INDIA 2011

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-- Deivani, Ubagarimary and baby Vijay, Patalamalevet --
(photos from 01/16/11)

-- Ubagarimary --

Ubagarimary's sister -- 01/02/11

PM - Hagadur - Imadahalli - "north trail" - Chansandra - Patalamalevet: 0:45:33
Elizabeth's house in Whitefield - Whitefield small streets, to the Hill - Down into Chansandra - Back via the trail into Imadahalli - Hagadur - Forum Mall: 0:46:56
Time: 1:32:29
Mileage: 14 Miles
Wght: 154

Feeling disheartened by yesterday's terrible session, the memories of Ubagarimary still vivid in my head, I'm quite reluctant to plunge back into the darkness in Chansandra - yet a promise is a promise. We have agreed to meet at 10 to take the baby to the hospital, so I set off through the familiar Hagadur road. It's another one of those beautiful Bangalore winter days. I opt for the slightly longer Northern Trail, which takes me through the beautiful lush farmlands before reaching the bleak urban area. People here are so nice, saluting me on the way, sometimes offering help (a young boy invites me to jump on the back of his bicycle to go play cricket with him), the purity of scenery and mood make me long for my luminous friends in Harohalli, in opposite contrast with the turbid darkness of Chansandra. But again, I have promised to come today, and wonder whether this will be the last I'll see of them, having lost all hope of associating with these people, perhaps having seen enough. I have walked away from them once before, and wonder whether this will be the one.
I arrive in Patalamalevet to find Ubagarimary's shack empty, door closed. A few of the children from across the street run to me, indicating with a characteristic shake of the hand, Deivani, Illa. But soon the majestic figure of Ubagarimary walks towards me. What a sharp contrast with yesterday! She's regained her composure. Her gait, in spite of her deliquescence, appears regal, her tall silhouette and head highly held with grace. Ubagarimary, although a mere shadow of her former self, when she's sober, still commands attention by her sheer presence.
She tells me that the whole family is actually staying with her sister in Whitefield, with baby and all. (This is the sister that works in this American Lady's house, whom we had visited once before). Not quite understanding if we should wait for Deivani here before going to the Sai Baba hospital, I am first disturbed that our plans have been completely changed, but we eventually decide to go meet her at the Auntie's house, opting to take the bus instead of the more expensive Auto (Rickshaw). Ubagarimary and I walk together along the main road, strangely not attracting that much attention, to the bus stand in Chansandra. We pass by a roadside tent shop with bags of trash, where she confirms that the slumdwellers come to sell their finds. As she's about to swallow another dose of Gutkha, she offers some to me, but I refuse, having seen enough of the horrible wreckage of substance addiction.
As the bus takes a little while, Ubagarimary suggests the Auto again, which she says will cost 50Rs. But the bus arrives just then and we're able to board. She goes to the very back, invites me to sit first, luckily, the bus not being very full, we're able to sit together. We change buses at Hope Farm, all in all, the ride has cost 12 Rs.
Ubagarimary's sister Elizabeth lives in a single room cottage outside of the main house of the lady she works for. Nearly the whole family is gathered here having spent the night, Deivani, Velangani, SaundraPandiyan, Selvi and of course the baby. Elizabeth speaks English, kindly offers me some New Year's cake, then introduces me to her Daughter Anjeli (17) who's studying with the hopes of becoming an anchor (she masters the main south indian languages in addition to Hindi and English). Elizabeth herself has been quite sick. They've slept all here in the small room, making all kinds of noises which have further disturbed her sleep. In addition, from across the street comes loud music out of a church, which has been playing through the nights of New Year, a noise that is taken over at night by the Newspaper delivery boys who come to collect their load at 3am. Elizabeth has made an appointment to see the doctor today. Everyone seems in a good mood, with the exception of Pandiyan, who apparently just had a fight with Velangani and is sitting visibly brooding. Deivani, looking superb, is wearing the same outfit that Sampa was wearing at the hospital on Christmas day (my clothes..., she specifies with a smile). Elizabeth says that she removed the injection from the baby's hand, that all seems well. Yesterday, the baby cried out of hunger. It turns out Deivani didn't know how to breastfeed, so Elizabeth taught her. I ask specifically if the baby has had any difficulty breathing, but we both conclude that he looks very healthy, that no visit to the doctor is necessary after all. As if to support the point, the baby, who has been mostly sleeping, opens his eyes wide, graces us with a few funny expressions as infants do, even seems to stare at me for some time. As Sampa had predicted, the baby is indeed almost white, will stay like this for some time. I respect their desire to not take any pictures of him for the next three months.
Elizabeth thanks me for helping the family, but I allude to how difficult that really is. I ask if I could talk to her in more depth, if Anjeli wouldn't mind leaving the room. I expose all my doubts, the difficult challenges in associating with these people, the ever pressing questions of figuring out what is right to do. Elizabeth herself has opted for a sane life of work, having been employed here for the past 18 years, not wanting to ever have to beg for anything. Why do the others not work, I ask her, surely, work is available. Like me, Elizabeth can find no answer. She emphatically shares these moral doubts, herself struggling with the constant decisions of when to help her own family versus not. In addition to Ubagarimary and her family, she also carries the burden of other sisters, some of whom are equally poor, helping them on and off. I decide to candidly recount the horror of yesterday, Ubagarimary's dreadful state. Ubagarimary doesn't even recall that she has seen me yesterday, in this terrible drunken stupor.
Elizabeth exposes a plan: She wants to take her sister for treatment in an institution in Koramangala, to be detoxicated from the terrible habit. I agree that this would be the best thing we could possibly do for Ubagarimary, that I would be eager to help. Elizabeth adds sadly that a woman should not indulge into alcoholism like this, as the dangers of being out there are far greater than for a man. She switches to Tamil to repeat our conversation to Ubagarimary, whose expression is hard to read. I cannot tell whether she would be willing to put herself through this. I describe again my involvement with them, taking away from charity into frienship, trying to condense in a few sentences my fascinating journey (to my eyes at least), trying to express the contrast of their glory against their sometimes abject decadence. I associate with them not out of charity I insist, but because they have become my friends, letting me enter their world with utmost tolerance.
We peruse family picture albums. Elizabeth describes how beautiful Ubagarimary once was, a tall slender figure, which I have no difficulty believing, her figure still somehow retaining so much majesty. We realize that her and I are of the exact same age, 45. Elizabeth then grabs Selvi's cheek, pointing at the dark marks on the 15 year old's skin. Selvi says this was caused by some illness. She too is so pretty, comments Elizabeth.
I exchange phone numbers with Elizabeth, happy to have found an ally in this, vowing again to support her plan of having Ubagarimary treated. She says that if I want to help them today, I could buy them a little rice and soap, in a way giving me authorisation to buy their "ration", a concept I've been struggling with. I say I will do it, but we both agree that this is not a solution, especially given the many jealousies that these favours often create. Elizabeth makes Pandiyan shake my hand to thank me (in spite of my protestation), insisting that he must understand. We spend some time looking at the child, who's been opening wide beautiful eyes on and off. I encourage Pandiyan, you should be proud, which Elizabeth translates. He kisses the baby gently.
Elizabeth has dressed up in Saree to go to the hospital, and we get ready to leave as well. The baby cannot be carried because his cot is all wet (for some reason they insist that I touch it), so he will be left with Velangani and Selvi. Coming outside, I catch a glimpse of the American woman in the main house, wondering timidly if she objects to this all activity.

SaundraPandiyan, Deivani, Ubagarimary and I walk through the small streets of Whitefield to a shop, where I manage to keep Deivani relatively in control, much to the vendor's amusement. I have set 500 Rs as the limit, and end up at 530, good for 10 kgs. of rice, Daal, and various smaller items. Ubagarimary states that they consume about 1kg of rice per day. They ask for diapers as well, but those aren't available here, and we've reached our limit anyway.
Pandiyan complains that Vikay Kumar has not come back to help them, that he had an argument with him, so I ask Pandiyan for his own version of what had happened at the Vanivilasa hospital that fateful day. The young man replies with fire that two babies were killed at the hospital, that he saw the fathers crying, that he had to act the way he did to urgently take the baby away from there.
As we walk back, Deivani holds my hand as she sometimes does, a gesture that actually makes me uncomfortable, wondering how it might be interpreted. I ask her this time, will Pandiyan not object? She laughs this off, and happily continues strolling with me back to the house. She tries to argue that she needs another few Rupees but soon drops that plea. Ubagarimary however asks for 10 Rs for the return bus, which I grant her, although unsure how it will be spent.
I meander in the streets of Whitefield, asking my way around to the Hill, somehow ending up in Chansandra again, from where I retrace my steps on the direct dirt trail. My running is difficult, short of breath and sore, perhaps after the Gujarat break and suffering from a mild dormant cough.

