Woh Raaste (time reprised)

“…Somewhere in 40’s PokarRam ji’s eyes displayed fissures of struggle and heat…”

“…I realized that my 10 rupees cannot battle a man’s self-esteem that he has earned by travelling 1500kms, for last 10 years…”

“…I decided to watch a Romantic heart-break movie that would depress me even further. This helps me to get a sound sleep...”

While we were studying about how efficiently the Self Help Groups were working in the area, all set by our NGO, a desire to meet these independent women aroused in us. Thus we were granted the permission to meet the SHG women, people benefited by the Micro Insurance scheme, and the Potters. These groups and people were provided assistance by our NGO. To brief you about the above mentioned terms, SHGs or the Self Help Groups are as the name suggests, a group consisting only of women. Comprising of around 10 members these women save money, which could be used to grant loan to any other member in future when in need. This protects the women from high interest charging moneylenders. They are also protected from the burden of keeping collaterals. This entire scheme of Self Help Groups helps in empowering the women and making them self-dependent.

The micro insurance scheme is an insurance scheme formulated by the life insurance corporation (LIC of India), for providing life insurance to rural villagers. Under the scheme a person has to pay a monthly installment of Rs. 200/-. They are then provided with a claim of Rs. 50,000/- for a natural death and Rs. 1,00,000/- for an accidental death.

As part of our third assignment we went to the nearby market to buy mugs and spoons. Yes we were provided with tiffins but not with spoons. The tiffin was actually a disguised surprise. You see we were scared to open them, and dared never to open them without chanting mantras…in mind off course.  Rajasthani denizens love to feast on Kair Sangari and Baajare ki Roti. However we were frightened, what if they experimented this feat on us, specifically on our tiffins?

Our first field visit was scheduled deeper inside the rural ambits of Mokalsar. The soil in this part is the customary dry porous yellow sand unable to hold much water. Thus farming is very tough and challenging in this area. Traversing some 15kms on deformed roads, loose sands and barren farms on our Hero Splendor we reached a cluster of small hut houses made of mud clay and dung. We were acknowledged by a group of women working in the porch area of the house. Their dialectal was complex Rajasthani which destroyed my deciphering logic. However Suresh bhai helped us in communicating. He helped in translating and normalizing their comments on us! Let me introduce him, as son of our NGO’s CEO Mr. DungarRam ji. He’s a charming boy eager to learn and make a bright future. He recently received a call from Bangalore to work with a sister NGO there, while he continues to assists AGYVS here in Mokalsar. Not more than 22 years in age this enthusiastic young charismatic guy guides our way into the huts. These huts are surrounded by a periphery of thorny bushes meant for abstaining any wildling to enter the house premise. As we enter the house we observed two women sitting and tangling a mixture of dung and mud into a fine assortment which was used by a bunch of women standing in the porch to plaster the floor area, by their feets. This was a SHG, we were introduced to. The main lady inquired and went for water, while Mr. PokarRam ji brought a cot. While we sat on the cot, he comforted himself on his legs. There was sand, hot sun some women, Mr. PokarRam and a few half-clothed kids sitting with goats, with flies floating their faces beside our cot.

With my conversation with PokarRam ji, I realized their inability to do farming and thus settle with animal rearing, specifically goats and sheeps. Somewhere in 40’s PokarRam ji’s eyes displayed fissures of struggle and heat. He earned barely Rs. 1000/- by selling one of his goats. In a year he manages to earn around Rs. 9000/-. He travels day and night with his brothers for some 1500kms on foot straight from southern Rajasthan to North Punjab with his goats for their grazing and feeding because of scarcity in Rajasthan. He has been travelling like this for past 10 years, when he returns home after 6 months each time. Living is hard, he says. He is oppressed from two sides, on one he fears the corrupt governmental officers and on other hand he fears the local Rajput stronghold, who even denies them to draw water from their wells. I realized that such a critical situation is dwelling here because of a very flawed assumption buried deep within every mind; “Everyone in government is corrupt”. This assumption prevents the locals to visit govt. official for help, and invite Local strongholds like Rajputs to do as they wish. This worsens the situation. “Rajput saara chaara le gaye”, PokarRam ji says.

While I drank water and thought to give 10-10 rupees to all kids present, I realized that my 10 rupees cannot battle a man’s self-esteem that he has earned by travelling 1500kms, for last 10 years. My gesture of care might hurt his self. Thus we retreated with minds full of thoughts. I learned that it would be far more beneficial to provide even tiniest but practical real life assistance to these people than to inquire them about their pot of grievances and pay condolence.

Solemn, as I said…

On our way back to our NGO cum home, William said “eye opener bhai…!”, while I saw “Nakoda MidWay!”, our food refuge. The guy serves excellent Aloo Chole, Aloo Gobi and worse Raita. That night we were in deep thoughts… So I decided to watch a Romantic heart-break movie that would depress me even further. This helps me to get a sound sleep. So I watched The Notebook. Sad, it had a happy ending.

My mornings would usually start with action-packed stunts and super flexible gymnastics in Latrine, a caution bath with an eye patrolling above for I might not break my head open with the tap fitted above, a dry fruits breakfast accompanied with reading “What Young India Wants by Chetan Bhagat” (his first book, I tag credible for reading), sitting outside at the gate of NGO, while passerby’s would stare me. I had been immune to starring by now.

While William worked on the Website designing in the noon time, I would work on the matter and content part. We both would take an hour of break for Friends and Game of Thrones respectively. We had our flexibility as I mentioned earlier.

And exploiting the very flexibility, we would step our feets on the local hills in the evenings. We were at our leisure, Photography, Trekking and watching movies, as if we were washing the 3rd semester off our skins. A spring was blooming in the desert. O.K. off with my sentiments! We captured the first level of heights on our first visit on hills.

These were rounded rocks- dry, slippery and yet inviting. We would ensure to take out time in evening every day, and defeat these local heights. However I remember myself committing a deep mistake one day when I was standing on one of the hill top. The following ill words erupted from my lips: “Huh! I am quite a trekker! Indeed by birth it is!”…

Catch the following in the final part:

“…my eyes were wide, body numb and the entire atmosphere silent as void. I could feel the cool breeze gliding through my hair. Mokal mamaji was no more, he was dead…”

“…The virgin court ballerina (300 years old) still roamed in the nearby village and we could have had a chat, William looked excited…”

“…the baba cried to dig a 10 meter pit in the graveyard, in which he jumped and then yelled to pour and fill it with mud to the top…”