-- At the tarp shop, Shivajinagar --
-- Kadugodi tent community "by the bridge" --
Tarps (Kadugodi, Shivajinagar) -- 06/05/10
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
A deafening clamor startles us all out of bed, momentarily
sounding like an explosion. Regaining my senses, I think that
the lightning must have hit our own house, but later will find
out that this incredible noise has been heard in all of
Whitefield. A powerful storm struck in the middle of the
night, leaving heavy skies and wet roads in the morning.
I wake up again at 5, tired. I have decided not to wait
any longer, buy the tarps for the slumdwellers of Kadugodi
today, and have made arrangements to call Xavier and Anand
once there, for them to join me with the car. I've prepared
the money and left it in the car, but beyond that, the
plans will be completely improvised.
But the weariness won't dissipate today with the run.
As usual, Sampa invites me into her tent, soon joined by
Valli. The shape of a man lies on the hard floor, completely
wrapped in a cover, sleeping, "Bhai", Sampa
explains. The man eventually wakes up and walks away with
a severe limp, his right foot tiptoeing at an awkward angle.
We're unfortunately bothered by the older woman with
the terrible teeth (her name is Kuppama), who stands at
the door for some time complaining that I never do anything
for her. She finally tires and leaves us in peace. But this
endless strife only increases my exhaustion, discouragement
sets in. I neverthless ask Sampa if it would be ok to go buy
the tarps today, and call Anand and Xavier with no success,
until finally they answer.
Last night's storm has particularly affected the community,
leaving the inside of the tents wet and muddy. It was so bad
that some of the dwellers left their hut to sleep outside under
the shelter of the bridge. To make matters worse, a large snake
was found in one of the tents in the morning, Sanp in
Hindi, Aoo in Kannada. While we're waiting, we look at
the marvelous pictures that I brought, the faces in Valli's
tent, "Tarpal" exclaims Valli at the sight of their
green tinted faces. They then look at the old pictures on
my camera, those of Sathya and Manni, and the slumdwellers
of Nellurahalli, Sathyamma's group in front of the temple
garnering most attention. Valli suddenly points to the picture
of them in front of the termite mound temple, "Sanp?", I zoom
in to prove to her that this only a sculpture of snake.
"Duplicate"? she asks, somehow using an english word.
The young girl from the first tent has joined us as well.
Her name is Asha. She dutifully writes her name
in English capital letters in my
notebook, which I then write in Kannada.
She repeats the events of the night, the
night under the bridge, the snake in the motti hindivali
woman's tent (we laugh at this description).
As Xavier and Anand are still on their way, we get out
of Sampa's tent to venture into the community. The young
children, as usual amused by few words of Telugu, keep teasing
me, Bagoundi, Bagoundi, making me repeat over and over
while they hang from my hand. But I then meet the woman from the
first tent, dressed in a beautiful Saree, her face tinted with
yellow powder, whose name is Arpudam.
Roxanna is also here. I call her Buma
(still not understanding what might be behind that nickname)
but she corrects me. Speaking better Hindi, she translates,
explains that Arpudam has lost her husband this week, "heart
attack". I take her picture, then follow her inside
her tent where we perform a mock pooja in front of the small
idols. The damage from the rain water is here evident.
Back outside, we're joined by Sampa and Valli's mother,
Ubagarimary, and their younger mischevious sister, who
have both come from Chansandra. I had not met Ubagarimary
since visiting her tragic "room", a visit that seems to
have created a special bond between us, as she looks at
me with a warm expression. Meanwhile, Kupamma and Arpudam
tell me that they will arrange a Pooja this week for the
deceased husband, for which Kupamma hands me over a long
list of food items (somehow written in English by someone)
for which she is asking for help. I hand it back over to her
saying "ham dekhenge". The motti lady arrives, I ask
her about the snake, whose size has been somewhat exagerated -
but still.
Finally, Xavier and Anand arrive.
-- Arpudam, the mourning woman (Asha's mother)
-- Upper right, showing the Pooja area inside her tent --
I've told Xavier to park near the police station, so we all
go out to bring them back inside the community. They are
offered tea as is customary, while we arrange the details
of who should go. We agree to drive in town to Shivajinagar
(near Commercial Street) where we'll get better prices
than here in Kadugodi. We need to select who will come
with us. First Sampa and her husband Suresh with little
Prashanth, then Kuppuma with Asha, the young girl who is
the revelation of the day, showing a great sense of humour
and friendship. But worried about the space the tarps will
take, we decide to restrict to Sampa's family, so I sadly walk
to Asha asking for forgiveness to have to leave her out -
until Kupamma comes up with the idea of them returning by
bus. We all embark.
The traffic is at its Bangalore worse, compounded
by roadwork along some sections. I warn them not to be
sick in the car, put on the AC but Sampa feeling rather cold,
we settle for opening the windows. I notice Kupamma frequently putting
her hand into a pouch that she carries at the waist.
"Paan", she explains observing my quizzical look,
revealing the leaves, red chunks and white paste, to which
Suresh teases her, 24 hours, pointing to the dreadful
mess of her red amorphous teeth. Asha who has fallen quiet for
some time looks at me with what seems to be a hiccup, but it
turns out she's sick, and we quickly move her to the window
to throw up (which reminds me of our journey to
Dodbalapuram with the children of Harohalli). Suresh seems
to know the city surprisingly well, pointing at various
landmarks, temples, hospitals (where some of the slumdwellers
have gone for treatment). We finally reach a red church opening
to a large crowded plaza: Shivajinagar. Among the chaos is
a large open market, side streets bustling with commerce.
Asha disappears for some time in the church grounds while
Xavier parks the car, as Anand Suresh and I are left waiting
for some time. We decide its best for them to go alone to the
tarp shop for my presence not to influence the price, so Anand
and I stay back while they venture into a street on the left.
I have kept in my pocket two enveloppes containing 20,000 Rs.
After drinking coffee in an arab coffee shop, Anand and I
decide to walk the street as well (after all, we don't have
to talk to them even if we see them). Most of the shops here
sell tarpaulins, clothes or mechanics.
Soon we run into Asha who's carrying
little Prashanth, so we walk along with her, but she doesn't know
either where the others have gone. I phone Xavier who after meeting
us leads us into a small alley to the tarp shop. Apparently
the negociation is over, so it's ok for us to show up. They're
unfurling meters of tarp on the ground, a volume that seems that
it would never fit in the car. This will take some time as there
is much sewing to do, folding and packing. Kupamma, quite
a fiery character, is arguing louldy with the merchants,
alleging that they're trying to cheat us on quality.
I am neverthless most welcome by
the shop owners who see to my comfort (happily surprised of course
by my Hindi). They're happy for me to take photographs of the
activity, them handling the large colorful tarps, the sewing machines
outside, the large beautiful Kannada letter patterns...
Asha, Anand and I play with Prashanth. I eventually
walk him deeper into the alleys where we find all kinds of
chaotic mechanics shops, whose workers greet me with friendly gaze,
"relation?" they ask seeing the child. Mera dost ka beta,
I explain. Xavier has kindly bought us some sodas. I watch Sampa's
hilarious expression as she's pouts her face at the frizziness of
Coca Cola. Prashanth however happily drinks Fanta, spilling much
of it on his chest.
-- Sampa's husband, Prashanth, Asha and Sampa, waiting
at the tarp shop -- Kupamma --
Well past noon, Sampa getting hungry proposes lunch, so Anand, Asha, her Prashanth and I return towards the plaza in research of a restaurant. She's particularly intent on eating chicken, and first stops us at a nasty looking joint which luckily doesn't offer it, so we proceed to a less shady restaurant. We let Sampa do the ordering. Prashanth eats wholeheartidly, but Sampa is disappointed in the food after all. We pack some parcel for the others and return, to find the tarps packed and ready. The total comes to 12,600, much less than I had expected. I awkwardly count the bills from my usual plastic pouches, hand them over to the owner, who recounts then concludes Inch' Allah. The jovial man after warmly complimenting me on my Hindi, argues that I should next learn Tamil, "the best of the southern Indian languages", and not bother with Kannada or Telugu. I humorously protest that I should be learning Kannada here in Karnataka, and don't understand people's apparent disdain for it. The man smiles, while workers load the tarps on a forklift, walking us all the way to the car. As it turns out, the load is far smaller than I would ever have imagined, and I'm amazed at how easily it fits in the car, by just folding over the last row of seats. We're still shot of two seats, so Kupamma and Asha will need to return by bus as planned, while Anand, Sampa, Suresh, Prashanth and I squeeze in the remaining places. The trafic on the way back is equally horrendous. Sampa and Prashanth occasionally sit on the floor. The baby gets fussy at times, Sampa calming him by occasionally breastfeeding him. Knowing his fascination for phones, I hand him over my mobile, then use Xavier's phone to call him. The boy listens intently in awe. Finally we reach Kadugodi, soon greeted by Valli.