-- Large Banyan tree, Beligere / Muthsandra area --

Training Run "Sheep's bath", (16.2 Miles) -- 01/08/11

PM - Varthur - Left at the Police Station - To "crossroad" Hanuman Temple: 0:56:13
Left - Beligere - Turn left again in some village: 0:27:33
To Chansandra: 0:35:38
North route - Through Imadhalli: 0:26:30
Time: 2:25:54
Mileage: 16.2 Miles

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

Like in the old days. I run through the beautiful countryside, in places I've rarely been, getting lost at times, a continuous run with barely any stops. I have decided to take a break from the Kadugodi people. Focused solely on people, I had entirely stopped taking photographs of the rural landscape, a habit I plan to resume this weekend.
It's another splendid winter morning, sunny and crisp. In Vartur, I turn left into the road right after the police station, which I haven't taken into a long time. In a village, I marvel at a huge Banyan tree whose branches straddle the road, then reach the tiny Hanuman temple, where five roads meet. I turn here left again, but past Belegere, at the next temple, instead of taking another left to Muthsandra, I continue straight, into the unknown, soon crossing a bridge which passes over the river. I ask my way several times, eventually reach a wide plain which leads to Chansandra main road. I am particularly exhausted through the last part of the run, having run uncharacteristically with nearly no interruptions, not knowing anyone in these areas. I veer off the Northern Trail to connect to the road, right by a school (and a temple, inevitably) where I meet a group of children. Only carrying a single flask of water, I am quite dehydrated, so I ask a woman if I can take water from the public tap (connected to a tank), but she tells one of the children to get water from a house instead. An old man who speaks Hindi sells me a coconut, delicious! No "pipe" (straw) he says, but no matter, it's delicious to drink straight from the fruit. He then opens it further, and using part of the bark as a spoon, invites me to eat the pulp.
This short stop hasn't rejuvenated me much, I still struggle running back home, body aching and short of breath. Trying to fight the monotony, I take a right on Hagadur road which leads me deeper into Imadhalli, where on a wide open plaza I find a temple featuring giant statues of Lord Rama and Hanuman hugging each other.

-- Along the trail from Imadahalli to Ajgondanahalli --

The next day, I take Haydee walking through the countryside to Harohalli via the beautiful trails through Ajgdondanahalli and Timandhalli. On the way, peasants give us a few vegetables, herbs... As we're approaching Harohalli on the back trail, we run into Ambuja's grandmother, Anjan, Rakesh and other boys, who are herding sheep. We decide to follow them as they are taking them to the river for a bath. After meandering through trails and fields, we reach the river at a spot where an artificial waterfall has been created. Other peasants are also bathing their cattle on the other side, some beautiful cows crossing the water which is nowhere deep. We push one by one the sheep into the river, sometimes dragging the reluctant ones by their rear leg. After removing my pants, I walk into the green water as well, helping with the vigorous scrubbing and handling of the animals. From he bank, a young man is now litterally throwing the sheep in the water, splashing all over us. We spend a while doing this.
Then, having walked back with Anjan and Sandeep, we visit the various families, enjoying the time with the wonderful of Harohalli.

-- Bathing the sheep --

-- Prashanth playing with Satish, Kadugodi --

Prashanth's Birthday -- 01/14-16/11

-- Friday 01/14/11 --
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)


PM - W. Trail - Akbar's Community - Through Nellurahalli - Dunmore House Settlements - Back through the village - Pattandur Agrahara - Dinur - Kadugodi: 1:00:11
Back via Dinur - Elim/ECC route: 0:39:17
Time: 1:39:28
Mileage: 11 Miles

Another perfect sunny day, beautiful Bangalore winter, clear skies, crisp cool breeze. I have planned to meet Theja in Kadugodi to give the blankets that she has collected, but for some reason am hesitant about this plan. I start quite late around 8:30 and have decided to visit Nellurahalli communities (where I've been reconnecting very much lately) on the way.
The tent community at the entrance of the village first seems empty, most people having probably gone to work, but I am called on the way by Akbar and a few of his friends. It has been a long time, he observes, inviting me inside the community. We take a few pictures together like in the old days, even though the tents are mostly deserted at this hour. The layout has changed somewhat, some tents have disappeared. I meet a man who lives at the very end of the community, who speaks perfect Hindi. He too comes from the Gulbarga area, works here in the cement factories near ITPL for 100 to 200 Rs. a day. His wife dresses up their beautiful little girl for the picture, while their 3 month old son is fast asleep inside the tent (he says he couldn't afford any more children). He asks me to check the validity of his passport, as his goal is to work in Saudi Arabia (even though he isn't Muslim). To his relief, the passport doesn't expire until 2016. He describes the difficulty of getting water here, having to carry it from quite far. The young man is in great spirits though, very warm.

-- Akbar --

In spite of being a little late to reach Kadugodi, I decide to take a detour through Nellurahalli to meet my friends in the Dunmore House settlements, hoping that perhaps the children will be there. How quiet and peaceful it is today, under the glorious sun. I can't help pondering over my early vision of this area, the heavy clouds, the threatening unknown, then my first encounters with Giryamma's family. She is long gone of course, but today I'm happy to meet Malikarjun and his mother Mahdevamma who have both returned from the Gulbarga area, following her terrible eye infection. Here too the settlement is nearly empty. We sit together for a while under the sun, Malikarjun, Mahdevamma, Yiramma and I, and a little girl who bravely keeps talking to me in Kannada (which they translate for me in Hindi). The little one absolutely wants to invite me to her house next time (this I understand: "Namamanege baa"), to which I promise to come back on Sunday, with Jayanti whom they keep asking about. Mahdevamma, who continues to think that the Nellurahalli school is a waste of time (she may be right), has decided to keep Malikarjun home today. Mahdevamma tells me that she makes 100Rs per day for working on the construction sites. We keep chatting for a while, sitting in the near-empty settlement. Seeing the time so pleasantly go by, I call Theja to call off our plans for the day. She's barely waking up.

-- Malikarjun and Yiramma, Gopalan settlements, Nellurahalli --

I am as usual not sure what to expect in Kadugodi. Perhaps worn out by their endless needs and strifes, in such contrast with the beautiful make-up of other communities, I have it in my head that I may again separate from these people, that this might be one of my last visits. I am perturbed by their relentless demands, half-lies, aimless lives. Would I ever manage to help them, or are they dragging me down, a fascinating descent into the abyss? I am also still not sure how to handle Kupamma's demand for the money that she says she spent at the hospital for Deivani's delivery. She asked me for 800Rs. which seems high, and yet I want to believe that she indeed helped out Sampa. In any case, I am carrying 500Rs. which I may or may not give her. I approach the tea stall without anyone noticing me for once, but peering into the narrow mud trail that leads into the community, I see Arpudam crouched down washing dishes. I call her.
We decide to buy a few cups of tea (for 20Rs) before entering, which Arpudam carries using a tin jar cap as a mini-tray. Kupamma as usual is sitting outside, this time beside her tent, rummaging through a collection of ecclectic objects that they've picked up in the trash, old mobile phones, cords, cheap jewellery, which she carefully examins and sorts out (I ask her to photograph her but she unfortunately refuses). Manni, this boisterous young man whom I hadn't seen since my early contacts with the community, has returned. He is apparently the husband of Arpudam's daughter (they both seem very young) who is 7 months pregnant. They'd like me to help with her "scanning" (much like I had for Deivani) which they want to do at a Govt Hospital for 250 rs.
Sampa invites me to the side of the community, in our usual sitting place, nearby Rosie's house, in the half shade of the shrub. She places a mat for me on the dirt, but sure enough Prashanth sits on it first. She finally asks me about Kupamma's doleances, saying that the old woman has kept asking her. An old woman and a young man have been sitting with us, but she reassures that they don't know Hindi, encouraging me to speak freely. I explain how I don't exactly trust what they've been saying. When I was at the hospital, I only had to pay 150Rs., and besides, those bills that they've presented to me weren't even in Deivani's name. In any case, I'll talk to Kupamma later.

-- Kalpana washing laundry --

Rosie soons arrive (it's about 11), coming back from work, cleaning and cooking at someone's house, for which she says she gets paid 1000 rs. per month. Rosie gives me some Idlis to eat, eats rice herself. Sampa is breastfeeding Prashanth to put him to sleep. We again question why Sampa doesn't look for a job, but she uses the usual pretext of having to breastfeed the boy, which Rosie and I both question: Isn't he big enough already? I'll work when he gets big, she promises. We talk about how my own children were breastfed, for some reason, they keep thinking that they would have mostly been bottle fed. Sampa invites me to attend Prashanth's birthday which is this Sunday. We hatch plans at length, thinking perhaps I could come around noon that day to help buy the food, to be able to cook until evening. As we're talking, Kalpana, imitating her mother, washes the clothes, scrubbing them against the rocks, then hitting them. Sampa's humour and wit shine, as always in conversation. I ask her where Suresh has gone, she responds that he is sleeping in the tent. Why, I ask. "No work, so he sleeps", she responds. As usual, the plastic pouches of Gutkha or other substances come out, the women chewing them out of habit. Sampa has a larger packet which I make fun of, then ask her for some. This is actually raw chewing tobacco, which she instructs me to keep under my lower lip, for some reason insisting that it be on the left side. I am of course not very good at this (to their amusement), but eventually manage to secure it behind my lip. This time I do feel a distinct dizziness (which they've often warmed me against), and wonder if I'll end up fainting under the harsh sunlight, but manage to keep it all under control. Rosie and I have an in-depth conversation about our personal lives, sharing our problems with some emotion. Sampa who has taken a few steps away to the washing area, from there interjects on and off. They agree that they should find me another wife here! We continue sitting together for a long time, chatting and chatting, having fallen again under the spell of these conversations. As Sampa continues to do her laundry, she asks me who does it for me. I reply machine, which at first she understands to be someone's name, then corrects "washing-machine". I describe how easy that is, that I can do it myself. They ask me of course if someone cooks and cleans for me, her name, how much she makes... (Sampa for some reason is convinced that this woman is very tall, although she hasn't seen her). Upon learning that I pay Jaya 5000Rs a month, Rosie, shocked, asks if I couldn't employ her instead?
We watch the photos that I have brought, including those from other areas, which Sampa then proceeds to organize back neatly into relevant stacks. To my surprise, she knows some of the places where these were taken. Among these are beautiful pictures of her sister Velankanni, who apparently is now staying in Patalamalevet with her mother and Deivani, after a dispute with Sampa.
I finally leave the two women, make a last stop inside Kupamma's tent, where I hand her over the 500Rs., "for the hospital". She asks about the remaining sum, justifying the expense, but quickly drops the argument. Her two daughters Arpudam and Mary are here as well (Kupamma is in her fifties, the daughters in their thirties). They offer me some apple with cashew nuts. I haven't been able to see Mary since that day where she sat with me in Patalamalevet, giving me more insight into her life. But it's more difficult to talk here under the constant scrutiny of Kupamma. She says she's about to take a three day "tour" to visit some distant temple (she shows me an image of the God, whose name I don't retain). They ask me once again if I could help with Arpudam's daughter's scanning...
I haven't been very good at handling the tobacco, which unfortunately has all disappeared from behind my lip, involuntarely swallowed.

