There are no Strangers in a Village

We were walking through the village and I had just talked to a woman about the load she was carrying on her back. It was a fairly innocuous exchange, a salutation, a few questions from me and her responses. 

So I couldn't understand when my son (who is a citizen of Singapore and currently a resident of Switzerland) commented that I had treated the woman as a lesser person. Had I? That not my intention. And she certainly hadn't looked unhappy talking to me. So was it something in my tone that he had noticed? 

He said just the fact that I had stopped a total stranger and asked her random questions was an act of superiority. As if I had a right to engage her.  Would I do something like this to a person like myself in a city? He also noted that no villager had stopped me to ask me about my day or life. It was always coming from me. 

I listened to my son's observations deeply, as I always do. He is one of the few people who has challenged my convictions successfully.

His comment stayed with me for a long time. Years actually. Everytime I spoke to village folks, I observed my words and their reaction. I noticed that indeed they never initiated the conversation, but once I did, they were very comfortable and extremely happy to talk. 

Then last month, after having spoken to another woman from a village while out on a walk, I finally brought it up to Sonu. 

She didn't think my initiating conversations was an act of superiority. In fact, quite the opposite. That I have conversations with them, according to her, is a sign of my interest in them as important human beings whose lives I find interesting. That is not an insult, she said, but a compliment. As to why they didn't initiate conversations with me, she said they were wary of city folks who are quite often snobbish.

Not fully satisfied, I asked her "So, you mean, if I didn't look so obviously an outsider, they would engage with me? Is it only because I look different that they hesitate? Do they normally engage with a stranger they meet, provided the stranger looks like one of them?" 

Her response, which took some time coming, had me floored. 

"Puja, there are no strangers in a village!"

My Kamla

Unlike many people who have written about Kamla in the last few days, I didn't know her for long. I was not connected to her professionally either. I was just an ordinary person she chose to befriend in Rakkar, her second home. 

I first met Kamla in 2013, a few months after I had returned to India and settled in a small town in Himachal. Within a minute of meeting her, it felt as if I had known her my entire life. She heard my life story without interrupting me and declared that I was at once a fool and someone special. "Tu to badi pagal hai!", she said and added "this village is lucky to have you here!". 

This was the start of  friendship like none other. She got to know of my picnics in the mountains and wanted to be part of them. She climbed trees with my friends and daughter. She joined Aloka in her Hula Hoop sessions. She made mom sing Bengali songs. She would have us in splits with her riddles and jokes. She enjoyed my cooking and came over for lunches, oohing and aahing at everything I made. She joined us for our mango eating outings to a friend's orchard, where we all sat around a bucket full of mangoes that would need to be topped up ever so often. She joined us in our expeditions to our khadd to cool down on hot summer days. She became my brand ambassador when I put up a chicken schnitzel stall in the village fair. She was just one of us crazy women. 

She was Kammo for mom. She in turn addressed my mom as didi. She insisted Aloka call her Kamla nani. And she frowned upon me when I called her Kamla-di, something I had heard everyone in Jagori calling her. So she was simply Kamla for me. 

She trained and traveled often in the three months that she was in Himachal, and was free for only about 15-20 days scattered over the months. I made sure I spent at least some time with her on these days. She did too. If there was a meeting with someone interesting nearby, she would take me along. She made me organize mehfils and get-togethers. She introduced me to everyone she thought would be good for me. These summer months were the highlight of our year, thanks to Kamla. 

In our very first meeting, she asked me to teach English to the staff of Jagori. "Tu to acchi Angrezi bolti hai. Tu Angrezi parha sab ko", she had said. Though I had never taught English to anyone in my life, I said yes, because you don't say no to Kamla. That was the beginning of my journey of teaching that has sustained me in all these years by giving me purpose. It has also connected me to the village and the kids and youth. I have received so much love from numerous people because one woman saw something in me that no one else saw, including me. 

She kept seeing in me things neither I nor others saw. When people applauded the dancers in a dance workshop held at my home, they saw me as one of the dancers, just as I did. But she saw me as someone bringing Indian Classical dance to the village and making it accessible to village kids. When people applauded my school students for their performance in an English play, they saw me as a volunteer teacher with whom kids had fun, just as I did. But she saw me as a person transforming the lives of village kids. To be loved is one thing, but to be seen is quite something. 

