OTHER EXPERIENCES IN KUMAON
Brahmins (not to exempt other upper castes) are generally not even slightly aware of the insidiousness of the caste-system. They have never been at the receiving end to realize the impact of what it could mean to a person lower down in the order. Except of course, the dark-complexioned Brahmin who may get to hear some taunts accidentally, and who generally gets reassured soon enough when the other person apologizes profusely. I too would have been smug about the whole thing, but even as I recount my experience in Kumaon, I am distinctly aware that it is just not the genuine feeling.
Back in 1976 in Kumaon, I had sported a thick beard. I would also do things that were supposed to be unforgivable if one were a ‘genuine Brahmin’. During my traverses there, I used to notice a few hutments quite separated from the main village. When I was busy near these hutments either breaking off a chip of a rock, or taking a Brunton Compass reading, someone would invite me in for a cup of tea. I used to strike up a conversation and gradually would make my way into the hut and carry on an animated interaction with the folks of the hut. My field guide (vaguely remember his name as Kedar Dutt) would be near some apple trees that were quite widespread in the vicinities. When the tea was served, I would lap it up with great relish, but surprisingly my field guide, though quite fatigued, would never partake of these cups of tea.
For the first few days I was quite unconscious of all these intricacies, having been brought up in largely urban environs like Bangalore and Delhi, but I began to notice that the folks in the tea-shop in Okhalkhanda and my field guide became interested in my caste. I used to unconsciously reply ‘Brahmin’ when queried about my caste, but I found people rejecting my claim more and more vehemently. It took me quite a while to realize that it was all due to the largely unconscious way I would accept to drink tea during field traverses.
Hence it so happened that when I shifted camp from Babiyar to a village called Kala Agar (? Memory fading) I had the usual problem of accommodation. I tried everywhere in the village for a suitable accommodation, but was totally unsuccessful. Finally I again approached a schoolteacher who seemed to have a fairly large house. He said that he could spare me some accommodation only in the cattle-shed. The cattle-shed was quite spacious, but was spread all over uniformly with hay. Since there were no other government buildings or schools that were free, I ventured to put up in the barn. The teacher’s family also agreed to feed me at the barn for a modest fee.
But the first night was a torment. The hay was infested with fleas. I am particularly sensitive to flea-bites. And throughout the night I was severely bitten by fleas and could not sleep a wink. In the following days I desperately tried for an alternative accommodation and failed totally in getting one. As the days passed I gradually started developing a high fever due to a reaction to the flea-bites. I particularly remember one night, feverish as I was, I lit up the candle and started pouring hot molten wax of the candle on every flea I could spot. The bed-sheet was splotched with wax, and often when a flea landed on my arm or leg, I poured the hot molten wax on my skin.
The only reason I was ostracized to a barn is because I used to enter scheduled caste villages and drink cups of tea in their houses. Now imagine how a scheduled caste victim should feel. Or for that matter, think of how difficult it is for a man of another religion to get a house on rent in a largely Hindu locality in Bangalore.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The School Near Babiyar - 3
THE SCHOOL NEAR BABIYAR
One night after dinner, at the same school near Babiyar, I sat listening to Hindi film-songs and watching out over vast distances across the valleys in the moonlit night. The night was somewhat cloudy, with the breeze blowing the clouds across the sky from the south-east to the north-west. The clouds were somewhat transparent, and the movement of the clouds gave the impression that the moon was running somewhere in a hurry, yet frustratingly fixed to a point. I’m sure all of you have had this impression when you were young. After listening to the transistor radio till 10:15 p.m., I rose to retire for the night.
As usual, I loaded the wooden chair with tins and cans and sundry items and placed it against the closed door to secure it from the inside as the door did not have a bolt and a latch. Putting out the candle light, I later crawled into the sleeping bag, which had a zip that fastened upwards from the navel, up the chest, right up to the chin. I had fallen off into a deep slumber and was totally lost to the outside world.