-- Asha and Prashanth in Shivajinagar - Utti and Sampa,
back in Kadugodi --
She asks me to lift one of the heavy loads up on her head,
which she then carries into the community with ease. We drop
the packs on the muddy ground, right in the center. But Sampa
asks that I should distribute the tarps, to avoid any fighting.
I shy away from this responsibility, so she starts the distribution
herself. Some quarreling starts, which Anand bravely steps in
the middle of, smiling it off in Tamil.
A louder argument comes from Roxanna, who argues that
she needs a tarp for her sister as well, even though they
live in the same tent. I try to calm her, but am taken
aback by her apparent anger, the unknown violence in
her face. Suddenly her whole face
relaxes though, as if this had been a game,
reverting to her beautiful smile, and she
seems at peace for the moment. We sit for some time, all together,
satisfied, then share one last tea at the roadside shack at the
entrance of the slum, before leaving. As we're driving away,
everyone, including the tea doukanvalli, waves at us, while
Valli looking at me is twisting her mouth from one side to
the other, making funny faces. I respond the same way.
-- Anand, Xavier and I, back in Kadugodi
(photo by Valli) --
In the car, I ask to Xavier, what's the meaning of Buma?
They call her that because she's Muslim, but what does it mean?
Finally, he gives me the answer I've been looking for, that no
one could give. Buma is a name for Muslim woman, derived
from wearing the Burka. I realize that this could be considered
an insult, and resolve to never call Roxanna that again.
Pooja for a dead husband (Kadugodi) -- 06/09/10
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
Monday 06/07/10 -- (preparations)
I have started later than I would have wanted, so run at a much
faster pace, which for some reason today feels quite comfortable.
I wasn't sure what to expect today, I somehow doubt that all the
tents would be outfitted with the new tarps, but who knows?
I first meet Suresh at the chai stand who offers me tea, but
decline to enter the community, for once through the front.
Sampa and others are there standing in the central area.
She has been revamping her tent, which now opens here through
the front. She of course invites me in, although it's been
stripped down inside. She has placed the new tarps on the roof,
but ran out of it for the walls. She's sewing the tarps together
as we speak, carrying needle and thread by sticking them through
her bun. I'd like to take a picture of her working, but she points
to her clothes "galich" (indeed, her beautiful orange saree is
filthy. As I suspected, we haven't
bought enough, but what to do, they chose the quantities
themselves. valli of course joins us, and we spend our usual
happy time together, with Prashanth (still dressed as a girl)
and Kalpana. They insist on offering me tea, even though I'm
ready to offer a round for the community. I explain my upcoming
trip, careful to be understood. Sampa asks Suresh to get his
phone so I can give them my number again, and she insists that
I call them before leaving, as Valli mimicks a crying face if
I were to leave. SHe points at my earring again which she likes,
and asks if I could bring her the second one as a nose ring, although
upon examining the attachment mechanism they realize this wouldn't
work. We joke about the jewelery I could bring back for her,
as if to cover her whole body.
OUtside, the little
ones still want to play with me, "Bagoundi", hanging to my
hands. Kupamma produces again her list of food items for
the Pooja that she plans to buy tonight. I say that I'll see
what I can do, but can't promise anything (Ruxanna has to
translate from Hindi). As I leave, Sampa follows me, also asks
me to help for the Pooja, affirming that 1000 Rs should be enough.
(NOTES :)
I've of course decided to come back in the evening.
Accompanied by Xavier,
La cour des miracles, walking along the street.
We meet Asha on the way
with a friend, she quickly turns around to follow us (I am
happy to see her having particularly connected with her).
Valli her and I walk ahead, Sampa and the others lagging
behind, perhaps arguing about where to go. We go further
than usual, choosing not to use any of the previous shops.
The shop far away. bustling with activity. Xavier buys chips.
Asha on the way. The shop is much bigger than the other ones,
bustling with chaotic activity. Valli Asha and I lean on a wall,
mesmerized by the activity, letting Kuppamma handle the haggling,
until it's time for me to pay.
My presence doesn't attract much attention actually, as if I had
somehow finally grown inconspicuous. Suresh's young brother however is
reprimanded a few times, a man candidly corrects his demeanor,
wants him to close his open shirt. The man also listens in
to my conversation with Valli, as usual irrespective of privacy.
Xavier buys chips for Prasanth, which we all share.
The "mental" brother. Takes the bike. Reprimanded.
We try to learn English, but first only resort to reading
food labels. I then switch to
English lesson:
hands,
eyes...
Across the street, rice, 25 kg bag. Kupamma carries it all
the way back on her head.
I am quieter on the way back, so perhaps thinking I've
grown sad, Valli says:
"Smile giving..."
Smells. Kannada word. As previously, Valli often covers her
mouth with her scarf (I see this done constantly here).
We sit at the tea stand, in front of the stand,
Xavier insists on buying tea, but
I ask him to yield to their insistence.
Xavier's conclusion, later: Suresh has asked him to tell me, stop
buying things, some people get, some people don't get, it
creates too much fighting. Next time you come, you look,
you go. I am greatly saddened.
-- Slumdweller, Kadugodi tent community --
Wed 06/09/10 -- (the Pooja)
That evening, I return to Kadugodi for the Pooja. I am ushered
by a rumbling storm, which actually doesn't generate too much
rain (I would actually be eager to see the community under
heavey downpour). Because Xavier is busy, Arun ends up driving me there,
around 4:30.
He's surprised when I ask him to just drop me by the railroad
crossing (which is currently closed due to brdige construction)
and point at the tent community as my destination. My plan is
to return by bus.
In the center of the community, a ceremonial tent (of the
type that is so common here) has been dressed, a
table and a few plastic chairs. Displayed is a framed photograph
of the deceased decorated by garlands of flowers, candles on
the ground. Sampa, Kuppama and the widow lead me in. The widow
clears the frame off the flowers, for me to read her husband's
name, year of birth (1972). There aren't that many people around,
as most must have come earlier around 3 when the pooja started.
I ask them what to do, Sampa and Arpudam have a small disagreement,
which Sampa concludes by simply asking me to pray (prarthna karna)
while joining her hands. I stand in front of the photo in that
position, not quite knowing what to do, stay silent for a moment
staring at the man's old picture (he looked young then). I express
my sympathy to the widow, yet no one seems to express any sorrow.
Kuppama makes me sit at the table and serves me food, in a leaf
plate which she washes first. They serve too large a quantity,
which I won't be able to finish (but no one takes offense). We
take pictures of the setup, having carefully cleaned the flowers
around the frame. I too am photographed with them. At some point,
as we're standing in front of the picture, Sampa's saree nearly
catches fire on one of the candles. Valli soon arrives as well,
looking superb in full saree, her hair adorned with flower garlands.
Sampa invites me into her house. But just then her husband Suresh
shows up, looking fairly intoxicated, and starts a small argument
with her. I let them disappear to sort it out. As often before,
I feel like Sampa is the one pulling the strings on everything,
carrying intelligence and authority in the community, over men
and women alike. Instead, we enter Valli's tent, joined by
slumdwellers I had not previously met. The children of the
"woman in the house" are there, well dressed, and we take more
photos, which creates much more commotion than I would have
wanted, as I fear we're losing respect for the austerity of
the event (although no one seems to care much). These two
speak far better Hindi, and are eager to communicate. The girl
even changes outfits a few times to take more pictures. Meanwhile,
Valli is starting to cook right outside her tent, having lit
a fire, the smoke of which keeps getting into our faces. She
complains that with the rain, it's getting harder and harder
to cook outside, and that not much fuel is left from our first
shopping trip. I am strict about not making any expenses today,
especially after Suresh's comment to Xavier last time, and besides,
am purposefully carrying very little money. Actually, the rain
starts falling again, making her retreat some of the food back
into the tent. But the small crowd of children creates a bit
of a mess, and she complains that they're stealing her food.
