The story of Sanatan

I met Sanatan some seven years back at Ayodhya hills in Purulia. This region by then had already begun to earn notoriety as a 'Maoist -infested' one and after much deliberation we had decided on this trip.

         Just as we got off our car at the government accommodation turned tourist lodge, we saw a young man standing at a corner inside the compound. He could be anything between twenty five and thirty five. A sadly shrivelled man whose youth had taken a beating because of his daily struggle with poverty, writ large in his eyes .He approached us and offered to take us on a sight-seeing tour on foot in the afternoon on both the days. When asked about his charge he quoted an amount which we could not believe....it was so paltry.

          He arrived much before the scheduled time and waited for us. We walked with him through the village roads and he showed us hills, falls and small hamlets. There was nothing to 'see' as tourists understand the term, as it was an aimless walk through the villages, soaking in the ambience .Suddenly he stopped in front of a hut and asked for ten rupees .When he went inside, keeping us waiting, we could sense that he had gone in to have a glass of mahua---the local intoxicant made from the fruits of mahua tree which keeps these people going. On his return we resumed our walk and he talked about the life of the local people....how the entire region was dry and arid for most of the year yielding almost no crops and how difficult it was to eke out a living. As we walked we found small construction work going on in several places....people building their own little houses. Sanatan asked them if there was any need for more labour. Everywhere the reply was in the negative. I just wondered how this man, married and with a child and another on the way,could manage to survive?. Odd jobs were also very difficult to find.At the end of the walking-tour he took leave of us but did not take the money. He would come the next day and take us on a different route again!

           The next day too he came before time and escorted us to a far-off region. We walked till it was quite late. The sun was about to set. Narrating the plight of the villagers ,he blurted out that he didn't have anything to eat that day...and that it was quite a normal routine for most of the villagers to skip meals.Instantaneously my trip was soured. I asked him why he hadn't told us before .He was ashamed,I guessed .But I felt more ashamed to have strutted through these villages with a camera and the tourist gaze. It was quite clear to me why the previous day he had stopped on the way to have a shot of mahua.That is the energy drink for the starving  adivasis. He said his wife was expecting again but she too had eaten nothing that day. Asked what he fed his two - year old child, he replied whatever was available to him, like bread or biscuits. Milk was something to be dreamt of. We took him to the nearest eatery and offered him tea and snacks and handed a packet of the same for his wife and child .When I asked him how he would feed the child that was expected, pat came the reply that whatever would be available to them would suffice for the new child. I tried in vain to explain to him the benefits of tubectomy  for his wife! When he was paid quite a lot in excess to what he had quoted the subdued glee in his eyes I would never forget. He planned to buy rice after quite a few days and eggs for his home. It was going to be quite a feast, it seemed. But when asked what he would do once this money was spent, he had no answer except that perennial optimism...I might get some work by then.    

 

        That night I couldn`t have my dinner. I remembered the eyes of Sanatan....uncertainty, insecurity, a resigned attitude ....all rolled into one. I was trying to gauge what it felt like when one is not sure if one would get food the next morning. I suffered from an overpowering sense of guilt. And I made a promise to myself. Never  to visit such places as a tourist, well-dressed, with a camera in hand. Just as I would never spend a vacation in the vicinity of a closed tea garden in the Dooars where malnutrition, starvation and death stalk the people. It was outright  heartless ,to say the least. I had no business to be there if not to make a difference, however small, in the lives of these people. I remembered that I, a thorough city-bred epicure, had not even bothered to ask Sanatan`s full name.

       Seven years have passed. Sometimes I feel curious to know about Sanatan and his family. With the change of guard in the state has there been any real change in their lives? Has there been any development in the god-forsaken terrain where neglect, apathy and deprivation were part of the system? Does  Sanatan and his family get a square meal every day? I dare not visit the place again to get my answer.