It had so happened that sometime during the night the weather had turned severely bad and a fierce storm was raging. I was blissfully unaware of all this and was in deep slumber. At one instance a severe gust of wind blew fiercely against the door and sent the heavy chair flying together with all the cans and tins and the sundry items. I was rudely jolted by a loud noise caused by the chair sent hurtling across and the cans crashing on the floor. I suddenly opened my eyes and found the door widely ajar and a fierce wind in the room. At that instance I did not even know where I was and could see the silhouette of a widely open door and felt a lot of breeze in the room.
I had forgotten I was inside a sleeping bag and I tried wildly to flay my hands and found my movements totally restricted. As I had zipped myself to the chin, even as I tried to rise up, I felt severely constrained. The darkness added to my sense of panic. For a while, I felt as if someone or something was restraining me in that desolate room. It took me about 10 seconds to completely gather my wits and realize what had actually happened in that lonesome school in a random place called Babiyar in the Kumaon Himalaya.
One night after dinner, at the same school near Babiyar, I sat listening to Hindi film-songs and watching out over vast distances across the valleys in the moonlit night. The night was somewhat cloudy, with the breeze blowing the clouds across the sky from the south-east to the north-west. The clouds were somewhat transparent, and the movement of the clouds gave the impression that the moon was running somewhere in a hurry, yet frustratingly fixed to a point. I’m sure all of you have had this impression when you were young. After listening to the transistor radio till 10:15 p.m., I rose to retire for the night.
As usual, I loaded the wooden chair with tins and cans and sundry items and placed it against the closed door to secure it from the inside as the door did not have a bolt and a latch. Putting out the candle light, I later crawled into the sleeping bag, which had a zip that fastened upwards from the navel, up the chest, right up to the chin. I had fallen off into a deep slumber and was totally lost to the outside world.
It had so happened that sometime during the night the weather had turned severely bad and a fierce storm was raging. I was blissfully unaware of all this and was in deep slumber. At one instance a severe gust of wind blew fiercely against the door and sent the heavy chair flying together with all the cans and tins and the sundry items. I was rudely jolted by a loud noise caused by the chair sent hurtling across and the cans crashing on the floor. I suddenly opened my eyes and found the door widely ajar and a fierce wind in the room. At that instance I did not even know where I was and could see the silhouette of a widely open door and felt a lot of breeze in the room.
I had forgotten I was inside a sleeping bag and I tried wildly to flay my hands and found my movements totally restricted. As I had zipped myself to the chin, even as I tried to rise up, I felt severely constrained. The darkness added to my sense of panic. For a while, I felt as if someone or something was restraining me in that desolate room. It took me about 10 seconds to completely gather my wits and realize what had actually happened in that lonesome school in a random place called Babiyar in the Kumaon Himalaya.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The School Near Babiyar - 2
Throughout the time I was cleaning the room prior to retiring for the night, I had tuned on the transistor radio for an Urdu programme broadcasting film-songs. I was not too conscious of any sounds within the room or on the outside. Later, after I tuned out the transistor by switching it off and blowing out the flame of the candle, the room and the surroundings became strangely quiet. As time flowed on there was a distinct tap on the roof. Then another one…and after some more time, another. I could not surmise what the noise was due to and crawled out of the sleeping bag and came out of the room with a electric torch to investigate. The night was pitch-dark and spangled with stars. The milky-way galaxy could be distinctly seen. When I shone the torch on the roof, there appeared nothing to be seen. The roof was barren. So I returned and crept into the snug warmth of the sleeping bag. Those noises on the roof at intermittent intervals continued throughout the night. Soon I lapsed into deep sleep.
When I woke up, it was already quite bright. As I lay within the sleeping bag and gazed at the roof, I saw that it was made of tin sheets. That clarified matters regarding the strange tapping noises I had heard at night. During the day, the heat of the sun would have expanded those sheets, and at nights, as the temperature dipped, they would contract giving rise to those intermittent tapping noises. Later, the boy who was to work for me as a field-guide arrived, together with the chappathis both for breakfast and for packed lunch.