The more I got to know her, the more I realized that I knew very little about feminism. I attended two days of her gender workshop one time and that's it. The rest I learned by talking to her and reading her books and articles. I had many questions and initially I asked them with diffidence, questions cloaked as observations. Her responses to me were never direct. She left me with oblique half-answers and I believe it was because she expected me to figure out things for myself.  

"Kamla, I was treated the same as my brother growing up. There was no discrimination at home" I remember saying to her once. Her response was oblique. "And what was outside of your house? What did you step into when you stepped out of your door", she responded. Once there was an uproar on Facebook when she shared a video of Sadhguru talking about women dressing to please men. I called her and asked why was wearing whatever women felt like not an expression of their freedom? Her response was once again brief. She said "In an ideal world, it would be, of course. But don't forget that we are all operating within the boundaries of patriarchy." When I said I wanted to attend her workshops to learn more from her, she said to me "No one knows everything there is to know, not even I".

Whatever I may have thought of her, she always considered me as her equal, as her friend. I realize now what an honor that is. This foolish girl never considered herself worthy of being a friend to Kamla, but she had no doubts about it. Once, while introducing myself to someone who knew her, I added that Kamla is my mentor. Kamla slapped me lightly on my leg and said "What mentor shentor. We are friends." I felt somehow that I had offended her by calling her my mentor. 

She used to call me once or twice a month for a chit chat. She would often complain that I was always too busy and never called her. If I called her and she was busy, she would always return my call. If I wrote to her, she would be prompt with her response. How could a person who had an abundance of friends accommodate me in her life so easily? How does a heart become so expansive?

This changed only in the last few months of her life. She didn't respond to my message when I wrote expressing my anguish at the diatribe against her on social media (that's an elephant in the room no one's talking about, perhaps because its irrelevance is obvious now). She didn't respond when I wrote to her after her diagnosis. But I didn't give up, messaging and calling till she finally said "Tu aaja". 

I spent a week with her in Delhi in early September, taking care of her jointly with two other friends of hers. I got scolded by her countless number of times that week for not being prompt enough, for not understanding what exactly she wanted me to do, for offering to hold her hand when she walked (I am not that weak!) and what not. I will cherish that scolding all my life. I didn't get to rest or sleep much that week, managing her oxygen and medicines and being on call at night. I will cherish each moment of that whirlwind week all my life. 

She was losing strength fast but not her sense of humor. When I said a couple of times that I am sad that her nephew is leaving, she said "Lo dekh lo Puja ko. Woh Delhi se Indore ja raha hai aur isko itna dukh hai. Yahaan mein duniya chhorh ke ja rahi hun, uska kya?" We laughed together. I cried alone in my room later.

Kamla, my mentor (sorry), my mother, my sister, my dearest friend, I am so honored and so privileged to have you in my life.  The force that you were cannot vanish. The love that you were cannot dissipate. You live in me, in Aloka, and in the thousands of people for whom you had space in your big big heart. 

I am filled with thoughts and memories of you. I am bereft. 

Our Memories and Their's

In Jan 2017, Rajiv Tyagi  was visiting us and as is my wont, we had taken him for a drive around nearby villages. Two large haystacks in a farm by the roadside caught our attention and we decided to pose for pictures under them. To get to them, we had to walk through someone's front yard. On our way out, the lady of the house gave us the most fragrant desi coriander leaves from her kitchen garden. This is the extent of my memory of that day.

Four years later, today, we stopped by their house again, this time to click a beautiful kainth tree. Once again, we walked by their front yard. On our way out, the family called us to sit with them and have tea. We refused the tea but sat on their parapet wall to rest and talk to them.

The man looked at me carefully and then said "I know you. Your mother was a doctor at Tanda. You used to live in Singapore. You have a young daughter. There was also a man with you." This is the depth of his memory of strangers who stopped by his house four years ago!

We again got a gift of fragrant desi coriander leaves, not to mention the sweetest hospitality and welcome only villagers know how to give.

I left their house very reluctantly. I could have sat on that parapet until the sun set and the moon rose.

A Stranger's Gift!

