Unacknowledged Privileges

It was a very hot afternoon (34 deg C) and it was not even Summer yet. One of our labourers’ daughter, Kausalya (20), was going to see an OBGYN doctor. She was expecting her second baby any day and a junior doctor had got her worried in the morning by saying that there was “too much water in the sac”. When I came to know about the absurdity of this remark, I decided to go with her to see the OBGYN.

The nearby Government Hospital was situated in a brand new building. The waiting room had over thirty people when we got there. There were two ceiling fans spinning at full speed. The moment I stepped into that area, I felt hotter than when I was outside. That was bizarre. I looked around to find four glass windows, spanning 5’, all tightly shut. I rushed there, struggled a bit (since they were not the usual kind) and opened all the windows. There was a sudden perceptible drop in the temperature inside and I noticed people turning their heads toward the windows. I just couldn’t believe that it didn’t occur to even one of those waiting women to open the windows earlier.

Later when I came home and shared this with Dev, he surprised me with his insight: “Hema! You are not acknowledging your privileges that have enabled you to open those windows.” That got me thinking. 

Going back to the waiting room:

As I was waiting, I couldn’t help but watch a young girl who seemed to be ready to deliver any minute. She certainly was very poor, malnourished and nervous about being there. I was getting curious to know more about her and so approached her:

I: “My name is Hema. What’s your name?”

She: “Kanniamma” (means ‘virgin lady’)

I: “How old are you?”

She: “15”

I: “You are very young! What’s your due date?”

She: “April 4^th”

I: “When did you get married?”

She: “Two days ago”

I: “Really? Just two days ago??”

She: “No! Two years ago”

I realized at this point that I had got her nervous. So to ease her into further conversation, I started telling her about myself – my age, my family, my kids, my natural childbirth experience etc. I could see that she was getting a wee bit comfortable talking to me. I decided to grab the opportunity and asked her, “Kanniamma! Can you ask the doctor how you can postpone having your second baby?”

Her perplexed look told me that there were so many things fundamentally wrong with my question. May be, babies were Godsend in her village! And even if they were not, how can SHE, an illiterate poor kid, pose a question to the DOCTOR!!

Most of the women waiting there for their second deliveries had a 12-18 month older toddler. During the half hour wait, I saw that these little toddlers were constantly getting yelled at, spanked and mistreated by the exhausted pregnant moms. So I didn’t want to give up. I wanted to try again and talk to Kanniamma about why she should not have another baby right away. I went very slow and kept it interactive. Once I thought that she had got it, I tried role play. I asked her to consider me as the doctor and requested her to ask me that question (about the second pregnancy). She just froze there and couldn’t say a word.

I didn’t have enough time to pursue this conversation because I had to accompany the girl I came with. I know that she would not have asked the doctor that important question and also that she is very likely to visit the same office soon for her second one.

-- Hema

Organized team work or just fun?

The recent cyclonic rains brought a lot of sand into local creeks from the surrounding hills. As soon as the rains stop, local people line up to “steal” this sand to use for their own construction purposes or sell it, illegally of course. Our landlord jumped into the fray and had a load of sand hauled last week, and got it piled up in front of the house. He had brought a sieve too. A day later his daughter L got interested in the sieve and started scooping the sand and sifting it, all on her own. She worked, with tremendous focus, for several hours.  Mind you this is heavy work.

She is 13, a rich village girl, who goes to an English medium private school.  Usually most of her time is spent at school or tuition classes. Thus I have never seen her “doing” anything in the last two years that we have been here.  

Thanks to the rains, the schools have been closed for a month now.  While L was at work, the other kids at first just hung around and then slowly started joining her one by one until all six were busy. They have been working together for a day now. As I was observing this from my upstairs balcony, these were the words that came to my mind – harmonious, productive, efficient, self-organizing, co-operative and seamless.

Their assembly-line operation had the following steps:

• Spread the wet sand on the road because dry sand can be sifted more efficiently. Make sure there is a constant supply of dry sand for pick up.
• Scoop the dried sand with a hoe and dump it into a receptacle
• Dump the contents of the receptacle onto the sieve. Maximize the sieving efficiency by constantly bringing the non-sieved portion to the top of the inclined sieve with a curved broken tile 
• Collect the sieved sand and dump into separate pile

I got to hear some snippets of their conversations:

•  “It will be difficult for them to work without us. We need to get back soon” (during their lunch break)
• “We can’t afford to take long breaks. We have a lot of work to do.”
• “It is 2 p.m. now. Can we stop at 6? What do you think?”
• “Hey, you take up my job now. I will do yours for some time”

They were working independently and also as a team, rotating their jobs, maximizing efficiency, minimizing wastage, planning the next stage, getting good exercise and most important of all having fun. 