The wonder railway network

A country that runs on its mammoth railway network can surely pride itself for being the near-perfect technological wonder.  In Japan  a  few  millions  commute  by  train  every day. Entire cities seem to spread underground with their tentacles as the urban network operates mostly through subway stations. Trains of almost every description are aplenty—passenger trains, express trains, long-distance trains, the iconic ‘shinkansen’ or ‘bullet’ trains  the ‘maglev’ or magnetic levitation trains, the Romance cars! The network is operated by different companies, both government-owned and private. A tourist, on his first visit to a metropolitan subway station is sure to get baffled at the mind-boggling network! These stations, both underground and over ground, are lined on both sides by shops selling everyday necessities, food items and condiments, vending machines , eateries and restaurants of different categories. Even the most insignificant station will have some grub to offer even at an unearthly hour. The stations are agog with passengers from early morning—even in the bitter cold months the compartments are jam-packed. But what is amazing is the fact that there is no mad rush, no jostling, no pushing, no yelling. As the train stops at a station, the right of way is first given to passengers alighting, in a queue. Those waiting to board the train stand patiently, again in a queue, for their turn to get in. Wheelchair-bound passengers and senior citizens, babies  in  perambulators  and differently abled passengers have a smooth entry to the compartments and are stationed safely and comfortably in their designated areas. The rough yellow patch all along the platform in each and every station safely guides the visually challenged to the door of the compartment.  Little children going to schools all by themselves without any adult escort, is a very common sight both at stations and on the roads. This tells a lot about the public transport system in the country. 

                The scene inside the compartments is more surprising. Passengers of every conceivable type—young, old ,middle-aged, men women, students, professionals, businessmen---all sitting in a row and surfing mobile phones, texting, earphones plugged in their ears. Even if they talk, it is barely audible.And all this technological wonder comes with an icing on the cake....  The annual average of the delay in the running of the trains is just seven seconds!                

 The iconic Shinkansen

  

The Shinkansen

            

The interiors of a passenger train

Inside a subway station

Another station

The elevated track for the maglev train run without a driver

Prints of masters inside Namba station,Osaka

A Van Gogh print  inside Namba station

A Romance Car

A station

Ladyboy show at Pub Street, Siem Reap

     Seam Reap in Cambodia is an international tourist destination. This city draws a mind-boggling number of tourists from across the globe every   year. In spite of being a  southeast Asian country, it is a neat and prim city built around numerous temples and monuments.   Though there are unmistakable signs of a third world country just beyond the tourist circuit, yet it has been conceived and developed as a tourist-friendly city. There are numerous hotels, restaurants and shops catering to an immense international tourist market. Much has been written about the famous Angkor Wat and other sites of historical importance which have been included in the World Heritage list. What made my Cambodia trip memorable were experiences much more in addition to the normal touristy visits to the temples and monuments. One such is the fantastic experience at Pub Street on Halloween night. We were told by our guide that there are 'Ladyboy' shows held at Pub Street every evening where boys dressed as girls would sing, dance and perform dramatic skits. It was adult entertainment, we guessed, but the guide was forthcoming in his assurance that it was perfectly okay for a lady to visit the place.
   

      So we ventured out to Pub Street in a tuktuk at 8 in the night. It was a broad road lined with pubs and restaurants, all brightly lit .Loud music and dance greeted us everywhere. The pavements were over crowded with people from different countries mingling with the locals. It was a picture of wild abandon and revelry. There were rows of chairs and tables in front of the restaurants in the narrow alleys. Most of the people were dressed in their weirdest and ghastliest makeup. It felt like a grand carnival where everyone participated in his or her own way. We asked about the Ladyboy show at a pub and were ushered in very graciously. It was a small space, very dimly lit and sparsely furnished. There were a few people inside, talking in hushed tones over a drink. The young waiters, mostly transgender, were extremely cordial and jovial. They made us feel extremely comfortable. After some time the show began. It was a solo performance by a transgender who was playing the role of a woman. Music, dance, song and emotive acting...all rolled into one -- it was the enactment of a well defined supernatural story. We were simply speechless by the impact of the whole spectacle. It was something we had never experienced before. 