-- Nellurahalli, in Akbar's tent community --

-- Sunday 01/16/11 --
(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)


PM - W. Trail - Dunmore House Settlements - through Nellurahalli - Pattandur Agrahara, past ITPL - Down to the tracks - road along the railway - Kadugodi: 0:59:54
Mileage: 6.6 Miles
Wght: 157

-- Prashanth, peeking inside Sampa's tent --

In Harohalli, the village has decided to push the Sankranti festivities from Saturday to today. I was dearly hoping to attend the event which last year had so impressed me, but have now made too many commitments, first to Mahdevamma in Nellurahalli in the morning, then to Sampa for Prashanth's birthday. I leave the house thinking that I'll somehow be able to make it all work.
But the day starts strangely, yet another gorgeous winter day, actually a bit hotter, but just as pristine as it has been all month. I reach the Gopalan settlements (which I used to call "Dunmore House") to find Mahdevamma visibly distracted, uncharacteristically paying little attention to me, especially once I announce that Jayanti won't be coming after all. Kiran and Malikarjun escort me to the next community, where I distribute pictures to my recent acquaintances. But the woman whose children I've photographed is asking for help to put her children in a hostel, after having discussed with Anthony (Kiran's father). I am exhausted at yet another call for help, no longer feeling the magical peace from a few days ago with these people. Praveen (Kiran's brother) now ushers me to the next settlement, where he and Anthony invite me to sit inside. The dwellings here are have now been vacated, except for Anthony's family. I suspect the man wants to ask me something as well, but is barred by the lack of language. I refuse his offer of food. He soon leaves me alone with Praveen inside. The children's school bags are hanging on the corrugated metal walls, as well as carefully kept some pictures we had taken together months ago. I ask Praveen to show me his school book, try my best to read some of the Kannada, which he patiently corrects. Finally, I leave, without having talked much with Anthony. I don't stop in the third settlement, keeping an undistributed stack of pictures in my pocket. Longing for the village, its light, the immaculate people, the beauty of the celebrations, I decide to spend little time in Kadugodi, and only to honor my promise to Sampa to help with Prashanth's birthday. As if exhausted by the clair-obscur passion of Kadugodi, I yearn for the pristine light of the village.
I have made a questionable decision to not carry water today (mostly because the belt has been chafing my back) which I soon regret. I decide to stop at one of the Malayali sweet shops in Pattandur to buy a small bottle that I'll carry. The sun is particularly clear today, only tempered by the remains of winter. I take the longer road down to and along the railtracks, where a group of slum children who have been playing mock-cricket in a field come to me asking me for water. I can't refuse, and soon the whole water is gone. Two of the boys get in a heated argument which degenerates into a brief fist fight, which I try to calm down. Where do they live? They wave at the fields with a vague gesture of the hand.

-- One of Ramaka's five children --

In Kadugodi, Kupamma as usual sits in the center, as if controling the community. A beautiful cart has been brought in front of her tent, given for a purpose I am unable to fully understand. As well, they somehow managed to collect two yellow inflatable pool chairs which look obviously here out of place, on which the children invite me to sit. But I want to talk to Sampa first. I tell her immediately of my intentions to leave to Harohalli, reassure though that I'll help provide the food for Prashanth's birthday. We sit in her tent. The tarp roof exposed to the harsh sun irridiates palpable heat. Sampa offers me food which I refuse. We feel the investigative presence of Kupamma and Arpudam, the slumdwellers constantly spying on each other's privileges. A man by the name of Vijay Kumar (but not the American one) sits with us, a former policeman from Tamil Nadu who uncharacteristically speaks a few words of English. I realize that he will be the cook for today. Before leaving, realizing how hungry I am, I ask Sampa for a little food after all, she serves me and Prashanth Rice and Sambar, taken from one of the tin pots kept in the tent. I wash my hand in a corner, before eating, Sampa pouring water for me. Prashanth, who continues to be fascinated by the French game of "Barbichette", keeps grabbing my chin, but has developped the habit of hitting me at the end of the game. Various children are in and out of the tent. I take photos of their faces through holes in the tent's tarpaulin.
As we're about to leave, we're joined by Rosie who has just returned from work. We set off, Sampa carrying Prashanth to her side, Rosie, and the man.

-- Arpudam and daughter Gaiatree --

We walk along the tracks, into Kadugodi. The man has joined us. Sampa explains that he's the cook. As we walk through Whitefield train station, I notice that white woman who had once insulted me as I was walking with Sathia and Manni. Rosie warns me that indeed, the woman is mad, in spite of her respectable appearance. Sure enough, the moment she sees me, her eyes widen, she starts yelling at us, to which Sampa and Rosie laugh back. "Indian Prostitutes!", the woman belches even louder; Sampa, who hasn't understood, yells back in English "Shut up!". They tell me the woman hates Indians, sometimes wants to hit the children. Who can she be? How does she survive here, having visibly lost her mind?
We arrive in Kadugodi in that busy small street where we've done shopping a few times before (most notably, for Arpudam's dead husband's Pooja). The man takes control at the store, calling on me to pay the bill. I let Rosie also buy a ration for herself. Meanwhile, Sampa and I sit on plastic chairs. We see SaundraPandiyan walking in the street, invite him to sit with us. He says that Deivani's baby has been doing well.
We buy the rice in the shop across, then vegetables in the street. Last stop is the chicken shop, a small alley opening to several outside meat shops. The man cuts 3 kgs. for us, children helping around him. Across, the mutton shop displays a row of animal heads. I have gotten extremely thirsty, stop for a Coke, but have to settle for a Thumbs-Up. Sampa and Rosie, both thirsty as well, taste the beverage, but pucker in disgust (as usual with fizzy drinks), for some reason shaking their ears. As we walk back, our group disbands, first the man then Sampa disappearing in the streets, such that Rosie and I are left walking back. She's carrying a heavy load on her head, keeping her balance even as we walk on the railroad rocks. A train is stopped in the passage, forcing us to make a detour, but as we're reaching the front, the train starts. We wait for the long train to slowly pass. Rosie has dropped her heavy burden, sat down. Helped by the slight slope in the terrain, I am able to sit like her on my heels, a position so natural here which is alas normally impossible for me. We enter the slum through the backway, from the tracks, by the little wall. A girl acting strangely precious is scared to step over the hole that borders the railtracks, I have to lend her my hand. We enter the community through the side, yet our arrival hasn't escaped Kupamma's vigilant eyes. Her and Arpudam come to meet us, harassing Rosie with questions, to which she responds that she bought her ration herself. Sampa has somehow managed to arrive before us, perhaps not having had to wait for the train's passage.

-- Preparing the food --

I invite myself in Kupamma's and Arpudam's tent, wanting to give her the remaining 300 Rs. that Kupamma had asked for in reimbursement for Deivani's hospital fees, but I realize I have only 200 left. This time it's Sampa's turn to eye us suspiciously from the oustide. The obscurity in the tent contrasts with the blindning brightness outside. Arpudam explains that Manni, who was here just yesterday, has left again, leaving Anita (who's seven months pregnant). The girl (is she 15, 16?) walks with a limp, as she has been bitten by a dog. They ask me again if I could help with the "scanning" of the baby. Kupamma has some elaborate plan far from here, which I counter by explaining how Deivani's had happened in Chansandra for about 500Rs., much closer to here.
I refuse once again Kupamma's offer of food, given that I've already eaten at Sampa's, and we're about to prepare food anyway. She leaves me with Arpudam and Gaiatree, but as ants have appeared inside, Arpudam quickly jumps to her feet to fight the insects by pouring petrol from a lamp on them, carefully scrutinizing the ground in the semi-obscurity. Gaiatree and I laugh at the strong smell.