Now to contrast this with what I have typically seen here, when the schools are in session:

School lasts for approximately 7 hours, mostly six days a week. Most of the kids have a one hour before-school tuition and one hour after-school tuition class. Evenings are devoted to homework and a bit of TV. Sometimes, on Sundays, the six kids in our street get together to play. Mostly their games would end abruptly, in an unpleasant manner. The reasons being  -- lying, bickering, cheating and hitting.  It was as if they needed more time and continuity to be able to even play amicably.

Had I not seen what happened today, I would have never believed that this set of kids could work together. If our society can offer children the luxury of time, won’t there be more opportunities for them to do meaningful work, participate in and contribute to what is happening around them?

-- Hema

Only In India (most probably)

I was on a bus to the nearby town of Sholingur. The bus was approaching a  busy T-junction. The road was wide enough to accommodate two buses going side by side, with just a few inches between them. Drivers here are quite adept at calculating their safe margin.

As we were getting closer to the T, our bus had to pass another one waiting on the other side. The observant driver spotted an arm jutting out from the other bus that would hinder his manoeuvres. This was the right arm of a young girl, probably in her mid-teens, who had fallen sleep during the bus ride.

My anxiety was growing as our bus was getting closer.  But the driver, maintaining a  “safe distance”, applied the brake, extended his arm out the window and casually tapped that protruding arm. That must have scared the girl out of her wits. She reflexively pulled her arm in letting our bus pass comfortably. Releasing the brake, our bus driver moved on as if this was nothing to write home about!

***

 

We were in Dev’s hometown Agra, visiting his relatives. Agra is a small town that is full of people and traffic jams. The ever-crowded bazaars have pedestrians, cycles, horse-drawn carts, manual- rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, flat-bed-rickshaws, small trucks and of course cars. Sometimes, one can find a herd of buffaloes too! 

Typically men in this town chew tobacco when they are not eating or sleeping. So, invariably they can be seen spitting out a red liquid every once in a while. I have always been nervous of the moment when someone would accidentally spit on me, since the probability of that happening seemed high.

On a busy market day, I was walking the bazaar street and was about to pass a person who had already initiated the process of spitting. It is easy guess that by the way their bodies bend a little forward, ready to launch with a full mouth. I had no way of stepping back or forward or sideways without getting spat on. There I was, facing my nightmare! I shrieked, “bhaiya! Stop!” The interrupted spitter was taken aback and he looked up. I grabbed the opportunity and quickly went ahead by just a few steps gesturing to him to wait till I go past him. With his mouth still full, he gestured to me saying that I can go. Once I was at a safe distance I saw him spat. I thanked him for having waited for me and asked him to look before he leaps the next time. His smile was priceless.

-- Hema

Their Honest Opinions

After purchasing our agricultural land, we decided to spend a few days camping at our neighbour’s farm. The facilities were quite basic – one big room with a leaky roof, no furniture, no shelves and no toilet/bathroom. We used the rocket stove, which we had built earlier, to cook our meals. Learning to keep the fire going was not easy for me. The first day, I served breakfast at lunch time, despite the fact I started cooking very early. Thankfully the kids were quite patient with me. They said, “This is real camping!”

As I was sweating over one such meal preparation, a lady showed up at the door to check us out. She asked me a lot of questions. Apparently she had come to know that the adjacent land had just recently been bought by foreigners. So she was eager to come and meet the foreigners. When I told her that it was we who had bought the land she immediately said, “I am quite disappointed that the new owners are not foreigners. I wanted to talk to some foreigners. And here you are, the new owners, talking in Tamil!”

This lady had walked a kilometer in the sweltering heat, just to be able to get a glimpse of some foreigners. I felt sorry for her. I didn’t know how I could assuage her disappointment. I was frantically raking my brain for ideas. It suddenly occurred to me that she might cheer up if she hears some English. So I asked her if she would like me to talk in English. Her face lit up and she nodded happily.

I called Abhi and explained the situation to him. I asked him to play along in English for a few moments. He obliged, but with a puzzled look on his face. The next few minutes of our conversation in English brought a smile on the lady’s face and that was apparently enough for her to head back happily in the hot sun.

***

The inquisitive care-taker of a neighbouring coconut grove stopped me on my way to the farm one evening.

He: “What exactly do you do there, on your land?”

Me: “I am planting trees”

He: “I have seen you carry saplings uprooted from the creek side. Is that what you are planting?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

He: “But they are useless plants. Why are you wasting your time? Why don’t you grow some cash crops?”

I didn’t want to brush aside the curiosity behind his questions. So I told him a bit about natural farming, bio-mass producing local trees, mulch, permaculture etc.

He: “You seem to show the way to places that no one wants to go to. Anyway, what about your income and expenses?”

Me: “Both my husband and I do not have jobs now. We are living off our savings and trying to keep our expenses low. We do a lot of the farm work ourselves.”

He: “I understand that you might be able to pull it off. But your husband ... hmm ... he is too old for that.”

Me: (shockingly) “Oh no! You are mistaken. We are pretty much of the same age. Gray hair is hereditary in his family. ”

He: “I feel sorry for you. You have been fooled.”

I laughed my lungs out and started walking my way.

-- Hema