There were two interesting events at that camp. I will relate the first one that linked me to my hometown Bangalore. Every evening we would return to camp at around 5:00 p.m. Later, the boy and his father would bring chappathis for dinner at around 7:00 p.m., and on my finishing dinner by around 7:20 p.m., they would leave and I would be all alone. I would be sitting outside the room on a ledge gazing out at the dark sky looking for stars and planets that were familiar to me. Somedays I would feel particularly nostalgic and homesick for Bangalore. I was scarcely 23 years old, and having been in urban environs with many friends and companions, time would hang very heavy during those lonesome nights. I would strongly wish to connect in some way to Bangalore, and in this wistful effort, I would keep slowly keep turning the dial of the transistor, with a faint hope of picking up the Bangalore All India Radio Station. Those days, it was only the short-wave frequencies that would be transmitted over such vast distances, and Bangalore did not have a short-wave broadcasting facility. This city had only two or three medium-wave frequencies over which it would broadcast its radio programmes. Unfortunately, medium-wave broadcasts would not be picked up at such a great distance from Bangalore. But in my seething nostalgic desire, I would keep trying desperately for Bangalore. One day there was a miracle. At around 7:30 p.m. or 8:00 p.m. I faintly picked up on medium-wave the Bangalore station of All India Radio. I was so thrilled! That day the program was of an interview with a few boys and girls of The National College, Basavanagudi, Bangalore. Most of them were the sophisticated and polished English-speaking variety holding forth on various aspects of culture and politics. There was a lone Kannada-devotee who spoke exuberantly and vivaciously on how he venerated the Kannada matinee-idol Rajkumar, and how he considered him the best actor in the world.
It was a rare moment over there in a lonesome school on top of a ridge in Kumaon in 1976 when I got to hear of our own home-grown Rajkumar. I was trying to visualize the reactions of the English-speaking crowd who were in the interview. Perhaps a candid television shot would remove much of the magic of that feeble connection that I had established with my home Bangalore way out from a desolate place in the Kumaon Himalaya.
When I woke up, it was already quite bright. As I lay within the sleeping bag and gazed at the roof, I saw that it was made of tin sheets. That clarified matters regarding the strange tapping noises I had heard at night. During the day, the heat of the sun would have expanded those sheets, and at nights, as the temperature dipped, they would contract giving rise to those intermittent tapping noises. Later, the boy who was to work for me as a field-guide arrived, together with the chappathis both for breakfast and for packed lunch.
There were two interesting events at that camp. I will relate the first one that linked me to my hometown Bangalore. Every evening we would return to camp at around 5:00 p.m. Later, the boy and his father would bring chappathis for dinner at around 7:00 p.m., and on my finishing dinner by around 7:20 p.m., they would leave and I would be all alone. I would be sitting outside the room on a ledge gazing out at the dark sky looking for stars and planets that were familiar to me. Somedays I would feel particularly nostalgic and homesick for Bangalore. I was scarcely 23 years old, and having been in urban environs with many friends and companions, time would hang very heavy during those lonesome nights. I would strongly wish to connect in some way to Bangalore, and in this wistful effort, I would keep slowly keep turning the dial of the transistor, with a faint hope of picking up the Bangalore All India Radio Station. Those days, it was only the short-wave frequencies that would be transmitted over such vast distances, and Bangalore did not have a short-wave broadcasting facility. This city had only two or three medium-wave frequencies over which it would broadcast its radio programmes. Unfortunately, medium-wave broadcasts would not be picked up at such a great distance from Bangalore. But in my seething nostalgic desire, I would keep trying desperately for Bangalore. One day there was a miracle. At around 7:30 p.m. or 8:00 p.m. I faintly picked up on medium-wave the Bangalore station of All India Radio. I was so thrilled! That day the program was of an interview with a few boys and girls of The National College, Basavanagudi, Bangalore. Most of them were the sophisticated and polished English-speaking variety holding forth on various aspects of culture and politics. There was a lone Kannada-devotee who spoke exuberantly and vivaciously on how he venerated the Kannada matinee-idol Rajkumar, and how he considered him the best actor in the world.