-- Arpudam's pregnant daughter Anita and husband Manni --

Food preparation has started outside. Gathered around the man, several children (mostly Ramaka's) sitting on the ground are peeling onions, etc. Sampa, has folded up her dress revealing thin pale legs, has been cleaning her tent, pasting the floor inside with a layer of cow dung which Velankani has brought for her in a plastic pail. Still outside, the man has started the cooking in a large metal pot on a woodfire, where he dumps the vegetable, stirring as he goes. Sampa soon arrives with the chicken in a plastic pot, which she washes several times, keeps immersed in water. Because cooking has barely started, Sampa now thinks the party won't start before 5. We send text messages to both Anand and Vijay Kumar (Jay Michael). Sampa tries to phone her sister Valli but the phone number is no longer valid. Meanwhile, I see Ruxanna sweeping her house, dumping everything outside in the dirt. Ramaka's door is locked, but several children have gathered, trying to peep inside. I can't help but wonder if Ramaka might be inside making love with that young man that I've seen with her lately, often engaging in fight plays, holding her down by her hair, etc.
I follow Rosie to her house, which is actually one of the rare solid houses in the community, for which she tells me she pays 150 Rs. a month. In spite of possessing hard walls and a decent roof, water still manages to penetrate inside during heavy monsoon rains, as attested by the damage on the walls. I notice the photo of a young woman, which she explain is her daughter's. She died tragically after a family dispute, strangled, says Rosie.
She offers me Rice and Sambar that she has prepared from the food we just bought. I have kept the portion small but can't actually resist her offer of a second helping, feeling quite hungry. We conclude the meal with Gutkha, of which she offers me my own packet, the now familiar taste invading my mouth, creating this slight dizzy rush. She tells me she takes it no more than once a day while others chew on it almost perpetually. Indeed, she soon exits to spit it out. Apparently, the stuff is not sold in Tamil Nadu, where one can only find raw chewing tobacco in yellow packages (it takes me a beat to understand the english word tobacco in her Hindi). We discuss again our respective lives, and those around us. That their could be such differences in our native surroundings fascinates us. I try to describe the morose life of the rich in Palm Meadows, comment on the fact that the influx of expats is what is driving the prices so far up in the area, leaving the poor reeling.

The long wait continues. I start to regret that I haven't gone to the village after all, as it appears increasingly that I might have been able to manage both. Sampa invites me to sit outside next to her as she's applying make up and powder to Kalpana. Velankanni appears, to my great joy (is her dispute with Sampa then over?) For a while, she sits dreamily across from us while Arpudam makes up her hair. I am troubled by Suresh's appearance though, as if he might think that I could have been sitting with Sampa this whole time. Lately, he has been friendly though, no signs of the former tensions.
I decide to visit Ruxanna in her tent. For the first time since I've known her, her full family is present, her husband and her six children, all finally united. Ruxanna immediately noticing the lump in my lip point out the Gutkha, offers me to spit it out, but I decide to keep it a little longer. It's only the second or third time that I meet her husband (who has a reputation for being alcoholic, violent, and constantly disappearing for weeks at a time). He invites me to sit inside right by him, tells me his name, which is too complicated for me to retain this time. He's playing with a fancy cell phone that includes a camera, which he doesn't fully know how to operate, takes pictures of me, of the children. I unfortunately struggle to understand his Hindi (which is presumable excellent), perhaps because of his slurred speech, and often have to apologize for my frustrating shortcoming, or turn to Ruxanna who I understand better. Surprisingly, he also speaks some rudimentary English, also difficult to comprehend. He insists on sending Nazia to buy me a Seven-Up, the girl brings back a glass bottle which he opens with his teeth, then repeatedly asks me to drink (I offer some to all the others but they decline). I am struck by the man's beauty.
The children are eating sugar cane (very common here), biting off chunks which they chew for some time before spitting the remaining fibre. Ruxanna's husband insists again that I try it too, shows me how to eat it, peeling the hard bark and sucking the inside, then biting into the solid fibrous inside. This time, I do need to spit the Gutkha, for which Ruxanna hands me a tin bowl and water. The sugar cane is indeed delicious, although from my inexperience a bit messy to eat. They both encourage me to spit back the remains directly on the floor like to kids are doing, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it, toss them in the pot. The man insists again, taking the pot away from me, until I finally imitate Nazia's gestures, taking the unedible remains away from my mouth and throwing them on the ground.
The children are playfully fighting, especially with little Sophia, whom Nazia has been teasing. At one point, the father hands her over a knife with which she starts pursuing Nazia and the others, waving it threateningly in the air. This bizzare cute baby menacing to stab them amuses the children greatly, sort of playing catch inside the small tent, staying away from the knife. Encouraged by her father, Sophia, who still walks with a clumsy baby gait, tries to run after them, to everyone's hilarity. I cast side glances at Ruxanna, wondering if this episode is making her as uncomfortable as it does me.
Her old father comes in, his face marked, most teeth missing. He's carrying a strange hand-painted sign with the picture of a rat. Chuha, they explain, are a big problem, reaching hefty sizes, more than cats could handle. It sounds like the old man offers his services to kill them.

-- Inside Ruxanna's tent, her six children --
(Nazia on the left eating sugar cane...)

Back outside, A group has formed, people sitting by the little house around a man with a large notebook. Still having to wait, I visit Rosie again, who explains that these are people from the government, counting every house, every person. She complains they won't talk to her as she's Christian, but I don't quite trust that. For the second time today, I regret my decision of having stayed here, imagine the village celebrations that must now be in full swing, which arguably I could very well have attended. I sit with Rosie in front of her house while having lit a fire she gets ready to cook. She tells me the prizes of various food items, of cooking oil, and the wood that she uses, which is not only cheaper but according to her gives a much better taste to the food. She's attached to cleanliness in her preparation, and admits that she usually doesn't eat the food prepared by the others, who aren't so meticulous. Little Pushpalata has joined us. I take out my notebook and pen to draw with the girl, but we end up practicing writing. She knows only the first few letters of the Kannada alphabet, and struggles a bit with the elegant curliness of their design. Velankanni passes by carrying Prashanth (who doesn't look ready at all) assuring me that Sampa will come soon after getting ready. This happens after a while longer, I catch a glimpse of her finishing to wash her hair, dressed in a beautiful new Saree.

Kupamma invites me yet again for food, apparently very upset that I've eaten at both Rosie's and Sampa's but not at hers. Upon my renewed refusal (since we should be about to eat the birthday biryani), she comes outside with a tin plate to make me taste what she is preparing, a mixture of beetroot, carrots and peas, which is indeed quite good. She gestures again jokingly that she'll hit me if I don't eat, but I still fight her off. At that moment arrives Vijay Kumar, this American man who has been helping them all, providing quite a bit of distraction. I salute him but don't engage conversation which surprises everyone. He tries to line up the children with some order to distribute sweets and balloons. They all end up with whistling candies, which the adults play with too, particularly Suresh who, having decided to have fun with the whole thing, has tied his hair on top of his hair, adorned with a balloon. My camera passes from hand to hand, which unfortunately will get the objective veiled from the finger contacts, spoiling many of the pictures. Suresh takes close-up pictures of one of the baby's genitals, laughing asks me to bring the prints.
Velankanni appears in a blue Sari, her hair all done. It's apparently the first time that she wears the outfit, which of course she does not wear with the same ease as Sampa or the other women. Outside, in the central open area in front of her tent, Sampa brings out a cake (where did she get it from and how did she pay for it). But Anand who has finally returned my message should be coming in another few minutes so we decide to wait a little longer. It's now six, night is falling.

-- Prashanth and his birthday cake --

In the waning light of this long day, we finally cut the cake.
The tradition here is to offer each other a piece, holding it to one another's mouth. The various slumdwellers take turns at this, slipping 10 Rs. notes to the boy. As night has dropped on us, Sampa invites Vijay Kumar, Anand and I into the darkness of her tent, where she lights a single candle which the children repeatedly make stick to the floor. She serves us plates of the Biryani which came out fantastic. We warmly congratulate the cook.

Back outside, mats have been placed on the now obscure ground. It's a pristine night full of stars, a natural conclusion to a beautiful winter day. In a corner, Ramaka and her children are burning left-over plastic on a small fire. In contrast with this small serene scene, most children are going wild, excited from the party. Sampa explains that for 100Rs, she has ordered electrical power from the neighbouring veterinary hospital as well as a TV that will be brought in for everyone to watch. They plan to watch Telugu and Tamil films through the whole night. Although tempted to stay, I tell Anand that I will leave him, if he could drop me home. He leaves to bring back his car.
During his short absence, Deivani and Ubagarimary finally arrive, with Selvi carrying the baby. Upon seeing her mother, Sampa immediately tenses up. After having ceremonously saluted me, they all disappear inside the tent.
Anand calls. He is waiting with the car. Velangani and Selvi come running after us, asking for one "round" (they use the English word) in the car, which we deny them. As we're about to leave, an Auto-Rickshaw carrying TV and DVD-Player stops by the entrance of the slum.

Anand and I drive off, leaving them to the mystery of their night...

-- Sampa and Ruxanna exchanging cake, as the sun sets on the long day --

-- Deivani, Ubagarimary and baby Vijay, Patalamalevet --

Deivani's Baby (The Blankets) -- 01/18/11

PM - Hagadur - Imadhalli - Whitefield Hill: 0:35:54
Across Main Road - to Elim Road: 0:07:03
ECC Rd. - Borewell Rd. to Nellurahalli: 0:16:41
Through Pattandur to ITPL: 0:08:56
Time: 1:08:34
Mileage: 7.9 Miles
Wght: 157

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)


It's so early, yet I am showing signs of addiction to Gutkha. A throbbing in the throat, my mouth watering, a powerful yearning in the back of the mouth, which recalls back to the years after I had stopped smoking. Is it because of the old addiction that I am so easily vulnerable? The anguish is particularly strong at night, but after Sunday has started from morning, causing me to eat to quell it. In the street, the smell of it from people's mouth invigorates the yearning. I have been resisting the temptation to buy some for myself, at least putting the limit of only consuming it when offered. Will that be enough to contain its dangerous draw?