She continues the preparation inside, cutting
tomatoes and onions, which make us all cry. THe boy suggests that
by placing an onion on top of our heads we should be immune to
the lacrymose effect, so we try. Valli's letting out tears so
I try to throw an onion on her head as well, which unfortunately
inspires small kids to throw onion peels straight at her face.
She resumes the actual cooking outside, helped by Asha who
holds an umbrella over her. She wants to offer me food, but
I've already eaten so much that I refuse. "Next time", we agree.
I have shut down my camera, but cannot resist taking more pictures
of Valli at the entrance of the tent. Asha scolds me humorously,
Valli, Bas!
-- Valli, cooking in front of her tent --
I have noticed a new clock in Valli's tent, very old fashioned.
Valli asks me to set it correctly. It's already 6:00 but the
clock is off by 1/2 hr. As I try to adjust it though, the big
and small handles aren't well in synch, such that the small handle
lands in between 6 and 7 on the hour.
Outside, to conclude the meal, Kuppamma offers me Paan from her
pouch, which she prepares for me. I sit with Valli, who herself
is chewing tobacco from one of these small plastic pouches that
are so common here (which Sampa always uses). I somehow disappointed
that she too would be chewing tobacco. I ask her if I could try
as well, but she warns me against cancer. We study the package
together, me reading the hindi labeling. She indicates how it
makes her head spin.
I am invited into Ruxanna's tent, with the "house" woman
sitting at the doorstep. Her sister Vahida offers me to seat
on a mat where she was herself lying. They speak far better
Hindi so the conversation is more fruitful here. Ruxanna herself
is busy rolling a ball of dark material, which she then rolls
onto thin sticks. It turns out she's making incense sticks for
the temples or churches (they tell me the price at which these
sell, but I don't retain it. It is very low compared to the quality
that she needs to generate). Her hands are expert at the task.
I ask her about her husband, and see her beautiful face harden
as a few times before. I don't understand everything in her
emotional speech, but it seems that the husband has mostly left,
occasionally coming back to fight, even with the smallest children.
(She had already complained about his severe drinking habit).
Valli eventually interrupts us, saying the "Sampa is calling".
Where are my shoes, I am asked, and reply that I have no idea,
which makes everyone laugh. "Come, going", says Valli in her
usual style of English, which we make fun of by translating
into Hindi, Kannda and Telugu.
-- Roxanna, making incense sticks --
At candlelight, the ambiance inside Sampa's tent feels austere.
Gathered are her husband (looking calmer now), his disabled
brother, Rosie, and the two sleeping children hidden under
a cover on the hard floor. It seems that the tarps are successful
at keeping the inside dry, at least for this amount of rain.
Sampa is grave, asks for ration. I explain that I can't do
anything today, and am worried about bringing fights into the
community. She pointedly asks, who told you that fighting was
going on? Protecting her husband, I reply that I've seen it
for myself. In apparent contradiction, Suresh himself asks
me for help buying his brother a bike, and makes him show
me his disabled leg. I refuse all this again, say that I won't
be able to do anything anyway until I return from my trip.
We plot again in the tent, at candlelight, Sampa encouraging
me to only share with people here, not the other "bad" ones
(I assume she's mostly referring to Ruxanna). I explain that
most of the contributions actually come from people working
with me, which is only true to a small extent, but I want
to depersonalize the money end of it. In a strange way, I
almost feel relieved that I'm officially allowed to help these
people again. Even though visibly worried that I won't be
able to provide "ration", Sampa eventually leads just like
Valli, using that same "no problem" word. We vow friendship again.
I give her hand, use the same beautiful phrase that Valli
had used on me the other night, "Sampa, Smile giving?".
Her face lights up.
Rosie, Sampa and Valli walk me to the bus station across
the street. While we wait, I buy chips for everyone in
the small station shop. Then they make sure I get into the
right bus. I sit and wait for a long time before the bus
actually starts, living over the events of the day.
Further notes:
Photo cancel karna. Manni funny.
Kuppamma's cooking, outside, huge cauldron's inside
her tent, still full of food.
Valli, asks for fuel. Refuse. Finally yields, Kannada
(or Tamil) word for no problem.
Extremely uncomfortable when they say thanks, or to put
them in a position where they have to ask or beg.
The woman in Varanasi train station (Hindi Kahaniya) -- 06/15/10
We are leaving by train, from Varanasi to Agra.
Heat. The first vision of the station from outside,
overcrowded, packed. A moment of discouragement. Heat.
We let down the bags outside, momentarily daunted by
the apparent challenge ahead.
After inquiry, we find AC waiting room. Walking through the bodies,
cour des miracles,
like half dead corpses, human shapes grossly deformed,
the vision of a woman, her idle stare, her lips overinflated
beyond human shape. Walk over a sleeping man, half naked,
emaciated, barely more than a skeleton.
Our train is late. We need to
check back periodically for updates. Outside the room are small children,
beggars, their face pressed against the window door.
I have this idea: Could I read a story from my Hindi book to them?
I timidly put this plan to execution, eventually come out into the
sweaty open space holding my book, after refusing to give them
money show them images, start reading. A woman (the mother)
soon joins us. She starts
reading too, with me, and sometimes I complete her words when she
hesitates, then I take over, and in turn corrects me when I stumble.
She punctuates my sentences with "Ji" in assent, in a soft voice.
I compliment her happily on her reading. We are standing by the
railing by the entrance of the waiting room. The story finished
I go back inside to return with chocolates for her, and have
prepared a 100rs note which I hold crumpled in my hand, wondering
though if this is the right thing to do, as usual holding the
approximate truth that giving money is bad. She has
sat back on the ground, in one corner of the station, nearby the
entrance to the tracks. She sits with her 4 children, and old woman
who briefly comes out of her daze to extend to me a begging hand,
which I wave off with the "no" hand shake.
I have brought another book, Tintin, my latest Hindi acquisition
from the Delhi airport, and we page through, stopping
on some of the funnier moments, the children grabbing it for attention,
nearly tearing it apart.
She introduces me her youngest daughter, who after crying at first
grabs my finger and smiles. At the contact of the
children I feel their heat, perhaps feverish (or is just the
45C heat?). The woman addresses
me with dignity, with a sweet yet distant smile. She tells me
much of her life story, which I unfortunately don't comprehend
fully, having problems understanding her Hindi (which frustrates
me immensily). The older daughter has noticed the bill in my
hand and starts asking me about it, but I refrain to hand it
over, still not sure if that would be right.
Every once in a while, someone stops by, intrigued
by this scene, with no sense of privacy joining the conversation.
A young man perhaps a little crazy starts to be annoying, forcing
my temporary retreat back in the waiting room. I fold the crumpled
bill more neatly, take yet another Panchatantra book which I
haven't read yet, go back to read with them.
The woman further explains that her husband has disappeared. She
used to work in a shop, but now stays in the station, having
no roof, begging. She apparently was an artist, drawing and
painting images.
With no warning her smile suddenly disappears as her face
crumples in tears. She begs me to take her with me, allow
her to work at our service. But what can I do for her living
in Bangalore, I explain. She quickly recomposes herself, and
the smile returns, her beautiful attempt at dignity.
I hand her over the 100Rs, careful to shied it from
anyone else's sight (by now the thick crowd has emptied some,
although there are still groups sitting or lying on the ground.)
The baby girl defecates in a corner, drawing irrate comments
from travelers. The mother cleans up with old newspapers
found on the floor.
This time I leave her the book for her to keep. I would like
to buy tea and cookies for us, go out but can't find the shop.
