Along Comes Life

DAY 3



My neighbor’s crooning worked as my early morning alarm. And as I rose from bed listening to his musical melody, I wandered into yesterday to relive some of the most beautiful moments I had spent with families that had welcomed me into their lives like I was a dear friend returning from a long voyage.


Pradyut picked me up from my hotel at 8 AM and we were soon on our way to Kaklur, a tribal village. Our car drove past hilly curves and dusty roads, and an hour into our journey we passed guns and uniforms. Wait a minute, what did I just see? Guns and Uniforms?? I strained my eyes out of our moving vehicle to examine my new surroundings. I couldn’t believe that I was passing a platoon of the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF). They were stationed in base camps to patrol THIS area. Last week’s massacre of 75 paramilitary forces and a local police officer by the Naxalites stood out fresh in my memory. I was officially in war zone.


Kaklur was about 25 kms from Dantewada, the massacre site. I was expecting the air to be thick in this volatile region, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead I was greeted by a large group of beaming women that acknowledged my entry with shy glances and hushed conversation. These women carried themselves with unpretentious beauty. Many didis either wore their saris without a blouse or tied two pieces of cloth to wrap their body. Exquisite ornaments adorned their skin and toddlers publicly clung to breasts like baby chimps as mothers continued with their routines. These women had a way of showing skin that was not offensive.


I sat next to Duli, a reserved woman in her early 60’s. Our meeting started and twenty tribal voices fused together to create a striking piece of music. In my visits to all villages here, I had learnt that a inaugural song was sung at the beginning of every Self Help Group (SHG) meeting. This was followed by the agarbatti (incense sticks) ritual that was lit and placed before a peti (box) that contained their monetary savings. The khatta (financial record book) was opened and the SHG’s accountant registered each didi’s weekly savings of five, ten and fifteen rupees. ($1 = 45 Rupees).


I was elated to witness this ceremony that was slowly announcing hope.


After the ceremony, I thanked them for their warm reception. And the didis spoke to me about their children, farms and family. A conversation with them came with an ease and straightforwardness I had not come across in a long time. Unfortunately in the business world, this innocence was disgustingly mistaken as easy to fool. Probably the reason why Ratiram and many other men that had migrated into the cities to work had come back cheated. A daily meal of substandard rice provided at work was unfairly priced equivalent to monetary compensation for back breaking laborious jobs. At the completion of their work period, they were not paid. The men had travelled back home betrayed of well-deserved income. The dejection was palpable. Hardworking poor people were being abused. I wondered if this was an enormous scam to benefit a greedy few living in arrogance of their blatant Power and Money.


It was good to know that nobody was willing to travel into the cities to work anymore. However, they barely survived by growing a mediocre crop on stony fields and fast diminishing forest produce that they used to make liquor. They deserved a good life too. It was a good thing that Self Help Groups were being formed here. These villagers needed to find their voices.


After the meeting, the didis posed for some photos and I was envious of their picture perfect beauty! The singing was energized and I was guided through a private tour around their village. One didi held my back, while another clasped her hands around my butt. It was a bit awkward and anywhere else this behavior would have outraged me. But here the innocence of this gesture managed to outweigh the improper conduct of a scene like such!


We had spent far more time than anticipated in Kaklur and it was close to 2 PM. In another kind gesture to make me comfortable, one of the villagers had cooked lunch for us. It was a delicious serving of dal, rice and fish. I was humbled by the hospitality.


As we drove to the next destination, our car came to an abrupt halt. A tree trunk lay in the middle of a road. Suspicion arose. I noticed that both Pradyut and our driver became alert. In my mind, I imagined the worst case scenario wondering if we were under attack. After close evaluation of the landscape, the two men delicately got down to move the interruption. I watched them cautiously clear the path and visualized gunfire. What would we do? I knew that we would not have anywhere to run for cover. Thankfully there was no action. Five minutes later, we were safely on our way to the next village.


I visited four other SHGs in Chirpal and Kamanar villages. 62 other women had come together to form different groups. Their stories were similar. The burden of earning less than $1 a day was making their families vulnerable. Debt, disease and dependence were plaguing their existence. Rice and water was the staple diet and malnourished children were an accepted sight.


The good news is there was another reality – a positive reality. Dreams did not have to be put on hold anymore.


The villagers were gaining the strength to believe in themselves. They were adapting to change. People were being mobilized as SHGs were being formed. People had begun to understand that they have the power to change their lives. Their children could go to bed fed and the fields could grow three crops a year. Other sustainable livelihood opportunities could be extended. They could get out of poverty.


It is not the easiest journey but they have faced much tougher times. It is a matter of time before one good thing leads to another.


To be continued…