Another wonderful morning.
In fact, it's so beautiful, my running feels so comfortable, that I end up extending this run much beyond what I had planned. I am trying to meet those children on Whitefield Hill whose pictures I've been carrying, but to no avail. Same thing in Pattandur, where I still have pictures of children who I believe belong to children of the tent communities around here (Yesterday, a girl waved at me, but I didn't stop...)


At noon, Theja, Anand, Xavier and I drive to Kadugodi to distribute the blankets that Theja has been collecting. I plan to give one blanket per tent. Sure enough, that proves difficult.
The community is awfully quiet at this hour. We're greeted by Arpudam, but most slumdwellers are absent (e.g. Kupamma, Rosie, RUxanna...) Arpudam peeks into Sampa's tent, waking her and Suresh up, she comes out looking sleepy her eyes adjusting to the loud brightness. After some discussion, having figured that five tents have been vacated or taken down, we start our tour, Arpudam leading the effort. For those houses that closed, we try to slide the blankets through whatever hole we can find. As we reach the end, sure enough arguments arise, first with the old lady who argues for one more, then with a young lady whom I don't know, who is particularly confrontational. Ramaka raises her eyes to the sky, as if her demands were egregious. The tone quickly rises, Sampa getting increasingly heated. We somehow conclude that we need seven more blankets, but then the argument continues as we're about to leave, in front of the slum, again mostly with that young lady. One blanket is passed back and forth with her, as she's now refusing it with pride while the others force it upon her. Anand presses me to leave, which we do after a last attempt to keep things more or less in control. The argument does die down at least in our presence, Arpudam breaking into a warm smile as if all this was nothing really (I think she's managed to take an extra blanket for her pregnant daughter).


We drive to Patalamalevet. Deivani, Ubagarimary, Velankani and the baby are inside, waken from half-sleep as they greet us in. The baby has been officially named Vijay (after some Tamil movie star). To my surprise, they let Theja take his photo (I thought they wanted to wait for three months). I too take pictures of him with his grandmother, the baby is superb and wide-awake, seemingly staring at us in spite of being only three months old. We give them five blankets, carefully covering the baby, who soon starts peeing on it, to everyone's amusement. Anand had heard Sunday that SaundraPandiyan would be leaving but that apparently didn't happen, as he's out working. A large pack of Gutkha on the ground is his, Deivani puts it away.
Deivani of course asks for food. Vijay Kumar is actually helping them make the place bigger, having an "extension" built to the side. Apparently he's coming later today to continue the work. Deivani asks food from Theja personally, which impresses her. She also reacts to the insects around the baby, wondering how it will do in such conditions.


Our last stop is "under the tree" in Patalamalevet, where Sathia and Manni's family live. I've warned Theja and Anand that this baby will be in sharp contrast with the one we've just seen. I'm as usual not sure what to expect here, not knowing whom we'll find, if anyone.
A man with wild hair, half-naked, is putting on pants, next to a woman sitting on the ground: It's Sampa and Murgesh. All the others from this dark group have left. From the tent comes a little girl: Sangita, whose face illuminates upon recognizing me. I get out the stack of photos that I had taken on New Year's day, with this shady group of people. Sangita gets a neat plastic pouch where they've carefully kept many of the photos that we've taken together over the last several months! My eyes well up.
The baby is indeed in horrendous shape, worse still then when I'd last seen him. Appearing barely human, his emaciated body is wrinkled, his head disproportionately big, eyes set in and vacant, the skin exaggerately tight as if pulled up from the top of the head. It starts crying vaguely, the eyes sinking into the back of the head, never making contact with the world, Sampa mechanically starts breastfeeding. She says that the child was born after seven months, adds that somehow it fell after delivery.

We leave haunted by the vision. Anand and Theja wonder what could be done to help? I propose the horrifying conclusion that we should let nature follow its course. Anand stares at me silent, his expression unreadable.

-- Exploring new trails, near Imadahalli / Chansandra --

Training Run "Band", (13.8 Miles) -- 01/22/11

PM - E. road - Whitefield Circle - Through Whitefield to Imadahalli - On the road to Chansandra - Right turn at the school, towards Northern Route - Kept going straight - Trails to Ayurveda road - Road to Hoskote, past the railroad - Left along the tracks, into Kadugodi: 1:17:23
Kadugodi - Dinur - ITPL Main road (past ITPL) - Pattandur Agrahara - Nellurahalli - W. trail: 0:47:11
Time: 2:04:34
Mileage: 13.8 Miles
Wght: 153

I am not feeling well. Thursday night was nearly sleepless, due to a minor indigestion. Last night, after attending Monika's birthday in Harohalli, was much better, I still feel like I'm recovering. This has put an end to an otherwise fantastic spree of running all week, aided by the pristine winter weather, where all things felt effortless.
I decide to try it out nonetheless, setting Chansandra/Kadugodi as a destination, as often running in the open air causes surprising changes to my physical make-up.
The normally bustling intersection with the main road is abnormaly quiet, all stores closed. I soon find an explanation for this. A group of men showing red and green colors are owning the street, hindering traffic, walking in towards Imadahalli. They gesture to the rare shops open, whose owners start bringing down their iron curtains with no argument. One being slower to react, the men threaten to take his weighing his scale, precipitating the closure. I have not heard of a strike today, but this must be it. I approach some of the demonstrators, "band hota hai kia?". They confirm the movement, further giving me some explanation which I don't understand. They don't pay much attention to me, so I run on.

I am again in the mood for something new, which when I'm tired distracts my mind from the weariness. Along the Northern Route is a road that veers straight into the farmlands, which I've been told leads nowhere. It stays paved for a 1/2 mile maybe, then dissolves into beautiful dirt trails which criss-cross among fields and farms, sometimes leading directly into the houses' courts. The sun is splendid today, as it has been all its month, as it slowly warms up towards the summer heat. The excitement of opening a new road has taken over my mood.
I meet a curious peasant who wants to know what these bulky lumps in my pockets are. I show him the many photos from Prashanth's birthday, which he all scrutinizes with interest. Speaking barely a few words of Hindi, he indicates that the trails should lead me straight to "Ayurveda" road.
In practice, following the maze of trails isn't so simple, although going by sight and direction, I reach denser dwellings until the trail flows into the main road, indeed the AyurvedaGram / Chansandra road. At the next intersection, losing the idea of visiting Deivani or Sathia, I decide for one more exploration, taking the Hoskote road to the railway, from where I know the way back into Kadugodi. On that last stretch, a man carrying live chicken on a motorbike asks me how often I eat chicken.

My running has not improved today, a general tiredness that causes me to take occasional walk breaks. Here in Kadugodi, most shops are closed as well, presenting definitive iron curtains to the street. The absent crowd has stifled the ambiance of the little town. Even most outside cart vendors have deserted the landscape.
An old woman asks me to hold her hand while crossing the railtracks, indeed walking with difficulty on the uneven rocks, which the slumdwellers tread barefeet with such ease. She's a Sai Baba devotee who surprisingly has lived in California, but addresses me only in Hindi. On the other side, we find the bus station empty as well. Perhaps a private bus could take her, but a man whom we ask leaves little hope. They continue talking in Kannada while I pass the tea stall to meet my friends.
Sampa receives me, wearing her beautiful red Saree. I tell her that I'm not keeping well, feeling a bit Chakkar, which raises more alarm then I intended. She unfurls a mat right behind her tent for me to sit in a small spot of shade. We're joined by Ramaka and several of the children, all excited that I've brought a heavy stack of pictures from last week's birthday. There are photos for every family, which I methodically distribute, particularly fascinated by Ramaka's strong facial features as she judges her photos while breastfeeding her younger child (the sixth). Sampa is happy as well. I have to struggle for Ruxanna's photos to not be lost in the mix, helped in that by her children who eventually appear as well.
We comment on today's near-curfew. None of them know the reason for the band, nor do they seem to care much.
Ramaka offers me to share some of the Rice she's eating, which I refuse out of respect for her extreme poverty. I ask for water instead ("Tanni Kode") which Rosie brings for me, then hands me over an empty tin plate. My puzzled face makes them laugh: Sampa explains that Chakkar often comes from hunger, so they'll feed me no matter what. Indeed, Rosie returns after some time with a Dosa which she has somehow managed to buy in spite of the band, part of which I share with Prashanth.
Sampa and I are left alone, still sitting in our shrinking spot of shade. She confides that this week's blanket distribution created tension and arguments, so she prefers that I not try to help the whole community, rather her, as my friend, which she thinks would be better accepted. I tell her about our visit to Deivani, then Murgesh and Sampa that same day, giving more blankets, and recount Theja's worried reaction after meeting the baby. She laughs, regrets that she missed the opportunity to talk to Theja. She'd like to express another idea, perhaps more pesonal, but stumbles with words, finally giving up with a smile Kabhi Nahi (by which she must mean Kuch Nahi (nothing)...). I wonder how the TV went the other night. According to her, everyone fell asleep!!
We make plans to visit the "Kotress" (I still don't understand this exact word, assuming that it generally means a house) which should be ready for them (she has initially said teen saal (three years), then corrects, teen mahine (three months)). She confirms the approximate location of this place, which I had previously heard from Kupamma, which appears to be on or near my "Whitefield Hill" running route. We agree to go there together next week. But Sampa has no money for the house, what will she do?