Saw a video yesterday about the release of oxytocin in our brains when we do something for another person. The same chemical is also released in people witnessing such a kind deed. So hoping this will release oxytocin in everyone reading this post.

This incident happened to my students from Sajhe Sapne last month. As part of their English class, we documented it- first in Hindi and then in English. Most of the words are their own, but I did help correct some mistakes and added some phrases.

A Stranger’s Gift

(Written by Phula, Santoli, Nicky, Indu, Jyoti and Arti)

This happened a few days ago. Eight of us had gone to Nangli restaurant for Shalini didi’s birthday party.

There were many people in the restaurant. The manager joined two tables for us and we sat down. Then we started ordering food, such as dosa, sandwich, golgappa, pao bhaji, alu tikki and some sweets.

We were happily eating together and joking with each other. We were having a great time. Everyone in the restaurant was amused and looking at us with interest. A man sitting at the table behind us kept looking at us. After some time, he asked us where we were from. We introduced ourselves and Sajhe Sapne. He was very happy to hear about us. He then told his family about us.

Shalini didi asked him where he was from. He said “I am from Germany”.

After some time, he came to our table and said “Can I pay for your party?” We were shocked and stared at him speechless. He put Rs. 1000 on our table and went away.

It was such a surprise to receive money from a stranger. We did not know anything about him except that he was German. We realized how good some people are in this world.

But now Shalini didi will have to give a party again. This party was given by a German man!

Some questions to ponder on: What made a total stranger do this deed? What was about the group that inspired him? What would make you do this for someone?

The True Gift

Is it a gift only of the young and innocent to believe someone is better than they can ever be, to look up in wonder, to love them as if they deserved it?

Or are these just reflections of fairy tales fed to them like tonics since babyhood- that someone has to be better than them, be the solution to all their problems, and sweep them off their feet?

Is what they feel nothing but a reciprocation of what they believe someone feels for them? Is it just the headiness of becoming the center of someone's world for the first time?

Does experience and knowledge take the edge off from these notions, open our eyes, and in turn make a cynic of us? 

Someone tell me- is innocence the true gift or the cynicism?

Handmaids Around Me!

Been watching The Handmaid's Tale slowly for the last 10 days. Savoring is a better word. Just finished the last episode of Season 3 yesterday. So sad to say goodbye to a friend, because that's what June Osborne has become to me.
For those of you who haven't seen it, it's about dystopia in a new ultra-religious country carved out of the US in the times of rising infertility and consequently, extremely low birthrates. Women in this world are relegated to being wives, maids or handmaids (whose sole purpose is to produce children for the husbands of the barren wives). None of the women are allowed to read or go out without chaperone or contribute to society in any way. They are left with no agency/influence of their own. The only women who seem to have any power are cruel bullish women, who train other women for their roles and punish them for any transgression.
Thinking about the suffocating stifling world of these fictional women, I just realized that this dystopia is not all that fictional. I personally know women here in my town, who were married off in their teens before they even finished schooling, have no financial freedom and so are at the mercy of men in their homes, are watched like hawks when they step out of the house, are expected to give birth to boys, and are nothing but glorified house maids (not even that because they are not paid for their daily toiling). To top it all, they are controlled by cruel bullish mother in laws! The same story with girls with college degrees. The only difference between their reality and the world where June is trapped is that they get to keep their babies.
Did Margaret Atwood visit our village before she wrote her novel?

Chandrama 2020 - As Beautiful as the Moon and as Loony too!

Every time I write something, it is like gathering ideas and thoughts scattered all over, bunching them together and shaping them to somehow makes sense. But this process also brings a sort of finality to the ideas. Once they are captured, they stop being the very things that inspired me to write in the first place. 

Maybe that's the reason I can't write about my mother. I do write about incidents involving her, but I can't write generically about her. The thoughts I have about are too many and scattered too randomly over the years of my life - gathering them is nearly impossible. They are hard to capture also because they are evolving, changing, growing every day. Also, gathering them will mean there will be a finality to these thoughts, and I can't allow that. She is a constant source of inspiration and self-knowledge and I need it to be like that. 

Today is her 82nd birthday. For the last 7 years, it has been my absolute pleasure of living with her in her favorite Dharamshala. The thoughts I have tried to capture here are bits and pieces about what I have learned from her. But no finality or boundaries here- there is lots more that I haven't even figured as yet.  