              While returning to the hotel quite late at night I did not, for once, felt myself in an alien land. The crowd was huge but there was no pushing or jostling, no untoward incident. No one actually looked at us, total strangers, leave alone leered. I was trying to figure out what it would be like in my own country with over- curious people staring at you and the depraved ones trying to grab an opportunity to touch and grope a woman at such an unearthly hour! Though there was nothing obscene or objectionable in the show, it was quite difficult to visualize such a show being held publicly in my country of moral policing. I returned to the hotel, safe, happy and content. The pleasant memory of the Halloween night and the Ladyboy show will remain with me a for a very long time.

Tonle Sap Lake in Cambodia

           The moment I crossed the Poipet  Border  from Thailand and entered Cambodia by  road, I found myself in very familiar territories. The landscape was very Indian, rather Bengali, to be precise. Miles and miles of metalled  roads lined by shallow marshes, paddy fields ,coconut trees, fishermen fishing in the ponds and the greenery all around.....seemed to be just out of my good, old Bengal. What caught my attention were the houses on both sides of the road. Even in small hamlets the houses displayed a particular and distinctive style of architecture, very much in the line of heritage structures.  

                      After visiting the World Heritage temple at Angkor Wat and other temples we were scheduled to visit the famous Tonle Sap Lake. It is the largest fresh water lake in south-east Asia which is unique for its unusual flow pattern in different seasons. It is a combined lake and river system of Cambodia and finds a place in UNESCO world biosphere list .In summer the lake shrinks and drains into the Mekong at Phnom Penh and in the rainy season it flows back to form a lake. The huge lake, whose normal area is 2700 sq.km in summer, increasing to a phenomenal 16000 sq.km in the rainy season, is home to  a large variety of fish and the only source of  sustenance for thousands of people living on the banks, engaged in fishing and related activities. It is, in fact, a huge floating village. But what we encountered at the lake was something we were not prepared for and way different from the common touristic experiences.

                   We boarded a motor boat from the jetty and embarked on our cruise. It was a huge lake, almost like a sea, whose banks were blurred. There was vegetation in and around the water but no trace of human habitation in the beginning. After a few minutes we found our boat being trailed by a smaller boat which was furiously trying to overtake ours .In no time it simply logged into our boat and two very young teenagers jumped in, goading us to buy soft drink bottles they were selling. On our refusal, they asked for money. We felt uneasy as we had not expected this. After a few minutes they left our boat with the same agility as they had jumped in and rowed away fast. It was a jarring note. Not that I had harboured any illusion about Cambodia, a third-world country, very akin to my own in so many respects.

                          As our boat travelled farther towards the middle of the lake, we could see some specs on the water. Gradually they turned out to be a sprawling settlement ....human habitation on the water. Moving farther we noticed small shanties, most of them makeshift, barely serving as a shelter. There were shops, markets, eateries, a church and even a school! Hundreds of people were busy with their daily chores .Hundreds of boats of all sizes and shapes were floating on the water. It was a floating village! But everywhere it was a picture of abject poverty and squalor. Suddenly we saw two little children floating in a large metal tub drawing up near. We were shocked to find a live snake wound around one child's neck. They were displaying it to the foreign tourists and begging for money .Instantaneously my trip became soured. On asking our guide we came to know that these   people   were  mostly Vietnamese refugees forced to take shelter on the lake and live a life of sheer  wretchedness  in  poverty. We noticed dirt and filth all around, half-clad children and men and women in tattered clothes. This spectacle perhaps generated the curiosity of the western tourists for the 'other', the exotic in a poor, third-world country but we, from a similar socio-economic background, couldn't find anything such. It felt so sad that these people had been forced to sell their poverty at the expense of their children. At the end of the day we returned with a heavy heart and regretted our visit to the lake. The grandeur of Angkor Wat or Bantey Srey or the natural beauty of Phnom Kulen was a gross mismatch for the sordid reality of Tonle Sap Lake.