Sampa resumes her energetic laundry while I play various games with the children, mostly Ruxanna's. Nazia, amazingly, has managed to pickup the barbichette which she enounces with a freakishly pure French accent (while I still struggle with my ten or so words of Tamil!) The children give me the broken remains of a pen so we can write together, on paper or on our hands. With Nazia, Shazia and Sampa's help, I clarify a few names, to finally remember them. Ruxanna's children are Nazia, Sazia, Shayeed, Shabash, Zoia and Sophia, her husband's name Sayed Mukram. Ruxanna's children are Prithi, Kooli Deivi, Chandrakala, Sathia, Nagraj and Surya, her husband is dead. Both women have six children, which they have to support alone. Ruxanna's husband continues to disappear on and off, never gives her money. Among the few here to work, the earns 1000 Rs / month (like Rosie) by cleaning for two hours a day.
Sampa walks me out of the slum. "Sachi dost", I tell her as we part. - "Kaun?", she asks. - "Tum. Aur kaun?".

The way back home is increasingly difficult. I did no refill my water flask and feel badly dehydrated in the increasing afternoon heat (to think that this is nothing compared to the hot season a couple months away). Taking walk breaks, I make my way through Pattandur, also muffled by the band. In Nellurahalli, I pause in Akbar's tent community where his mother offers me water, a boon from heaven in my state. I promise her to come back tomorrow morning with last week's photos.

-- Bicycle race passing in front of Akbar's community, Nellurahalli --

Bicycle race in Nellurahalli, (15 Miles) -- 01/23/11

PM - W. Trail - Nellurahalli - Tour through the communities: 0:31:54
Pattandur Agrahara - Elim Road - to Whitefield Hill - Down to Naugondahalli - Northern Trail - Ajgondanahallli - Timandhalli - Harohalli: 0:58:09
Back through the lower road - Vartur - Vartur Kodi: 0:44:20
Time: 2:14:23
Mileage: 15 Miles

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

I never know what's going on.
Yesterday I was caught unaware by the closure imposed by the Band, today, I'm surprised by a bicycle race that has been organized through the area, passing right by some of the communities I normally visit.

I struggled with running yesterday, but today is a different story, feeling quite comfortable, aided perhaps by a constant cool wind which mitigates the relentless sunshine. As I exit Palm Meadows, I find the main road closed in one direction, apparently for some race. My surprise only increases when, coming out from the trail onto Siddapura / Nellurahalli road, I find that this is the route the race will take. Further up the road, I stop by Akbar's community as promised yesterday, to distribute the photos from last week. Akbar's older brother has been carefully painting a few old bikes, hoping to also participate in the race, which has been denied to him for lack of a helmet. I gather with the slumdwellers in front of the tent community to watch the cyclists go by, an ecclectic collection of mostly casual riders, some kids clearly coming from the communities with their old shabby but colorful bikes, others boasting state of the art equipment. A bigger crowd has gathered in the center of Nellurahalli where the race veers right towards the Gopalan settlements. On my way, I meet Kiran and Malikarjun's older brother, we walk together happily commenting on the cyclists, before turning towards the Mandir that leads to the settlements. After having visited all three communities (Simon's, Anthony's and Madhevamma's), I pass by Dunmore House for a second round of Siddapura road, and Akbar's community. The boys are carrying a punctured ball, which I promise to replace next week to play football with them in the field by the temple, as we had done a while back.

-- Akbar and friends watching the race --

At 10, the race is coming to an end. One of Akbar's brothers invites me for tea in the village. Since the first stall on the school plaza doesn't offer it, I make the misstep of asking about Gutkha instead. I quickly dissuade him from offering it to me, explaining that I won't be able to have it while running, but parva nahi, he buys two packs of Hira for one Rupee each. The shopowner accidentally tears one of the pouches, spilling its white powder into the wind, before handing me a new one. I haven't had Gutkha in my possession, resisting the hold of the highly addictive substance. After walking further into town to drink a delicious tea, we run together on the road to Pattandur, stop where his tractors are kept, take photos by a large dirt mound where he works.

-- Kirti and little sister playing, Gopalan settlements, Nellurahalli --

Later, having passed through Pattandur, the Elim trail and across Whitefield Main Road, I approach the Whitefield area, where, finally, I make contact. Some weeks ago, I had taken pictures here which I had kept in my pocket during my many morning runs, as this has become one of my new morning commute routes, albeit a longer one. The two sections of Whitefield, divided by the main road, are like night and day. Posh on the Circle side, here by the hill humble houses and narrow dirt streets. As a few kids look at me curious, I engage conversation, show them my photos. They lead me straight to where the photos were taken, through this maze of small steep alleyways. As we present the photos to one of the boys, a couple women sitting outside on a dirt mound with small children wave us to come by. The younger woman miraculously speaks perfect Hindi, having emigrated from Kashmir. I take pictures of her and her young son, soon surrounded by all the other kids. At last, this area's mystery might start to dispell.
The run down the hill is pleasant, a large dirt road surrounding a cemetery, bordered by decrepit small houses. A man stops me here to talk as well, having probably seen me on my morning runs. Further down, approaching the "Northern Route", I stop to buy bananas and water. The young woman tending the shop sends her little sister to get me water from her house nearby, from which she fills my flask. This village's name, which I had so far ignored, is Naugondahalli.

I reconnect with the more familiar routes. Passing through Ajgondanahalli, I stumble across a funeral, the dead body exposed outside on a bed of flowers while many of the villagers have gathered. They let me pass by respectfully.
On the more remote trails, I am interrupted again when my name is called out. These are children from Harohalli, who in some isolated farm, want to show me the culture of silkworms which is barely beginning. Arriving in the village, I am as ever warmly greeted by my friends.
I elect Neethra's house today, having already visited Manjula's last Friday for Monika's birthday. Roopa and I sit on the floor together in the little room by the kitchen, while Neethra serves us a delicious mixture of rice and beans made for the Pongal festival, which just passed. We're joined by Monika and her little brother Manish (who every time connects better with me, now calling me Ana (big brother)). He sits properly with his legs perfectly intertwined (much better than me, alas!), but still can't eat without making some mess on the floor, so Neethra asks Monika to take him back home to Manjula. After eating, we play Uno with the deck that I've just offered Monika for her birthday.
As I'm about to leave, Teyamma (Roopa's grandmother) stops me to offer me Paan. Interested, I peruse with her the contents of the multiple pockets of her Paan Pouch, which many women here wear around the waist. I learn the names of the various items making Paan, at least in Telugu: Yele, the betel leaf in which the ingredients are wrapped, Suna, white lime which is applied to the leaf if not thrown directly into the mouth in a tiny ball (badly eroding people's teeth!), Adike, the Paan itself, or areca nut, broken into small solid chunks, and finally Kadipuri, tobacco-like seeds which Teyamma refuses to give me, as it creates Chakkar (dizziness). In fact, Neethra herself says she's never allowed to eat those either, otherwise Mama (uncle) would beat her, she laughs. Under Roopa's guidance, I carefully write the various names in the Kannada alphabet, sometimes still struggling to distinguish the retroflex consonnants (pronounced with the tongue curled back in the mouth), differences though that are blatantly obvious to the locals yet sometimes remain too subtle for me. While we're at it, I ask Roopa to write for me all the Kannada "small letters", those reduced versions of the letters which are placed underneath the main ones to form conjunct sounds ("ksh" for example). While most are simply written as smaller versions of their parent letters, a few irregularities are found.

Teyamma discourages me to leave now, preferring that I wait another hour for the heat to abate, Bislu, bislu, she repeats (too hot). Ignoring her advice, I set off anyway, this time taking the country road to Vartur. She was right though, now running with a tail wind which fails to cool me, I'm exposed to the harsh sun, which I'm able to withstand much better than yesterday, not stopping at all. A boy on a bike nicely escorts me part of the way, as if to pace me. I occasionally spit along the road, leaving blood-red stains, telltale signs of the Paan.

-- Laborers, Nellurahalli --

India Republic Day, (10 Miles) -- 01/26/11

W. Trail - Nellurahalli - Tour of the Settlements - Pattandur Agrahara - Lake Community - ITPL: 0:46:45
Back again via Pattandur Agrahara - ECC road - Whitefield Hill - Whitefield small streets and alleyways - Main Road: 0:43:59
Time: 1:30:43
Mileage: 10 Miles
Wght: 155

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

Not much to report today, in spite of the holiday. Kept to the vicinity, resisting in a way the desire to venture into the Chansandra/Kadugodi area, or the villages.

Spent a while in the tent communities by the Gopalan settlements in Nellurahalli. This has grown again lately, and several groups which had left months ago have returned, most notably Govindu and Sathyamma. I am hosted today by a young man, the only one who speaks Hindi here (as well as Kannada, Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam and even a few words of English!), who walks me to the boundary of the tech park areas to offer me tea at a roadside stall (this is the same stall where Durgamma had once also offered me tea, back in the early days). The salaries for these labour workers is consistent with what I've heard so far, ranging between 100 and 200 Rs. per day. Also, just as in the Lake Community, the tent dwellers pay 150 Rs. per month as rent to live in their tents. I part with this new acquaintance in Nellurahalli, as he is looking for a chicken shop, a rare treat for the holiday.

I meet Sonu Khan on the way to the Lake Community, which has been completely transformed, now sheltering a sizable group of construction workers housed in metal shacks. In fact, Sonu himself no longer lives here, after a dispute with the owner, who he now thinks is a bad man. Yet Sonu is in his usual good spirits, his perpetual optimism infectious. He tells me with enthusiastic detail his recent trip to Hyderabad, where he visited forts, palaces and museums (a tour that cost him 3000 Rs.), from which he returned convinced that Hyderabad is a far better city than Bangalore.