When I return I spot the woman from a distance sitting
with the book open, reading.
I ask her more specifically where to find food, and agree
to walk there with the daughter and one of the boys. I barely
have time for this as our train should be coming over any
minute now, so off we go,
walking together holding hands, out of the station across a bustling
street to the shops on the other side, helping the children
across the tricky divider into the chaotic traffic.
We ask for cookies and
drinks. Both my Hindi and my companions draw comments (particularly
to ensure that "they are with me"). When we come back, the mother
has left her spot. I need to rush to the train which has
finally arrived, two hours late.
I leave with no opportunity to say goodbye.
Training run (8 miles) -- 06/20/10
To harohalli, through Imadahalli, Ajgondanahalli, Timandhalli: 0:38:32
Back: 0:32:51
Time: 1:11:23
Mileage: 8 Miles
Having returned yesterday from Dilli (one day early), after hesitation run to Harohalli. In Ajgondanahalli, am "intercepted" by two small girls (whose photos I've taken before) who insist on showing me their field, which is right along my trail. We take a few pictures by a house in their field, as well as in the banana / mango plantation. They both speak some English, and write their names in my notebook in both Kannada and English (Sahana and Krutika). I'm carrying the Taj Mahal box which I've brought for Neethra, carefully wrapped in paper which I have to open for the children to see.
-- In the Banana plantation (photo by Krutika) --
In Harohalli, I meet Roopa who leads me to Vandana's house where
Neethra is, and she ends up serving me food over there. I give
them the Taj Mahal box with little enthusiasm at first, Neetra
was expecting to find
something in the box, and can't quite mask her
disappointement, but thanks me anyway. We go to her house as
she wants to show me the Saris that she has got for Cecile
and Jayanti. They also plan to get me a traditional costume
for their house's pooja, the date of which they will discuss
today with an astrologer. We discuss differences between
Hindu and Western marriages, the impossibility of divorce.
The whole family has gone to visit the groom (Muniraj) except
for Neetra who's not supposed to go. She still is unhappy about
the wedding, but will need to comply anyway (I jokingly says
she could run away, but am met with exhorbitant skepticism).
Roopa tells the story of a brother who was gagged and kidnapped
to force marriage, but escaped and decided to never marry.
I need to go home but am coaxed by Monika to see her little
farm house along the way again. She gives me flowers and a
corn husk, then we feed their cows together. She then wants
to walk to her grandfather's house near Kottur, and I accompany
her. She speaks almost continuously in English, but I can
barely understand her chatter.
ON the road, I start to worry that I haven't understood
fully, and realize I can't leave her out here by herself,
that I am now fully responsible for her.
Some men (by the field where Dilip lives) ask her some
questions in Telugu, and I worry that they might be wondering
what I could be doing alone walking alone holding this pretty
little girl's hand out on the roads. I wish I could explain
but they speak neither Hindi nor English. Dilip shows up
and I ask him to ask her again where we're going exactly.
The house is actually just there, but no one is home,
so we go back. Monika wants to show me other trails,
to pick flowers, but this time I resist. We walk all the
way back to their alley, where I buy ice cream for her
and little Roopa (who has just arrived with her parents
on a motorbike) from an itinerant seller. Everyone is
surprised to still see me here, but finally, I leave.
Rakesh's father. Limp, visible signs of blessure.
Something must have happened to him. He shakes my
hand without much demonstration. Later I ask. Accident.
Someone tells me he got attacked by a dog in Ajgondanahalli.
Chilling thought... (As it turns out, I've misunderstood this:
Rakesh's father fell on the bike because of a dog, but
was never attacked).
Almost home, in Varthur Kodi, a familiar silhouette runs
towards me: It's Manni! I'm surprised to see the boy so
far from Chansandra, but must assume that he's taken
the bus, begging along the way. I ask him to follow
me to the Mayura Bakery, where I want to buy him sweets.
We have no language in common, but still manage to
communicate the basics. He shows me a creamy cake through
the glass, but I prefer to buy an assortment of cookies,
and two drinks. As we're waiting he goes and eagerly
gulps water from a pitcher on the counter. We walk
a little further, take a couple pictures of him,
then show him my "ghar", Palm Meadows. I feel ashamed
of the place. I turn back as enter the compound. Manni
still standing on the opposite side, waves at me.
-- Manni, near Palm Meadows --
-- Valli carrying the "ration",
near Whitefield train station, Kadugodi --
-- Once the bridge completed (seen here at the top),
Sampa and valli's community will be destroyed --
Training run "Sampa's illness" (9.8 miles) -- 06/26/10
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
Prelude: Monday 06/21/10
To Kadugodi (ECC, ELIM): 0:42:58
Back: 0:37:02
Time: 1:20:00
Mileage: 9 Miles
As I approach, I see Sampa from a distance I think, at the tea
shop as usual. She's wearing a yellow-ish dress, dirty. Suresh
is sitting by, looking half there (always this slightly drunk
look). I insist on buying them tea, but they refuse and offer
me one instead. Valli arrives, wearing her habitual Saree. Prashanth
recognizes me and holds my finger.
The shop owner (who is starting to know me well)
asks in Hindi about my trip, and whether I've seen the Taj Mahal.
She then points to Sampa's ear, covered by a dirty bandage. She
has been badly cut. Valli points to a metal sheet, explaining
how her ear was sliced. She wants to show me the wound to which
Sampa (and I) protests at first before yielding. The dirty bandage
reveals a gash in her ear. You saw a doctor? I ask. She went to
hospital once for stitches, but otherwise has no money.
They invite me inside the community, where I salute Kuppama.
Passing Roxanna's tent, a man salutes me from inside, Namaste.
I only catch a glimpse of the figure, a lean tall man with a
beard, looking older than I would have thought. Could this be
her infamous husband?
We sit in Valli's tent. I ask about the bicycle inside. It is
Apoo's, who today has taken the bus to Koramangala. Wondering
if we should go buy more tarps, I ask how the tents have
been faring in the recent rains. They show me the wet corners,
near the walls, but the real solution would be to build small
cement walls all around, tarps would not be sufficient. As Kalpana
is playing with me, I take out my little notebook for her to
draw, and as usual she forms mock letters, which she proudly
shows me. Valli tries to write her name again, which she
mostly remembers, although she again draws her "a" and "i"
backwards, first on her hand, than on my notebook.
Uncharacteristically, Sampa asks me to write her name in
Kannada which she then copies. I hesitate between ending
her name with a simple "a" or the longer "aa". She gives
me her "full" name, Samp---.
I ask her to reciprocate teaching me to write
in Tamil, which she first refuses as if she couldn't write
properly, then assents. I carefully copy the signs.
Valli insists on serving me food. She heats the
little stove that we had bought together, serves me a plate
of rice and Sambar. Someone brings another tin plate for me
containing some egg mix that Sampa has made. Even though I'm
running late and have had enough to eat, they insist that I
finish my plate entirely. Valli comments that I eat "big-big",
then corrects what she actually meant: "small-small". Roksanna
sits at the doorstep for some time, but doesn't come in. The
boy from last time also briefly comes in, in school uniform.
I haven't had time to print any of the pictures, having
been away.
At some point, Sampa and I are briefly left alone. I ask her
about the man in the other tent, who she confirms is Ruxanna's
husband. In her usual hushed tone, widening her eyes
with intensity, she
explains that Roxanna's sister has had to move out, after
a big fight happened with the husband. I then ask her again
about her ear. She is feverish from the wound, and has no
money to see a doctor. I take out my plastic pouch (which
contains only 120rs) and place it in her hand, "for the
doctor", ask her to not show anyone. It quickly disappears
in her corset while she thanks me, but I ask her to not
thank me, as usual uncomfortable with it. They still don't
know where they're going to move after being kicked out
from here, once construction on the bridge completes. And
her husband Suresh is now without a job. Kioun?, I ask,
Nahi Milega, she shrugs back.
Valli after returning explains that this Sunday will be
her husband's birthday, although it takes me a while to
understand their prononciation of the english word "birthday".