From her, I learned to be the best in anything and everything I do. And this was purely by example- we never discussed it. I just had a mother who was great at her work. She was the star. How can you be her daughter and accept mediocrity for yourself. You just don't.

From her, I learned the meaning of being truly happy. I have never seen my mother being moody or depressed, despite whatever was happening around her. I have always wondered how that is possible but because she is a living example, I know it's possible and can hope to achieve that life-state one day. 

From her, I learned to be brave. I have never seen her scared of any challenge that life throws in her way. She took up a WHO fellowship in her early thirties and lived in the US alone for a year. It was her first trip abroad, working with absolute strangers and getting used to a totally different lifestyle. If that didn't require bravery, I wonder what did. Once when she was the Principal of LHMC and there were student demonstrations clamoring  for her dismissal, I was shaking but she was unafraid. She was not even afraid at 60 of  moving with my dad (who needed a lot of care) to a small town and starting a new life. When he passed away, she was not afraid of living her life alone on her own terms. And even now, she lives her life as she wants, doing what she likes, despite having her bossy daughter live with her!

From her, I have learned how to have fun. When I was six, she blew my little mind by playing a trick on all of us- she returned from her year-long trip abroad with short hair. This was early 1970's and decent Indian women were not supposed to cut their hair. Her short hair caused so much turmoil in the family- my brother refused to hug her, my grandfather, her father, called her a "Par-kati kabootri (wingless pigeon)" and the elders on my father's side found it scandalous. Then a couple of hours later, she took of her wig and exposed her still long lovely hair! She created a memory that hasn't faded in 40 years and triggered a certain mad streak in all of her kids.

From her, I learned to love travel. My earliest fondest memories are of our travels together to hill stations, where she made us walk crazy distances, sing songs and eat express no-nonsense meals that she would cook. Later, she filled our heads with exciting stories (coupled with slide shows) of all the cities and country she had visited in the one-year fellowship. I grew up believing that the purpose in life was to travel and live in exotic places, meet new people and then talk about these experiences forever! I still believe it. 

From her, I got my gaming genes. In early 2000s, my dad rang me in Singapore and complained about mom' computer game obsession. In his typical funny-serious way, he said "Puja, apni mummy ko samjha. Sara time games khelti rehti hai! (Puja, please drive some sense into your mom. She is always playing computer games)". How could I tell him that at that very moment, across thousands of miles, she and I were playing an online boggle game together!

Nowadays, she plays Sudoku, Rahjong (a solitaire version of mahjong) and 4 pics 1 word type of puzzles on her iPad that I bought for her 7 years ago.

Much like her, I play till I drop off to sleep. She is a true role model...as the picture shows!

From her, I have learned to embrace change and go with the times. My beautiful mother, who for over thirty years, wore the best sarees in the whole of Delhi, and nothing but sarees (even a Salwar Kameez was too casual for her), now wears pants and t-shirts that she buys from the trendy stores in Singapore and Delhi. My super popular mother, who was once the life of parties in Delhi, now spends her time walking the mountains, playing computer games and painting. My smart mother, who once surrounded by intellectuals and professionals and spoke in an impeccable polished accent, now finds joy in talking to simple village people, using their language and sharing their concerns.

From her, I learned to love music.  My mother sings beautifully and prolifically. As young children, we would sit on her bed, listening to her sing with gusto inside the bathroom as she got ready for work. Even today, there is no greater pleasure for me than to hear her sing her (and mine) favorite Hindi songs and ghazals. Unfortunately, I don't have her singing voice, but I enjoy listening to the songs I grew up and with and spend hours trying to play them on my keyboard.

From her, I learned to go out and appreciate the beauty of nature. My mother is an avid walker. In the last 15 years, she has climbed every mountain and visited every village in the neighborhood. I have heard all the stories and now it is my aim to recreate those experiences. We walk to every village that she has talked about, climb every mountain that she had climbed, enter every dhaar that she had visited.

Happy birthday Chandrama, my cool as the moon Mommy, and quite as loony. May you have a great great day today, with your butterflies and flowers and mountains and the khudd and the sunset. May you live fully in health for at least another 20 years so I can learn more from you and get a chance to enjoy your company even more.