-- Nanee playing with friend, Pattandur Agrahara --

I haven't yet described the little "cinemas" in the street of Pattandur. It's basically no more then a metal shack just like where the labourers live, inside which must be installed TV and VCR. A paper size poster indicates which film is being played, the muddled sound of which percolates to the outside, inevitably gathering a small crowd of bystanders.
Along the streets of Pattandur, I next run into two familiar girls from the Lake Community, one whose name is Neena, playing on the side of the road with discarded boxes of incense, which they proudly display for the photo. We sit together looking at the photos I'm carrying (which aren't from here). They then display their skills at playing with a tyre, a popular pass-time among poor children which consists in rolling an abandonned tyre by pushing it with a stick. They show me Sonu's new house, then take me to visit a boy that I used to know, bringing me straight into yet another community of labourers, much to their surprise. For once the dwellers seem politely reluctant at my appearance, I respectfully explain how I've come in contact with the kids.

-- Ubagarimary, Deivani, SaundraPandiyan and Baby Vijay, Patalamalevet --

The two Sampa's, the two babies -- 01/30/11

Saturday 01/29/11:
Hagadur - Imadahalli - Whitefield Hill - Back roads to the Taj Vivanta: 0:49:18
Back same way with Mahesh - Whitefield Hill - Into the fields in Naugondhalli - Ajgondanahalli - Timandhalli - Harohalli: 1:07:02
Time: 1:56:20
Mileage: 13 Miles

Sunday 01/30/11:
Hagadur - Imadhalli - North Route - Chansandra - Patallamalevet: 0:52:04
Kadugodi - Dinur - Elim Road - Pattandur Agrahara - Nallurahalli - W. Trail: 0:51:28
Time: 1:43:32
Mileage: 11.5 Miles
Wght: 155

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

-- Saturday --

Mahesh and I have decided to meet at 8 to go running together. Initially, I had planned on going to the Taj by car to pick him up but the morning is so beautiful that I finally decide to run there instead, leaving home around 7.
Beautiful crisp sunshine, cool and pure. In Imadhalli, the early light filtering through pockets of smoke from the morning cooking creates magic sights. A couple in front on their house seems to be commenting on the fact that I've stopped to capture a picture (I hear "English"). I surprise them with a few words of Telugu: "Bagundanta?" (Isn't it beautiful?).

-- Imadahalli, early morning --

On the way with Mahesh, we stop a couple times, once at the Lake Community to give Nanee and her friend their pictures from last Wednesday, the other near the top of Whitefield Hill to discuss this time with the Kashmiri woman.
But a little later, a huge surprise awaits me. In the dilapidated area of Whitefield, along a fairly broad dirt road that borders a cemetery, I catch a glimpse of poor filthy children carrying their characteristic trash bags. They run to me, "Bhaya, Bhaya",. It's Manni!
Is it fate that always reunites me with the boy? Pattandur, the Lake Community, Kadugodi, Patalamalevet, Chansandra, now Whitefield; my explorations are inevitably tied with the tragic wanderings of this poor boy and his family. How does he constantly reappear in my life, as a fateful apparition, in the least expected places? Manni, with Chet his younger brother, invites us to meet his mother Sampa. I ask them about their sisters Sathia and Sangita, Manni answers that they ran away. We jump over the gutter, past a wall that circumscribes the open area of the cemetery, where a few little tiny brick adobes have been erected. Once again, I follow Manni into a new world, another community whose secrets I hadn't been able to broach yet. He takes us straight inside.
His mother Sampa is lying in one such dwelling, a horrifying sight. This is yet another low in the wretched woman's appearance, her left grossly swelled, today appearing otherwise dangerously emaciated. The baby is lying on a cover, seemingly barely alive, its parched skin tightly revealing its frail carcass, its cranium abnormally inflated, pulling the skin up over half-dead eyes.
Choked, I neverthless ask Sampa if the child's health is ok. Not understanding Hindi, she asks Mahesh (who speaks Tamil) for translation, then responds tersely that the baby is fine. I also ask her about her daughters. Less direct than Manni, she indicates that the girls still live in Patalamalevet...
It would feel abject to attempt to capture this utter horror in a photograph. Mahesh and I walk back impotent, walk silently before resuming the run. A vision of hope lies on the side of the road, James' School, a modern facility that has been built to offer free education to the neighorhood slum children.

As if emerging from darkness into pristine daylight, we reach the beautiful peaceful landscapes of the rural areas around Bangalore. We are stopped several times through the farmlands to Harohalli, drinking tea, talking along the way, until we finally reach the village. Luckily for us, Monika who slightly sick hasn't gone to school helps translate for the adults. I change all plans once again, asking Xavier to bring Kathy and Marilyn here (we had otherwise planned to head to City Market). Anjan's father shows them the culture of silkworms which has just resumed last week. Then, escorted by Monika, we tour the village to end up at the Shiva temple by the river. Everyone is taken by the magical beauty of the place, the people... We sit at Neethra's house after returning, wait for Roopa to come back from school, so that my friends can meet her. Kathy, Marilyn and I return by foot via the beautiful trail that leads through Timandhalli to Ajgondanahalli, ignoring Ajji's advice to wait for three o'clock for the heat to abate. Kathy and Marilyn get to meet Krutika and her Auntie, who offers us a bag full of bananas.

-- Ubagarimary, Deivani and SaundraPandiya with baby Vijay --

-- Sunday --

Taking yet again the road through Hagadur / Imadahalli, I run this time into Chansandra. The first person to see me is Shamli, who confirms that I'll find Deivani and family "at home". Indeed they are sitting outside, Ubagarimary, Deivani, SaundraPandiyan and the baby, who is well wrapped in warm blankets in spite of the warming direct sunlight. We sit together in the dirt. They offer whatever leftover rice they are eating which I adamantly refuse, for once managing to not take any of their scarce food. We discover together the wonderful pictures from last time, although Deivani fails to see the beauty of her own dreamy expression in the marvelous threesome composition. They drop baby Vijay, blankets and all, on my lap. He has been cold at night, although I now worry that he might overheat under such protection, as we're sitting in direct sunlight, whose rays I'm shielding from his face. Both woman are a bit unkempt today, carelessly revealing glimpses of their breasts which they imperfectly cover with their Sarees. The baby wakes up, opening beautiful wide eyes, soon crying for food. Deivani takes him away.
SaundraPandiyan friendily continues to take on my education, patiently making me repeat Tamil words. He also continues my initiation to chewing Tobacco, showing me how to roll it into a ball before tucking it neatly under the lower lip. I have not touched this or Gutkha in their absence, but don't refuse when offered. I'll carefully spit it after some time, starting to master this uncanny art.

On the side of their tiny abode, construction has been left unfinished. This was Vijay Kumar's project, who wanted to build a second adjacent space for them. But SaundraPandiyan tells me that the owner forbade this which resulted in a fight with Vijay Kumar who since hasn't returned, leaving the project incomplete. The little that has been built (wood foundations and cinder blocks on the ground) will have to be taken away.
SaundraPandiyan's father, whose name is Ganesha, joins us. To ensure that I've properly understood his name, they take out from inside the image of the God. The father asks to use my phone to call a few numbers, which he keeps handing me over upside down from a tiny notebook that he carries - none of which respond.
We move to the patch of shade created by the side of the house. Drums are heard moving along the road, a Ganesha procession apparently headed to some temple in Kadugodi, where a goat will be sacrificed. Although interesting to follow, we stay put here, sitting in the dirt, chatting. Funnily, a man emerges from the field behind us, attempting to conceal Nariels (coconuts) in his back under his shirt, which only creates a conspicuous lump. we laugh at him. Deivani, tired, curles up like a foetus into a surprisingly tiny ball, ready to sleep. She tells me that the baby sleeps during the day while being mostly awake at night.

I have decided to buy their ration today, but only up to 200Rs., which I wonder if Deivani will be able to manage. With my pen, Ubagarimary writes on her hand in Tamil both her name and her husband's. She tries to convince me that she has stopped drinking, which is unfortunately difficult to believe. She does seem in a great mood today, her regal grace shining with some of her past glow. She recalls the old days, says that she's lived abroad, has flown on an airplane, has even spoke German. Is this true? I speak a few words of German that go completely unanswered.
Tired, Deivani retires inside with the baby, after displaying another one of her odd baby-like tantrums, directed at her mother.

Shamli's mother joins us from across the street, sits with us. She too uses my pen to write on her hand, her name and her husband's, as well as all her children's, this time in English, which she says she has learned up to 5th Standard. In an apart to me, Ubagarimary, barely concealing her voice, tells me in English, "Bad Woman", as if she wouldn't be understood. The woman, whose name is Manjula, proceeds to write I love you on each of her fingers, shows me the result with pride. Ubagarimary starts singing, soon joined by the woman, songs in Tamil, Kannada, Hindi...
After she's gone, we send SaundraPandiyan to get us some tea, which he brings back in a plastic bag, with three plastic cups. Ubagarimary also briefly leaves to buy Gutkha or tobacco, a piece of which SaundraPandiyan gives me for the second time after having carefully pressed it against his fingers.