I explain in detail my plans, Madeleine's departure this week,
followed by the rest of the family on July 8, and finally my
two weeks off end of July. Sampa wants my address in France
or the States, I think to send me a letter, and to be sure
to stay in touch. She apparently had another "philippe"
friend (she keeps referring to him as from "scissorline",
although she describes it as his town rather than his job),
who one day left without notice. Apparently he knew her
since childhood? The two sisters confirm that they never
had a father... I promise to return Saturday at the latest,
and she asks me to call ahead of time so she can prepare
me a decent breakfast. As we're walking out, I repeat
that co-workers have donated more clothes which we
could distribute here, which triggers Sampa's conspirational
face: "Silent dena, she recommends,
otherwise, Jhagra.."
As I'm leaving in somewhat of a hurry, I am called once
more by two small children. It's the "bagoundi" girl
walking to school with another boy. What had I assumed
that none of these children would ever go to school?
Satuday 06/26/10
To Kadugodi via the usual ECC / ELIM road: 0:40:27
Patalamalevet - Chansandra - Northern trail -
back through trails to Varthur Kodi - PM: 0:47:47
Time: 1:28:13
Mileage: 9.8 Miles
Approaching the community, I run into Valli, whom I recognize
from a distance wearing her usual unique Saree, as she's using
a public phone by the chai shack. She invites me to enter the
community, says I'll find Sampa there, and two children promptly
taking my hand (one of whom is the bagoundi girl) lead
me in. Sampa ushers me inside her tent.
She is ill. She looks unkempt, emaciated, and complains
of weakness. She's wearing her green dress and green warm polo,
always the same. Prashanth is a little fussy. She briefly breastfeeds
him which puts him to sleep, then tying a cloth from one of the
beams she installs him inside, as in a swing, where he stays
fast asleep. For some reason, Suresh shows off his phone
(which is rarely charged), first taking my picture, then
showing me Kannada music videos, Valli holding the device
for me to see. I eventually find this annoying, submerged
by a wave of discouragement, as if I could no longer connect
with these people, far less help them appropriately. Their
plight seems endless.
Sampa's hands are bandaged. Slowly I reconstruct what
happened. Last night she had to go hospital feeling too weak,
where they injected her blood. Indeed her face appears thinner
even. She shows me a prescription and drugs. I encourage her
to wait a few days, then take her to my doctor if things
don't improve (I spend some time explaining the location
of RxDx.) Of course, if things get significantly worse,
call me, Sampa, call me.
We're soon joined by Suresh her husband, Valli, and the
disabled brother. Valli's own husband is as usual away
working in Koramangala, now on the night shift.
I ask Sampa whether her German friend has visited her
recently, but she regrets that he hasn't come in some
time, and that she has no address to call.
They go into explaining a long complicated
account of their unsuccesful quest for a new place to stay.
The brother is particularly talkative, speaking a little better
Hindi, which I unfortunately struggle to fully understand. At
first I think they've found a place in the nearby village
along the railway (on the way to ITPL) but then realize
this place is bad, that Suresh has gotten into much
trouble there (I unmistakebly understand the words Jhagra
(fight) and Chaku (knife)). One thing for sure Sampa
wants to leave this place, and when the community will be
dismantled no longer associate with this group, who she complains
is plagued with constant fighting. Several times she commands
the others to speak softly, as if others were spying on us
from outside. Still not quite able to fully understand, I
promise to return with a KannadaValla, so we can
discuss fully.
-- Inside Sampa's tent: Sampa with Kalpana and her
disabled brother --
The two sisters insist on offering me a meal. Valli has warmed
up rice and Sambar, Sampa cooks eggs (which she calls omelette)
on a small fire at the corner of the tent (I am by now used to
the choking effect of the smoke that accumulates in the tents).
I protest getting to big a portion, make Valli cut the plate
by half. I wash my hands from a bucket (containing Kavery water)
in a corner of the tent. They insist of course that I finish
my plate. We play as often with my tiny notebook. Kalpana
draws her usual mock letters, then goes on making a more ambitious
drawing, something that looks like an animal with many legs,
or perhaps a train or bus (I draw one for her to show the
analogy). Sampa once again that I write her name in Kannada,
but once I'm done everyone has lost interest, and eventually
that piece of paper will be torn. Kalpana
I have brought gifts as promised for the sisters, four
pair of earrings which I say come from Varanasi whereas in
truth I bought them at Commercial Street in Bangalore. I'm
quite shy about it, not that happy with the gift, and am not
much encouraged by their reaction. Valli would have preferred
a nose-ring (has she had said to me) and Sampa finds the rings
too big for her ears (especially now that one has been badly
cut). She opens a small box and shows me a small golden piece.
They ask me for the price of the items (it's so typical to
do that here) but I refuse to tell. I've asked them to choose
one each, but all four sets disappear in the box. They thank
me, but it feels lukewarm.
Every once in a while, other slumdwellers poke their nose
inside the tent, Kuppama, Rosie..., and I wonder uncomfortably
if my attention for Sampa's family will continue to create conflict.
Kupamma in particular, her face rendered hard by the mess of
her red Paan-gnawed teeth, always seems ready to pick up a fight,
although I'm reassured those are menial things. Suresh looks
clearer today, and as usual I let them take a few pictures.
True to tradition, Valli has a fit of hiccups.
I should leave, wanting to visit Patalamalevet next, but
today Sampa seems intent on keeping me. We eventually get up,
the sisters accompanying me to the railtracks. Sampa asks if
I could get her ration also today. I refuse at first,
explain that this only creates endless conflicts in the
community, but she retorts that if someone asks, I should
explain that I'm helping Sampa because she has fever.
We need to make a bit of a detour to circumvent a stopped
train, but instead sit on the embankment. I sit on my heels
Indian Style which draws exclamations from both Sampa and
Valli, a position that is nearly impossible for me (people
here sit like this for hours) but here made easier by the
slope. At one point, I start to sit on my ass, but am
immediately thwarted by Sampa, Galich, Galich!,
proving again that sitting directly on the dirt would
be completely improper. Sampa also scolds a man who has
passed in between the wagons instead of turning around
the train. Seated like that, we continue the conversation,
Sampa convincing me that she can handle the conflicts.
Besides, I'm actually eager to go shop with them (I have
brought 1,000 Rs. for that purpose), but am plagued with
doubt, unsure if this really helps them. But off we go,
valli, Kalpana and I, Valli stepping on the
hard railroad rocks with her bare feet. We go to the
usual shop in Kadugodi, where Sampa makes sure that we
don't spend more than 500 Rs. I've decided to go with
her to the doctor, to understand better what could be
the matter with her. On the way back, we stop for a
fresh juice, but because electricity is down can only
get a soda. One of the shop workers chases away a lady
begging with her child, hitting her in the legs with
a thick rod.
But Sampa first wants to change, so we return,
again walking on the tracks around the stopped train, and enter
the community by jumping from the side wall (which also has
the advantage of being less conspicuous). Once in the tent,
Sampa washes her face in a corner then disappears outside.
She soon comes back wearing her orange saree, her hair
perfectly combed, looking so beautiful in spite of her
wanton state. She eats a full plate of Rice and Sambar (after
having offered some to me as well).
I say goodbye to Valli as Sampa, Suresh
and I walk out, once again on the railway, this time
through Whitefield station in direction of Patalamalevet,
Sampa and Suresh arguing along the way. (Suresh is as usual
hard to read, and I wonder if he's displeased by what's
going on). After exiting the railroad, we take a small
street, where I meet the annoying begging woman who I
refuse once again. We're joined here by the handicapped
brother who has come on a bicycle with another man.
