New girl in the village

Curiosity and unbridled enthusiasm are the two words which would describe my state of mind as I boarded the bus to the Dahiwadi, Tuljapur. Being a city snob, actually scratch that; a metro snob, I had never seen a village in my entire life. Osmanabad was a place I had studied in Geography in my 6^th standard and at that point of time, I had firmly believed that that is the place where Osama Bin Laden hailed from.

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that it would be a place I would learn to call my home as I grow up.

Hand sanitizer, tissues, two water bottles, notebook, pens, chips, chocolates, Glucon D, farsan and a sunscreen lotion are the ‘basic necessities’ I carried along with me. After all, I had to be prepared for all eventualities. And so with a heavy bag and a duppatta in place, I entered the village for the first time in my life.

As expected, all of us were greeted enthusiastically by villagers. After hearing a speech by the Sarpanch, all of us went our different directions. My first task at hand was to go for a transit walk and make a list of all resources of Dahiwadi. As I walked by, I could see a few children playing and the first thing I went and said to all of them was, ‘Hello!’

“Who is this mad girl?” would have been the first thought in their mind because the minute I said that, all of them ran away, much to my chagrin. I decided to move ahead with my work. One part of my task was to try to identify and collect samples of any unusual plants I might come across. I was saved from plucking leaves of every plant I came across, by my field partner who could easily identify most the plants. But then we came across a flower shrub we could not identify and decided to take a sample.

When we spotted a Kaka passing by, we decided to ask him what the name of the plant is. Unfortunately, he couldn’t understand Hindi and my knowledge of Marathi was limited. In the end we managed to convey the question to him through sign language and finally managed to get the name of the plant, ‘Aingraj’. (Later I was told that this particular plant has no name and that Aingraj was actually that Kaka's name. Our sign language was seriously flawed :) )

Next, I visited the fields where I had to be explained every second word a Kaka was saying. I identified soya bean wrongly twice, thought the gayran ( grazing land) was actually rice crop in its nascent stages and even managed to slip twice; though both times I was saved by my amused field partners.

I understood the true meaning of power dynamics, when I was invited in the Kaka’s (the one who showed us around) house. That is when, I realized why one shouldn’t stick to one person while collecting data. You get to know only his perspective and the person starts having certain expectations from you.

After my transit walk, we had to make a map out of the details we had collected from the village. The metro snob in my kicked in and I could not bear messing my hands. Lunch was a queasy affair for me. For one, I had to sit on the floor, no spoons were provided and I had to pee; urgently.

I decided to close my eyes and focus on bladder control, eat as little as possible without a spoon and try to find the cleanest spot to sit down.

*******

In the evening, we were going to have a Mashal march, something that I was really excited about. With my limited knowledge of Marathi, I managed to gather nearly 20 kids and I felt very proud of myself. I made them stand in a line, in groups of two, and taught them a few slogans.

One of them was, however, was standing all alone and nobody was talking to him. I went up to the little boy and started talking to him with my limited Marathi vocabulary. He seemed to be a little scared; and within a few minutes, I realized why. A group of boys were calling him names. Feeling bad, I offered him a few chocolates (a mistake, I later realized) and tried to cajole him by saying that he was my friend.

By this time, the group of boys who were teasing him had grown. They kept calling him things. By their tone, I knew that it was something really bad, but I could not understand. I called a friend to help me. He came and said a few things to them in Marathi and they scattered. The little boy belonged to a Dalit family and was being picked upon.

Very few children from the Dalit families had participated and the girls were virtually absent. For the first time in 3 months, I saw the caste and gender problem in front of my eyes. That, too, in a village just 30 minutes away from my college. I shuddered to think what I would see in other remote parts of Maharashtra.

I thought myself to be a person who could change people’s life; but by offering the little boy chocolates and calling him my friend, I ended up alienating him. Throughtout the march, I walked besides him and ensured that he was safe.

But something kept pricking me; I was going to be in the village for another hour or so. What about tomorrow? Who will take care of the little boy then? I had no answers.