We decide to leave shopping, which instantly wakes up Deivani who had been sleeping inside. Carrying baby, we walk into town, through back alleys, reaching the now familiar shops. I gently push back on Deivani's habit of grabbing my arm or hand as we walk into town. At the shop, I insist on policing her to not spend more than 200 Rs., but she tries all her might to get more out of it, practically forcing me to buy ten kgs of rice from a shop, taking it away to no matter what, braving both the shop owner's irritation. I am increasingly angry at her unrelenting insistence (against even the others' will), now dragging me towards a roadside hotel, begging that she's hungry. I leave her furious. At the end of the day, with her silly behaviour she's only managed to buy a few useless baby things instead of food for about 230 Rs., whereas I've seen the other women manage a week's food ration for 250. This last episode has unfortunately ruined a bit of our beautiful morning together. I spit the remaining Gutkha before resuming the short run to the Kadugodi community.

-- Ubagarimary with Ganesha image --

Unsure whether I'll want to spend time in Kadugodi as well (it's now nearly 12), I pass by the entrance of the slum. I catch sight of Ruksanna's graceful silhouette carrying three colorful plastic jars, on her way to the water source. I ask to follow her, to the veterinary dispensary across the half wall, from where they get their water. We join Arpudam who is also filling her own jars. I offer to help, filling one of the jars, carry the heavy load back into the community. Ruksanna advises me to carry it on my shoulder, but I'm fine with it at my side, following Arpudam and her, carrying three each. Anita, Arpudam's pregnant daughter, offers to unload the jar off me. I cling on to it, only to realize later that it's her jar. she laughs.

I quickly open with "I won't stay today, it's already mid-day, I need to go home". Why?, ask both Sampa and Ruksanna. Ruksanna seals the deal with this simple demand: Stay here to play with the children. Does their noise now bother me, she asks? No? well stay... I do, and will end up spending another good three hours with them.

We buy tea at the stall, place the six plastic cups on the tin cookie jar cover to carry them in. At that same time, a few kids and adults are coming down the street, carrying heavy faggots of wood on their heads. Among them is Gaiatree.
We sit for a while by the little house, partially in the shade. Ruksanna and Sampa share some hard-shelled fruits, Sampa breaking them open against a rock, then showing me how to eat the flesh with my fingers. The taste is good but very bitter. Ruksanna advises me to mix in salt (which she produces out of a plastic jar) like the children are all doing. She reminds me amused how last time they had taught me how to eat the sugar cane.
Both women scold me for not having come last Wednesday for Republic Day, as I had promised. It all comes back to me, indeed, I had the plan to visit here with Elaine Marie Ghose from Parinaam, but she stood me up, so I ended up staying in the Nellurahalli / Pattandur area instead, not wanting to come back here so soon after Prashanth's birthday. Ruksanna reproaches me that the children had been waiting for me, hoping that I could attend the function at their school (I indeed feel sorry that I haven't!). We try to figure out when the next Eid might be, but noone has a clue. My absence last Wednesday comes back a few times in conversation, to point where Ruxanna laughs apologetically at making me feel bad.
The Barbichette song is as ever popular, children taking turns at grabbing my chin, trying to repeat the words as best they can. Both Sampa and Ruksanna want to learn it as well, ask me to teach it slowly while they repeat with application. Yet noone can beat little Nazia, whose near perfect accent could pass for French, with the only exception of the deux which she pronounces as a slight d-oo. Nazia is scolded by her mother that, sitting too long in the sun, she might become black, which again is perceived as bad among them. I joke that I, on the other hand, have become red from spending all this time outside. I try to convince them once again of the splendor of their complexion, but they won't hear it, dreaming to be white!

I tell Sampa about my encounter with Deivani this morning, how well the baby is doing, how I almost fought with her sister in the end. Vijay is not the baby's permanent name, which will only be given after performing a function. Although I don't want to take too many more pictures, and am now cautious of letting the children handle the camera as they regularly soil the objective, I let her look at the pictures from the morning. She also marvels at the images of the countryside, asking me questions about the various places. Here too, with Sampa and Ruksanna, the picture of the woman carrying water with the sleeping dogs in Nellurahalli proves popular.
Across the slum, the woman from the other Muslim family is busy washing one of her children. Sampa urges me to take her picture with the naked child. I refuse, not wanting to hurt the woman's feelings. The woman, whom I've rarely seen, is quite fat, washing the child whose head has been recently shaven, although as the slumdwellers keep pointing out, a discreet ring of hair has been omitted on the child's forehead. I ask for the woman's name. Sampa, apparently ignoring it, yells at the woman from this distance, perhaps making fun of her. When the little boy is ready, I am asked to take his picture.
Another silhouette walks by, enigmatic. I recognize Lakshmi, who allegedly is Sampa's older sister, whose existence I had long ignored. Sampa indeed confirms this, Lakshmi is the oldest of Ubagarimary's five daughters. She quickly adds that she is mental, adds that she never speaks with her. I thought the young woman never spoke at all, but Ruksanna denies this, no, she can speak, she can speak... The young woman passes by us, responds to my glance with a strange intensity in her face.

I tell Ruksanna that I've chewed tobacco again today, with Deivani. Although reproachful, she offers me one of her two packs of Shakti Gutkha. I pour the pungent white grains into my mouth, deftly swipe them with my tongue to the side. After some time, Ruksanna offers me water to spit the stuff out, bas, she says. The children are also eating their own version of paan, similar plastic pouches, which contain red'ish grains. Ruksanna makes me taste, a sweet flavor, the contents of which can be swallowed.
Sampa leaves us to sit by her tent, looks for her favorite photo of her, where she was wearing the same Saree as today. She too has kept the pictures in two photo-size little albums, neatly stacked. Her favorite picture is still that taken with the transvestite, in front of the shop in Kadugodi (we haven't gone to that shop in a while). We move to sit at her side, leaning on the Muslim family's mud wall. I ask Ruksanna whether she likes to wear a Saree (she's more often in dress or tunic then Sampa). She loves the clothes, but not the extra washing for the long piece of fabric.
We hatch plans to visit the Kotress, their potential future home. I still can't understand this word: Most likely, it's English, but what does it mean? As often, the few English words that are mixed into their speech end up being the toughest to understand. (Later, Anand Gopinath will crack this mistery too: It is actually QUARTERS!!). Sampa says we could ask how many years it will take to complete (she actually means months, but has again mistakenly used saal for mahine). In any case, we decide we might go today, although Sampa will take time before finishing her washing, and Ruksanna would prefer next week.
Suresh, whose whereabouts were unknown to Sampa, arrives, seemingly in a good mood. All animosity has disappeared from him. He points that the kotress - I'll continue to call it that, just like layout remains levet - will be closed today, that not much construction has happened yet anyway. We make plans on the dirt for me to better understand where this is, properly on or near one of my running routes... Ruskanna is still under the impression that we'll go there next week, so that becomes the plan.

Sampa, Ruksanna and I continue to talk aimlessly for some time. Sampa distractedly tries to dig a piece of dark rock from the soil, Patthar?, I ask her. No, she replies, unable find the exact word. I understand though, give her the English name: coal, charcoal..., then ask her to confirm that this is what they use to brush their teeth.
Ruxanna, whose gone back to her house, comes back with a plate of food for me, with the water jar to wash my hands and drink. I tell her earnestly that I can't keep eating their food like this, while not being to help them very much because of the tensions within the community. She intensely denies this, urges me to accept the food, rice with a combination of vegetables, which Sampa details for me, beetroot, potatoes, carrots, explaining their respective benefits. I wash my right hand pouring water from the tin jar. Sampa gives me another lesson in good manners: I have so far been scrubbing my hand too lightly, delicately rubbing my fingers, whereas she shows me how to properly wash more energetically, the hand gathered into a fist. we laugh at the memory of me eating like an elephant, my arm too far forward, before she had corrected my manners, Karnataka Style. To demonstrate my progress, I show her how I can now drink from the jar Indian style without, not letting the recipient touching my lips, a skill I'm starting to master better. She laughs again, asks me how I eat at home. She wonders how foreigners react when I show them how to eat with their hands. She advises me to tell them, with this hand you work, with this hand you should eat; if you worked with a spoon, then you should eat with a spoon. I try to explain how the chinese eat with sticks, which she seems to know, although she thinks they use both hands.

I ask her about her goals for her children. Like before, she repeats that she's waiting for the appropriate age to send them to school, as she wants them to receive education, here in Karnataka. Although English would be preferable, she cannot afford anything beyond the government schools where all education is in Kannada. That they will get an education, get a job, she dreams, all those things that she herself never got.

Occasionally, I don't understand her, which makes us both laugh in frustration. "Sust", she sighs. Although I don't know the word, I guess it means tired. "Thakan", I confirm. Sampa gets up to help a young girl set up the clothes line, which she does by angling a wood beam under the string. The children have been playing, hitting a rock with a stick, as if they were playing baseball. Sampa shows them proper form, hitting the rock on the ground to bounce it up, then hitting it again while airborne. She runs after it with the children, her Saree flowing.

Before leaving, she asks me if I could come this week for Ramaka's younger child's birthday. I won't be able to attend since I'll be at work. But who will take the photos, asks Sampa? She wonder half-jokingly whether I would lend her my camera. Remembering the wonderful photos that Kiran had taken in Gulbarga, I propose giving her my old HP camera. We make elaborate plans to arrange this. Actually unsure which actual day the birthday will take place, we have to look at my cell-phone calendar: Tuesday February 1st. Knowing that I have an early meeting that morning, I wonder if I'll come in around 6 to hand her over the camera...

Why not?...

-- SaundraPandiyan holding his son --

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