It was a rare moment over there in a lonesome school on top of a ridge in Kumaon in 1976 when I got to hear of our own home-grown Rajkumar. I was trying to visualize the reactions of the English-speaking crowd who were in the interview. Perhaps a candid television shot would remove much of the magic of that feeble connection that I had established with my home Bangalore way out from a desolate place in the Kumaon Himalaya.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The School Near Babiyar - 1
But two people would come when I was there, and they would come around 7:00 p.m.! One was a lad about 12 to 13 years old and the other was his father. They would bring me dinner, which consisted of four or five chappathis made with mustard oil and sometimes I would get a leafy vegetable to go with it, but many times I remember having eaten the chappathis with salt and onions or with chillies. Once those two returned, I would spend the rest of the night alone.
When I came on a camp shift away from Okhalkhanda, I actually intended to stay at some house in Pokri Pher. But on arriving there around 6:30 p.m., I was told that there was no suitable accommodation in anyone’s house. I was shown a small dingy room but it was so poorly ventilated and full of rat turd that I just did not feel like staying in that room. The villagers informed me that there was a small two-roomed primary school at the crest of the hill-slope where I could stay if I chose to, as the school was closed for vacations. They said I would need the permission of the headmaster who stayed at Babiyar, about one kilometer from the school in a WNW direction. They however cautioned that the place is very solitary and that just behind the school the villagers had attempted to build a panchayat ghar, which was abandoned as the place was haunted.
I preferred to consider the school as a place where I may put up for about two weeks stay. Accompanied by two or three villagers, as it was already dark by then, I passed by the school, which had two rooms – one of which had a door that was locked with an iron chain and the other room had no door as the room was quite empty. The place looked quite clean and I decided to camp in the school. We sought the permission of the head-master, who gave it rather willingly and I received the keys to the room with the door that was locked.
On entering the room and on lighting up a candle, I found a blackboard, one or two shelves with various books and charts, an old wooden table, a very heavy wooden chair and many other sundry items among which there was a broom. I thanked the other villagers who had come there with me and wished them goodnight after informing them that I would need a young boy who was familiar with various villages in the vicinity and lead me along various known routes and paths. Promising to send me a boy the next morning, the villagers left.
I swept the room clean with the broom and unpacked my rucksack and sleeping bag. Unfortunately the door did not have a bolt from inside and there was no way to securely latch it from inside. I hence decided to close the door and place the heavy wooden chair against it after loading it further with my rucksack and other items. I do not remember if I ate that night or not, but having felt quite exhausted, I spread a durrie and my sleeping bag over it and tried to sleep.
(To be continued …)
When I came on a camp shift away from Okhalkhanda, I actually intended to stay at some house in Pokri Pher. But on arriving there around 6:30 p.m., I was told that there was no suitable accommodation in anyone’s house. I was shown a small dingy room but it was so poorly ventilated and full of rat turd that I just did not feel like staying in that room. The villagers informed me that there was a small two-roomed primary school at the crest of the hill-slope where I could stay if I chose to, as the school was closed for vacations. They said I would need the permission of the headmaster who stayed at Babiyar, about one kilometer from the school in a WNW direction. They however cautioned that the place is very solitary and that just behind the school the villagers had attempted to build a panchayat ghar, which was abandoned as the place was haunted.
I preferred to consider the school as a place where I may put up for about two weeks stay. Accompanied by two or three villagers, as it was already dark by then, I passed by the school, which had two rooms – one of which had a door that was locked with an iron chain and the other room had no door as the room was quite empty. The place looked quite clean and I decided to camp in the school. We sought the permission of the head-master, who gave it rather willingly and I received the keys to the room with the door that was locked.
On entering the room and on lighting up a candle, I found a blackboard, one or two shelves with various books and charts, an old wooden table, a very heavy wooden chair and many other sundry items among which there was a broom. I thanked the other villagers who had come there with me and wished them goodnight after informing them that I would need a young boy who was familiar with various villages in the vicinity and lead me along various known routes and paths. Promising to send me a boy the next morning, the villagers left.
I swept the room clean with the broom and unpacked my rucksack and sleeping bag. Unfortunately the door did not have a bolt from inside and there was no way to securely latch it from inside. I hence decided to close the door and place the heavy wooden chair against it after loading it further with my rucksack and other items. I do not remember if I ate that night or not, but having felt quite exhausted, I spread a durrie and my sleeping bag over it and tried to sleep.
(To be continued …)
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