra, Lakshmi,
Manjula etc. and all the kids are ready with their
offerings. We reach the center of the village again,
where the musicians from out of town perform a long
acrobatic number. Then the villagers take over
again, dances resume. I am handed a bottle of
water by a man, as it we've standing out under
the hot variable sun for hours now.
-- Drummers from another village --
As they're taking a break to clean up,
I start a conversation with the transvestites,
one of whom speaks Hindi. Shadi Ho Gayi?
she asks after the mundane formalities. We
all then slowly make
our way to the lower portion of the village,
before heading to the Shiva Temple by the river,
our final destination. The kids climb up the trees
and make me taste various fruits and nuts that
I had never seen before. The dancing and drumming
continues all along the way, the frequent stops.
One of the transvestites tries to invite me
into the dance. I refuse, but she insists, as a few
men start dragging me by the arms, which I resist
physically. I explain to her that I won't dance today,
that if I dance, people will talk. I cast a side glance
to Roopa who sitting in the chariot is urgently
nodding her head. I excuse myself one last time
but stand fast. Later, Roopa tells me, it's not
good to dance with these people... I had once danced
at a Pooja in Harohalli, back when I didn't know the
village as well, which had created a lot of talk. I
definitely don't want to be the center of attention
again.
-- Dances with the transvestites, Harohalli --
The procession is so loud and long that even Monika
and I get tired. The dancing is relentless, the frantic
energy never-ending. So we decide to take the shortcut
trail to the temple, followed by Laskhmi and her baby
and another woman from our street. We sit for a moment
in the entrance of the temple, reveling in the peace.
Both little Roopa and Monika cry for some little dispute,
mostly because they must be exhausted by now. After some
time, the sound of the drums grows again as the chariot
approach their final destination. The idols are carried
down, placed on the ground for a first Pooja. Then they
are carried down the trail which leads down to the river,
today higher than I've ever seen it from the recent rains
(the little island with the tree where we've played so
often is completely submerged). We are all made to stand
a few feet away from the rivers edge, which must have
some significance, as some adults are policing this
rule with menacing sticks. A few men carry the idols
upstream, get in the water, and finally immerge them,
the flowers peeling off and carried away by the
strong current. This is repeated a few times, then we
all climb back up to the temple.
-- Ganesha immersion, Harohalli --
Finally, to conclude this memorable day, is
the distribution of Prasad, in little paper plates
or newspapers, first a serving of rice pulao, then
a delicious sweet preparation whose name I forget,
which I'm told is Lord Ganesha's favorite food.
The distribution of the Prasada puts a suitable
ending to the day, in which adults and children
partake, a marvelous communal celebration.
-- Distribution of the Prasada, Harohalli --
-- Monika and Dikshit --