Sattechiwadi

Sattechiwadi, India

Don’t bother looking this place up on the map … you’ll be wasting your time. The road which leads into Sattechiwadi contorts through semi-arid wasteland and is a mix of loose rocks, dirt and pot holes. During the monsoons, its passage becomes so treacherous that it is cordoned off, and any persons desiring to enter or leave must do so on foot. The village is a mere three kilometres from a state highway, and yet ironically, its existence appears consumed by remoteness.

The inhabitants are members of what is known in India as a Scheduled Tribe (ST). They have previously been referred to by less politically correct names, such as depressed classes and untouchables. They are currently a recognized group, along with Scheduled Castes (SC), for affirmative action in the Indian Constitution (see Adivasi). Sufficient to say, they typically occupy the basement of both the social and economic hierarchies. Moreover, they could mechanically be described as ‘simple’, ‘underdeveloped’ and even ‘backwards’.

Watershed Organisation Trust (WOTR) has been working with the 83 families in the village for four years. There are signs that the partnership is encouraging positive outcomes: most homes are guaranteed light through solar technology; the SHG program has initiated savings and inter-loaning practices which mitigate risk; the watershed activities have mobilized the population and fostered a greater sense of community; and most importantly, the region’s water table is rising. However, substantial ecological and agricultural outcomes are not anticipated for at least another three years. The timeframe, though only a fraction of the period of environmental decline, still seems to unduly burden a population so accustomed to endemic hardship.

During a respite from our work, I collapse under a tree in an attempt to recuperate from the flesh-searing sun. The moment crystallizes and I find myself observing a microcosm of the villager’s everyday life. The area is calm as the heat has encouraged most to remain indoors, yet the domesticated animals, including cows, goats, chickens, dogs and cats, keep things far from placid. An elderly lady, whose thick spectacles make her appear as though she is holding magnifying glasses to her face, briefly washes her feet before meandering painfully back to her abode. Children, girls rather, of no more than four, scamper effervescently to the well, yet struggle to take the water back to their grandmother’s kitchen.

My one-way mirror quickly dissipates as I am joined in a tentative, accruing fashion by a group of young men. However, their tentativeness recedes as rapidly as my seclusion, and I am quizzed on everything from the weather in Canada to the cost of a haircut to University life to my marital status. And while on that last subject, one of the more vocal boys volunteers that his near-seated friend is about to get married. He is seventeen years old. I asked if he is excited, and get exuberant, yet anxious laughter in response. It is telling of his inexperience. I fret to ask my follow-up question, but cannot resist curiosity: “how old is the bride?” After a brief exchange, my translator stoically replies: “thirteen or fourteen.” My expectation of the response prevents excess astonishment and abhorrence seeping from my facial expression.

Earlier in the day, I had been approached by a boy of my age. He had gone to university, but that’s where the similarities ended. Rather than hockey, he had a passion for cricket; rather than academic interest, he failed out his freshman year; rather than ease, he had asperities to tend. My recollection of that discussion suddenly transfixes my mind. Though we may be close in age, our experiences are disparate. My bearings are lost within their society. Hence, how can I judge, when I do not comprehend? Is my reaction to the marriage justified, or is it a product of my societal lens? There may be a completely logical reasoning behind the practice; I may simply be unaware. This realisation pushes further: is Sattechiwadi truly ‘backwards’, or is that label defined by my preconception of ‘forwards’? If my ‘forwards’ is not applicable, then what is ‘development’?

Finally ...

Ahmednagar, India

Finally, my persistent schedule is catching up to me. Overworked and under slept, I am beginning to feel the effects of repetition. I have a sense of isolation, of being trapped in a country where I do not speak the language, where I do not blend in, where I do not fit the norms. It is not as if I am hidden from view, rather quite the opposite, I am trapped in the vast openness by the stares, by the constant greetings, by the curiosity of those around me. “Hello” … “Name?” … “What country?”

Perhaps words such as “isolation” and “trapped” are hyperbole. For I chose to come overseas, and as I may board a plane to come just as quickly may I board one to leave. In no way, shape or form, do I regret my decision to travel. The risks and the faith required to remove myself from the comforts of home have been duly rewarded; the self-discovery and global awareness I have grasped while travelling cannot be understated. An appreciation of my circumstances has come to the forefront of my mind; the comprehension of my inequitable endowment, of my country’s relative evolution, which are easily overlooked when your gaze does not extend beyond its borders.

Regardless, I have come to disdain the battles fought with rickshaw-walas, the constant inquisitiveness of most passers-by, the comments muttered in Hindi, when I am still in the room and all the underlying assumptions of these actions. My frustration with these and other seemingly minor offences has grown in the last number of weeks, as has their ubiquity. I find myself retreating from my initial enthusiasm. I have begun to make rash judgements about the individuals who surround me, finding it difficult to engage sincerely and to forgive unperceivable sins. However in doing so, I recognize my hypocrisy that, I too, am guilty of committing to fact narrow-minded assumptions.

I sense that sentiments such as these are normal; they arise with the ebb and flow of any winding, indeterminate travel. My frustrations are not unique, my actions not exceptional. Perhaps they are also part of the intoxicant of exploration, for in these moments of anguish, there may be just as many discoveries, as in those that are sublime.

A Game of Snakes and Rat-turds

Ahmednagar, India

After a long day at work, I decided to treat myself … I had a sweet tooth! But not just for anything, for Indian sweets, which if you have never had them are usually no more than cooked grain, sugar and ghee (i.e. pure liquid fat).

Since I was in a particularly indulgent mood, I opted to satiate my cravings at the “best sweet shop in town.” After arrival, I nibbled here and there, systematically choosing the items I would gorge upon. After the identification process was complete, I was ready to select the weapons with which would slay my sweet tooth. Although just before I could wield them, my eyes caught a bizarre sight … two black snakes poking out from under the counter.

“Strange … those don’t look like any snakes I’ve ever seen before.”

Indeed, they were unlike any snakes I had ever seen … mainly since they were not snakes. Upon a second look, it became painfully clear that I was literally looking at things the wrong way round. What appeared to be two snakes’ heads were actually two rats’ tails.

Upon pointing this out to the server behind the counter, I received the English equivalent of “meh” and a shoulder shrug. This would not be the first time I have come across such an attitude, since as one enlightened foreigner pointed out: “if people knew (or perhaps more accurately, cared) about how food was prepared, all of India would go hungry.” Although, it could also be possible that caring is a luxury, but then again this was supposedly the “best” sweet shop.

Nonetheless, all of the excitement did not stop me from buying some for the road … in fact, it’s probably the rat feces which make it the best in town!