Sampa invites me to follow her upstairs to the small
hospital while the others wait outside. This place
is no more than a few rooms, and advertises both
ayurvedic and western medicine. We take our
shoes off before entering a waiting room, where Sampa
explains her case to the hostess (I hear the word
friend-u as she glances in my direction). We
are seated for a short wait, Sampa pointing at a small
plastic aquarium. She confirms that this is the place
where she came to during the night, indicating that it's
open 24 hours (an expression that I've heard the
slumdwellers use a few times before). She is called
inside. Noticing my hesitation, Sampa gestures me to follow
her to a consultation room, where a doctor invites me
to sit (Sampa stays standing). He addresses me in English,
confirms that I fully understand the language before
explaining that Sampa has been extremely weak, mostly
out of improper nutrition. Last night she was so weak
that they transfused her blood. THe man has prescribed
tablets, and recommends to wait for a few days before
moving on to some other treatment. She has many worries,
he adds, but we can't help with that. She needs
to eat better. I ask him how
the hospital functions, how much cares cost. Usually,
the rate is higher at night, but for Sampa they kept
it to the normal rate last night (she was here for
about three hours), and won't charge anything for
this short visit. I ask him whether her problems are
linked with her ear wound. He interrogates her in Kannada,
then looks at the ear, but concludes that this is
healing properly, and she could have the stitches
removed here in a few days (I'm surprised that the
doctor knew nothing of this).
He further briefly examins Sampa, listening
to her breathing, concludes that she seems
to be recovering.
Back outside, further discussion with the men,
which Sampa always seems to dominate. Unrelated, she
asks me once again to help buy a motorbike for the disabled
brother, who without it couldn't go to work. She offers
to negotiate the prize herself (which could be as low
as 500Rs it seems), but I refuse again, at least for
this time. Across the alley, we buy medication together.
Sampa, to my surprise, then offers to walk me over to
Sathia's place. We leave the others, crossing the railway,
through a break in the wall,
further into Patalamalevet.
-- Sathia, with her mother Sampa; with Ganesha, Sampa and
father Murgesh --
As we're walking, Sampa asks me to give her money for
food and medication, as she has previously only bought
detergents and products, and returning to the shop would now
take too long. I shake my head feeling that despair once
again. Why didn't you buy food previously, Sampa?
We quickly find the place, the house under construction,
the tree sheltering the group of derelicts, from which
two silhouettes rise, Sathia and Manni's mother, also named Sampa,
and Murgesh their father. Sampa knows the woman well. The
whole family has now been completely kicked out of the
construction site, and sleeps outside under this tree,
in spite of the growing rains. I recognize
little Bosu (Ganesha) who is equally happy to see me after
such time.
Sathia's mother doesn't
speak Hindi, so Sampa acts as a translator. She says that I
should buy tarps for these people too, that Murgesh could
install it under the tree, as the children are getting drenched
under the rains, a situation that will only worsen as the
Monsoon settles. Sathia and Manni who were playing close
by have been called. Sathia's hair haven't fully grown
back, her silhouette looking frail in a dress that doesn't
fit her. After talking to her mother, Sampa starts scolding
her with surprising harshness, then explains to me that the
young girl is bad, having stolen food money from her
parents to use it herself. I offer no comment, staring at
the impenetrable expression of the young girl. The two
Sampa's further discuss (Murgesh as usual looks completely
absent). Sampa (Sathia's mother) is still expecting another
child, in spite of their desolate living conditions,
their utter destitution into alcohol and poverty. My phone
rings.
It's Suresh actually. Sampa needs to leave, her children
are crying for her at home. I am somewhat harassed by another
girl, a little older than Sathia, who repeatedly asks me
for 10 Rs. Instead, we take a family picture under
the tree, and I let the girl operate the camera. She follows
me as I walk Sampa back to the rail tracks. Carefully falling
behind, I have inconspicuously folded my last 500 Rs. in my
hand. Once again breaking my principle of not giving money,
I shake Sampa's hand intensely to say goodbye,
passing the bill from my hand to hers, trusting pura
vishwas that she will use it appropriately, sadly
wondering if this could be completely wrong. She holds on to my
hand again, confirms if I'll be coming on Wednesday, that
she'll be waiting.
-- The group of slum children in Patalamalevet --
-- The tallest girl is Komadi, then from left to right
are Sathia, Ganesha and Manni --
I return with the new girl to Sathia's tree, wanting to talk
further with her mother. But we're quickly stuck as she knows
no Hindi (and for some reason Sathia also pretends to not
understand today). Sampa wanting to find translation asks
a driver who's cleaning his car nearby, but gets scornfully
denied. We walk on a street, finding a shopkeeper who speaks
Hindi, and through him, I promise to come back next week to
buy tarps for the group under the tree. The man explains
where to go, indicates that it should cost hardly 500 Rs.
The girl from before insists that I follow her, probably
wanting me to meet her folks, and we drag the whole group
of children with us. I ask her name and dutifully write
it in my notebook, Komadi. We stop by a roadside
shop for biscuits. I have lied to the girl that I had no
money with me, yet I want to buy four packs of biscuits
for the children. But the doukanvalli has no change for
my 100rs bill, and my remaining 10rs are only good enough
for two packs.
All along, our little group gathers attention, people
asking questions very directly about our relationship, which
I have to explain repeatedly in Hindi. I let Sathia and
Komadi take pictures with the camera, among which two girls
all dressed up returning home, a group of young men who
come here once a month from Shivajinagar to sell clothes,
who also take my picture on their cell phones. We finally
reach Komadi's house (I think), where a woman wants us
to take pictures for a little girl who, intimidated, keeps
crying. Funnily, to relax the girl the mother pretends
to hit us with a stick, pushing us at a distance.
I insist that Sathia take the pictures. Unfortunately
someone must have put a finger on the objective as the
photos will come out veiled.
-- Slumdwellers in Patalamalevet (photo by Sathia) --
-- The four sisters, left to right:
Velangani ("Utti"), Valli, Sampa and Deivani --
-- Suresh, Sampa, Prashanth, Kalpana and Valli -
At the entrance of the slum --
Ubagarimary's daughters -- (9 miles) -- 07/03/10
To Kadugodi, via ECC / ELIM route: 0:41:42
Back from Patamalalevet, through Chandsandra, Imadahalli: 0:39:54
Time: 1:21:36
Mileage: 9 Miles
Wght: 153
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
I first meet the "bagoundi" girl (her actual name is Lata,
Pushpalata in full), walking to school along
the main road with another boy (last thursday, I had walked
with her part of the way). This is the little girl who
always looks at me with playful eyes, slowly articulating
BAGOUNDI ("very nice"), amused at my rendition of the Telugu
word (as are most people). So I offer her the pictures first,
and her face lights up at the sight of her with her school
pack, walking on the dirt trail, or in the hands of Kuppama,
her hair getting combed. Kuppamma herself soon meets us,
carrying plastic jars, on her way to the water source,
nearby the slum. I enter the community, heralded by Utti.
We share pictures, creating the usual gathering, while
I take additional photos of the marvelous children of the
community, wondering if they'll ever convey what it feels
to be here. "Bagoundi, Bagoundi", taunt me another small
girl, gently making fun of my rare word of Telugu.
Ruxanna, whom
I haven't seen in quite some time. Ask her about her sister's
"departure" (she has been kicked out by Ruxanna's evil husband
according to Sampa) which she confirms, but I don't press her
for details. Sampa, whom I've given my camera,
and a few other women are taking pictures of
small children inside Ruxana's tent. Ruxanna occasionally
interrupts our conversation
to go yell at them, radically changing her tone of voice,
the harshness of her Kannada screaming contrasting with
the beautiful softness with which she addresses me in Hindi.
Back to her beautiful voice, she makes me
promise to next time buy her "ration",
then leaves for work. I regret that Sampa doesn't want me
to speak much to her, and plan to hold my promise. I have
carefully explained to everyone that I won't be able to
come next weekend...
The "Moti" lady, who speaks Hindi best in the community,
goes on and on about wanting Xavier's number to see if he could
get a driver job for her husband. I explain that I never give
someone's number without authorisation, and promise to ask him.
I eventually get irritated by her constant flow, increasingly
curious about the agitation around Sampa and my camera.
-- "Bagoundi" girl, getting ready with Kupamma,
then walking to school --
In Valli's tent, then in Sampa's tent. I accept a little food from Valli,
insisting on a very small portion. (Next time, omelette,
promises Sampa.
She eats with me for once, eats wholeheartidly and fast,
obviously hungry. THey press me to eat fast too, explain that
as long as I eat the kids will come and watch (people as usual
liberally crowd the tent, irrespective of privacy). Sampa has
remembered my intention of bringing Anand here again today,
to help with the conversation in Tamil (I particularly want
to understand better their housing situation, their plans for
after they'll be chased from here, which could happen any
day now.) We call him, but Anand is delayed, and promises
to call back in another half hour.