To live and let live

My one-day sojourn at upper Samsing in Dooars two years ago is fraught with memories very pleasant and unusual.We had put up at a 'homestay'-TEMPULA INN-in the residence of Mr.Kamal Giri--a politically influential and affluent person, running a business in drift wood. His home is aesthetically pleasing with pieces of antique furniture and numerous soft toys made by his wife.Apart from their residential quarters there are two well- appointed rooms on the ground floor of their two-storied house and two separate cottages on the adjoining ground.It was a delight having lip-smacking meals at their own dining room, served by the mistress of the house.A great cook herself,Mrs.Giri personally cooked,served and supervised the breakfast,lunch and dinner of the guests....a gesture that exuded warm hospitality. The pleasant afternoon was spent walking in the sprawling compound which ended as if on a precipice which went down to the Murti river.The garden with a huge variety of trees and shrubs could be a botanist's delight.We loved the evening at the balcony of Mr.Giri talking to us over cups of steaming hot tea and crispy pakoras straight from Mrs.Giri's kitchen.Talking to him was enlightening as we could have a peek into the lives of the common people of that region--so very close to my heart.

 Coming to his immediate family we found it to be quite a big one.Along with three sons( two of them adopted) there was an old mother and an even older aunt who suffered from severe dementia, four dogs, numerous cats,scores of  cocks,hens and chicks and  pigeons and a tank full of fish(not to be consumed,for sure)! But more than all this something quite unusual suddenly attracted my eyes.It was a bird's nest jutting out of a corner of the ceiling above the entrance to the  impeccably maintained,spic and span living room.On being asked what it was,the lady,with a disarming smile,said that it was a swallow's nest which existed there long before the ground floor was renovated and thrown open to the tourists.They had taken extra care to keep the nest as it was,without destroying it and plastering that particular corner.What was even more surprising was the fact that they had kept four glass panes open without glass so that the birds wouldn't face any hindrance flying in and out of the nest and the house.The swallows fly off to some unknown destination for five months every year but come back again,without fail.We were witness to the flurry of activities of the swallows--flying out and flying in with twigs and leaves and food for the young ones.I was touched by this apparently 'small' and inconsequential gesture and was left wondering how deeply they have ingrained this bonding with nature.When the world is rent by violence, cruelty and exclusion of every kind,this family stands apart with its philosophy of inclusiveness. 'Live and let live' is the motto they have imbibed and profess through their lifestyle.We city-bred wretched souls who suffocate and run after lifestyle mantras and inner peace may take some lessons in simplicity in life and harmony with nature from this remarkable family.

The Ambarams of Jaisalmer

The camel's name is Michael Jackson.The sole source of sustenance for Ambaram-- the 22year old thin, undernourished boy from Khuri--a desert village in Rajasthan.This village shot into limelight a few years ago as a tourist destination because of its proximity to the desert in Jaisalmer. 'Rezots' have mushroomed in the area offering tourists a full package of the desert.That includes a camel ride to the desert 2-3 kms away to view the sunset, traditional Rajasthani folk song and dance performance, authentic Rajasthani food and an option of a night's stay in the resorts.Hordes of tourists throng the specified area of the desert late in the afternoon and the mood seems to be one of carnival.Ambaram also makes a few bucks in the tourist season.But this period is woefully short to sustain a family for a whole year.Yes,Ambaram had married at 19 and has a seven-month old daughter.There is no cultivation ,no crop as there is no water in that terribly arid region.The desolate landscape is drab and dreary.....white sands on every side with occasional thorny bushes.The situation is so bad that even the camels almost starve as there are no fresh green thorny bushes.There had been no rain for the last three years in a row!! When I was trying to gauge the kind of hardship they have to endure, came the pitiful plea for a job in 'Kolkatta'....any job...anywhere....I shuddered to imagine how this and the other families like his could survive in that inhospitable condition with no guarantee for any earning whatsoever.Then he has to feed his camel also and take him to a veterinarian whenever required.The imploring look in his eyes seemed to hammer in me the real Rajasthan beneath all the glitz,glitter and pomp.It was not the exoticized land of rajas and maharajas,forts and palaces,elephants and Mercs only as it is projected and served on a platter to tourists all over the world.This was the Rajasthan where the likes of Ambaram turn old before age... as starvation and malnutrition take their toll on youth.This was the Rajasthan where the poor, resourceless people literally fight against the scorching heat of the blistering desert sand and the fierce, biting cold.This was the Rajasthan where women,faces veiled,walk miles in the desert in the excruciating heat of summer to fetch a pitcher of water.This was the Rajasthan where female foeticide is rampant and regressive customs,traditions and superstitions are ingrained in the collective psyche.