Valli, wearing a red saree today ("old saree", specifies
her mother), unfurls her hair for pictures. We take several,
Deivani's husband then makes fun of
her "Uncle, Bagoundi, Uncle, Bagoundi". Sampa, posing also
in imitation of Valli, laughs to tears. As I'm writing the ages
of the sisters in my small notepad, Deivani playfully makes me write
a long list of words (which I mostly don't understand), tells me how
to call them, makes fun of Valli by calling her *** (black skin).
(Through Anand, I later ask them if they really think dark skin
is inferior, but they respond that it simply doesn't look
as good on the pictures.) Valli and Deivani's husband fight
again, calling each other mental (their favorite
English insult), him teasing her, Valli hitting him liberally until
he's forced to retreat out of the tent. Mocking him again,
she makes a hilarious imitation of a crying baby.
But the play is interrupted when young Utti, grave as usual,
calls us to order. Through the holes at the back of the tent,
she has witnessed an incident. Sampa's laughs disappears as
she stands up to peep through the holes in the tarpaulin,
then explains, Asha has been
hit by her father for being with us. "For being with me?" I ask,
but Sampa corrects, no, for coming into her tent.
It is true that I haven't seen Asha so much lately, could it
be that her family has forbidden her to associate with me?
Valli writes her name on her hand again, which the remembers
well except she does the I upside down. I then teach her
her husband's name, A P P U. Utti, her real name
Velangani,
also asks for her name. I write it as legibly as possible on her
hand, although too long it doesn't quite fit on her palm and
I have to angle the last letters sideways.
The girl huddles away against the tarpaulin wall, as if
shielding herself from the agitation of the tent, and in maximum
concentration she copies it with care. Only a single mistake, which
we correct together. Visibly satisfied, she gives me a rare smile.
In spite of the raucous, Prashanth has fallen asleep on
the floor. Behind him, warm sunlight peeping through a hole in the
tarpaulin illuminates the small Shiva trident in the Pooja
corner with a focused circle of light. Above him, warm against
the blue weathered plastic, the image of
Goddess Lakshmi watches over him,
draped with garlands of old flowers.
-- Valli posing --
-- Prashanth asleep --
I haven't seen Ubagarimary (the mother) in some time,
and am happy to talk with her, remembering the unique way
in which she looked at me on the day of the tarps, an
expression where I somehow read a curious bond between
us, and her family. The right side of her face is still
swollen from a recent dog attack
which occurred as it turns out in Whitefield while visiting
her sister which works in some rich Westerner's house
(she'll show me pictures from their small album, featuring
a Christmas tree).
I ask her about the sister's ages, and am shocked
to find that they could be so young:
Sampa, 20, Valli, 18, Deivani, 16, and Utti 15. They're not
very good with Hindi numbers (which are indeed horribly
difficult!), so we describe the numbers by saying 10 + ??,
(and confirming with our fingers). For fun, we repeat
the exercise in kannada (I've recently learned to count
to ten). Ubagarimary, pointing at Deivani's slight belly,
tells me that she's pregnant. The young woman is the
discovery of the day, so to speak. She had appeared
fiesty and rebellious so far, always getting in trouble,
often chasen and beaten, but today shows another face,
gentle and tired, yet retaining her humor. Could the girl
be ready for motherhood?
In the meantime, Anand has come. But Sampa orders us
not to talk in front of Kupamma, or anyone else. This takes
a long time. We close the tent door a few times, but still
periodically Kupamma noses in, creating awkward moments.
She talks and talks to Anand, explaining her whole situation,
explaining again about the government housing nearby.
She asks Anand why he hasn't come for the Pooja, but I take
blame, since I neglected to ask him.
Meanwhile, Valli and I on the side make fun of her, so much so that
I fear we might get in trouble. Kupamma pulls me apart,
I haven't asked you often she says (which is true), and
when I helped her it was for the Pooja, not just for herself,
isn't it time that I help her again, just 5kgs rice,
just 5kgs rice? But I
refuse her for today. Perhaps next time. Float the idea
that we could all come share a meal with them. Here too,
I regret Sampa's rule, and promise to myself to spend
more time with Kupamma, help her as well somehow, as I've
grown fond of the old combative lady, her marked face,
her paan-gnawed mess of a mouth, her eyes which at times
let out a witty benevolent smile.
She leaves, so finally, we can talk, Sampa adopting
her secretive hushed tone.
First housing: Governement building, in a nearby town,
on the way to ITPL. After an initial investment, then 500rs
/ month, then after some time, the dwelling could
eventually belong to them.
But Sampa as she had previously told me hates the place,
fights, crime, murders, does not want to go
there unless there is no choice. She asks whether I could
buy housing for them in Kadugodi or in the next town, preferrably
three small places for her, Valli, and Deivani and their
mother. Anand and I agree that this would be completely
disproportionate, why couldn't they rent instead? But
Sampa worries that she eventually won't be able to pay rent.
I had completely misunderstood about their previous
benefactor, coincidentally another Philippe.
I thought the man worked for a company called "Scissorline"
(!!) in spite of Sampa insisting that this was his countries
name. It turns out this is SWITZERLAND, illustrating
again how I sometimes completely miss people's odd
prononciation of English! Apparently, this "Uncle",
before leaving, had set up
Sampa with a checking account and given her a check book, but
other slumdwellers tore it in jealousy when they found out.
(Anand repeats me the story without vouching for its
veracity).
Sampa's health is weak says Anand, when she worries,
she feels chest pains, caused by a weak heart. I tell Anand
of the couple deaths by heart attack that have occurred
since I've started visiting the community.
Ubagarimary's four daugthers are here. She also had several
boys (10 children in all?) but all died but one,
who being mental (for real),
walks the streets of Chansandra as a lunatic.
In conversaion, we also find out that Murgesh, Manni
and Sathia's destitute father, has gone for an operation.
Anand explains that the man should be paid 1000 Rs. for
undergoing a vasectomy. They live in Patalamalevet
I explain, and we all make fun of the fact that Anand
equally struggles in repeating the name, so it's not
just me after all!
At some point, Sampa exits the tent then
comes back with Dosas that she's bought, wrapped
in newspaper. Sampa has spoken to Suresh using my
phone, and he apparently has told her
to do this. Deivani lies on the floor, half asleep. The
pregnant girl
doesn't seem so well. Ubagarimary explains that she's hungry,
which causes Anand to spring up with a 100rs. bill, which
sparks some commotion. Valli disappears with it to buy food
for people. Why did they feed us when they don't have enough
for themselves, we question sheepishly?
Guests must be treated properly, Sampa
explains.
Kupamma comes back yet
again with little regard for the closed door,
instauring a new episode of silence. Obviously she suspects
our plotting, but what to do other than move on.
We look at the family's
tiny photo album, some from the various weddings, some of
the girls when they were young. Sampa at the time of her
own wedding, looking very young, and curiously chubby on
the picture, unrecognizable.
We leave the community, with the whole family, all
four daughters and the mother. I have agreed tacitly to
help her with the hospital for her dog bite (as I had helped
Sampa last week), but am unsure of how we'll accomplish this.
We leave Anand at the railroad crossing. We walk
on the tracks, they straight through Whitefield
station again. Valli and
Deivani's husband have another fight as he's making fun of
her. She hits him a few times, I'm starting to be unsure
whether she's really angry now, throws water at him,
even throws
the whole plastic bottle which rolls on the ground all the
way to a beggar sitting on the quay. The beggar after having
grabbed the surprise bottle returns it to us.
Valli has broken some of her red bengals during the incident.
I pick up the pieces.
In Patalamalevet, there's no one under Murgesh's tree.
We proceed to Ubagarimary's "house", through the small
alleys of Patalamalevet, eventually joining the main
road. Valli seizing my hand as we're walking on the
tracks, tells a long story
in hesitant Hindi, that her husband's mother is making
her pay 10.000 Rs., and she asks me for the money.
<-- She grabs my
hand along the way, I am greatly troubled, while Deivani
holds the other one. I am greatly troubled. Wondering how
we will be perceived, I don't let go of her hand though,
we walk a while holding each other, until we finally let
go, probably worried about other's people's perception.
--> Deivani as in response has grabbed my other hand,
but I worry
about the perception here as I walk hand-in-hand with
the two young women, particularly as we emerge onto
the main road, so we let go off each other there,
in mutual unspoken agreement. Deivani
wants to show me to some of her friends, calling to them
along the way, near-homeless young women like herself. We
stop briefly in front of a small temple, Patalama, they
explain, hence the difficult name of Patalamalevet for
the village. A beggar woman follows us in spite of my
repeated denials. We reach Ubagarimary's "room", a tiny
cement structure no bigger than an outhouse, where
I now find out that she lives with Deivani and her husband.
Since last time I had visited this place,
the roof has at least been
roughly covered with tarps, and the mess inside
has been cleaned up. Still water comes in, and it's
hard to imagine anyone living in such close quarters.
We enter, sit on the floor, while the beggar woman
stands outside at the door, waiting, at times
reminding us of her presence.
-- Inside Ubarimary's room: Ubagarimary and Sampa (and
Deivani resting in the left corner) --
-- Sampa and Prashanth --
We repeat Valli's story again, this time
with Sampa's help (once again, she frequently interrupts
and hushes her mother, the twenty year-old showing that
she is the true leader of the family). Apparently
Valli's husband's mother is threatening that if she doesn't
return 10.000 rs., he will be forced to leave her
and find another wife. To ensure that I've properly
understood, Sampa makes me repeat the story as well,
which I do satisfactorily. We comment on how bad
that family is. But Appu himself is good, Sampa
quickly specifies, "good-looking" gently
adds Valli letting out another surprise English
expression.
But it all seems too absurd, and
I sadly refuse to help with it. Finally Valli yields,
Parsimma (koi bat nahi in Tamil?)
as I've heard her say a few times. She then relapses
into silence, looking dreamy.
Ubagarimary has been bitten
by a dog in Whitefield. She will take the train today at
3 to go to the hospital. I won't be able to go with them.
I finally relent to her demand,
once again breaking my rules, hand
her over a 500rs bill, which I had brought for the tarps
for Murgesh and family
(I do have another 500rs left). The handing of the money
is invariably a climax of sorts, and I wonder if all the
events of the day have somehow led to this culmination,
leaving Valli and Deivani disappointed (Deivani pleads
for even 10Rs., but I adamantly, although on uncertain
ethical grounds).
Valli appears visibly sad, lost in thought
and still not participating,
although not making a point of it. I eyes cross with
sorrow. She smiles at me gently, reassuringly, yet
stays in her mood.
Having handed off my money, as if we had passed
some sort of climax, I feel pressured to leave,
leave them to their poverty, their possible
disappointment, the hard questions around
our friendship.
The problems again seem endless, cruel and
unsurmountable, as well as the ethical questions
this invariably poses. Common accepted behavior
is to never give money, never help people directly,
teach people how to fish. But how does this really
apply out here? How to verify empirically what
is indeed wrong? Sitting here at close quarters
with them, feeling that perhaps I have disappointed
them, I am again overwhelmed by discouragement.
We recap the events of the day one last time
with Sampa: Not possible to buy a house for them,
crazy talk. She admits that maybe she will need
to go to the govt houses after all. But people
finding out that I'm helping her would create problems.
I ask her what she really wants to do, stay here in
Bangalore or move, perhaps back to Tamil Nadu. With
no hesitation, she declares wanting to stay here in
Kadugodi, wants to live in Karnataka, my children,
she insits emphatically, Karnataka schools...
Outside, we take a few last pictures, even with
the beggin woman who's still here. Deivani, knowing
no limits, fools around with the old woman, messes
up her hair as well as her own for the picture. Almost
miraculously, she obtains a smile from the old
woman, who seems to enjoy the camera as well. Then
Deivani proudly shows me a small plant in front
of Ubagarimary's house. After having cleared the
garbage around it, she playfully
kneels in front it with her husband. I conclude
the episode by giving 10Rs. to the old woman,
but continue to deny Deivani, for principles
I couldn't quite explain.
We walk back up towards the railroad, Valli still
silent.
-- The beggar woman waiting at the door --
Deivani fooling around with her (Valli sitting on the left) --
Back at the railroad tracks,
I am about to leave to turn to the right, taking that
small trail which leads to the northern route,
where I had once seen a big snake. But Sampa stops
me, insisting that people are bad that way. I first
neglect her advice saying that I've already run there
a few times with no problem at all, but I finally yield
to the insistence of the whole family, the sisters
seeming genuinely concerned that I would venture there.
I agree to take the main road back, in spite of
its unpleasant traffic (this also gives me an opportunity
for another detour to Manni and Sathia's place, to
see if they've come back).
After a few yards, I turn around to see the
women crossing the tracks, wave goodbye again from
a distance.
But I soon turn to plunge into Patalamalevet again, making one last attempt to find Manni and family. They're here now, recognizing me from a distance, run to me. Two women (one is Sampa Manni's mom) also meet me. Sathia is there, as well as Sangita who I haven't seen in some time. A new girl who I didn't know starts begging, and will insist the whole way, asking for clothes, food. I gently befriend her while refusing adamantly to give money. She eventually warms up to this, and is happy to take pictures.
-- Sangita carrying the tarps --
We quickly decide to go buy tarps (luckily, I've kept the second 500rs bill in spite of the others' insistence). A little girl her head covered speaks some Hindi (probably Muslim) and helps me communicate. We confirm that Murgesh their father is indeed at the hospital, cutting says Manni using the English word. We cross the track by foot through the small opening, venture into Kadugodi, in that same street where we had bought food for the Pooja. I am holding hands with the beggar children, and wonder once again what perception will be. We finally come to a small shop which sells tarpaulins, whose owner fortunately speaks Hindi. I ask him to confirm that we are buying will be enough for this group. It comes to about 350Rs. Sangita excitedly carries the tarps on her head. As we approach the tree, as if intentionally the sky has darkened, letting out a few heavy drops. We take a few photos here, under the tree, Sathia wakes up little Bosu who was sleeping on a mattress on the ground. The beggar girl who has been insisting the whole way for something finally relents and accepts my friendship, without money. As I'm leaving, the children walk me together on the way. We stop by a small shop and I each buy them a pack of biscuits, then run away.
-- Manni, Sathya, Sangita, Ganesha ("bosu"),
the "children of the lake", now living under the trees --
In spite of Sampa's earlier warning,
I run the northern trail, which has become particularly impractical
following the monsoon rains, affecting the landscape nearly beyond
recognition. I wade my way through a complex set of marshes, barely
able to keep up with the half
baked trail, worried to step on a snake because of the poor
visibility. I neverthless recognize the area enough to find my
way, remembering the tree grove where I had once seen the
huge snake.
Precisely,
a long thin saturated orange snake has laced around my leg, unfelt
at first, bites me then
quickly vanishes. I examine the wound which is strangely
painless, and doesn't quite feature the teeth mark as I had
imagined them, rather, the whole area is red and slightly
swollen. What to do now, I should probably lay still
even if staying here alone doesn't seem an option. Perhaps
the snake wasn't venomenous after all, as I feel no pain (yet
I am reminded of Milind's mother who once was unknowningly
bit at night, then later started losing all her blood.)
I decide to resume running, seek help.
As I've reached the city,
a family of white tourists offers to help me. This isn't
quite Bangalore as I remembered it, as the architecture
has shifted to something more european, heavy austere
classic buildings. Yet we simply can't
find a hospital, so are forced to settle
for some Pharmacy located in the
hall of a luxurious neoclassic hotel.
Unfortunately the clerks seeming largely idiotic
prescribe some tablets that don't seem appropriate at all.
Yet, all along, I am obsessed with a single thought, pleading for
anyone to help me: "Tell Sampa
I won't be able to come today...
Tell Sampa I won't be able to come today..."
-------- Children of the Kadugodi community --------