When getting down from the camel-cart I handed him a few bucks more than what I was asked to pay.I noticed his almost bare feet and the thin,tattered apology for a jacket which he was wearing in a vain attempt to ward off the numbing evening cold of the desert.For a few moments I felt guilty of my protective warm clothes .I realized that not everyone in Rajasthan was a Raja. .

The morning melody

After each and every hectic trip one needs to sit down, recapitulate and let the memories and associations  crystallize and  fall into their  proper  grooves. If I were asked to choose one reason  for a second visit to  Rajasthan, it would  be to meet  Bhanwar  Ram at Jodhpur. From the day I had chanced  upon the man, my  Rajasthan  trip  had  turned  completely  different. Though  I was visually awestruck  by the  glitter, pomp  and  opulence  of  the  forts,  palaces  and  havelis (and yes,it was a surfeit of these), it was a singular  auditory experience  that  has and will remain with  me  for the rest of  my  life. As we all know, Rajasthan  along with  all other  things,  is a  land  of  music  and  dance. It  is  the spectacular  dance movements of the  local  folk in their colourful  attire and  their  beautiful   melodies which  have attracted  tourists from across  the world. But  what  I encountered  that  morning  in  Jodhpur was something  I was  not  prepared  for.

        A  bright  sunny  morning  had dawned  over  Jodhpur. We  were  on  our  way  to  Mehrangarh  Fort. On  the  way  there  was  a  stopover  at  Jaswant  Thada, one  of  the  tourist  destinations. Initially I didn’t  feel  much  drawn  towards  this  place  when  we  were  told  that  it  was  the cremation  ground  of  the  Rajas  and  that  a  huge  cenotaph  had  been  constructed  there  in  memory  of  the  dead  kings. Still  we  decided  to give  it  a  try. It was early in the morning and  we were the  first  visitors of  the day and were warmly  greeted  at  the  gate.  It  was  a  huge,  sprawling  structure  marked  by  the  characteristic opulence  of  Rajasthani  architecture and  it  was impeccably clean  and well-maintained.

              There was absolute silence  when I was startled by a strain of an exquisitely sweet melody wafting all around. Following the sound I came out to the ground .There sat a man in a white dhoti and the typical Rajasthani `safa` or pugree,with his back towards us,playing the traditional  Rajasthani string instrument Ravanhatta.I tiptoed farther and stood silently behind him.A simple,most unassuming man,he continued to play his music.I had rarely come across anyone so engrossed in his own music! I stood,as if enchanted.It was ethereal!The complete stillness of the surrounding, the cold breeze and this lilting melody  blended together and created magic. Having finished his number he looked at us with a faraway look in his eyes.We struck up a conversation and were surprised to find such humility in someone so very talented! As we were in a little bit of hurry we had to cut our stay short  though I could spend the whole day listening to such mesmerising music.

As I took his leave I felt such a sense of waste....this man has to eke out a living by entertaining stray tourists in this fiercely competitive market

.As our car sped through the outskirts of Jodhpur towards Jaisalmer I could  hear the music resonate in my ears....remembered the words of the poet...."The music in my heart I bore,/Long after it was heard no more."