About Myself, Love Anand
[06-09-2006]
From far it looked like nothing more than an empty field. As we neared it, small houses made of bamboo mats and poles could be seen. Some houses were adjacent to each other, while others were apart. I walked on and soon I found myself stading in the middle of a process of the making of a new part of the city.
Two rickshawalas stood on either side of the lane. There were carts, one after the other; people were selling things. There were five to six shops. This part has taken the form of the first market in Ghevra.
From far it looked like nothing more than an empty field. As we neared it, small houses made of bamboo mats and poles could be seen. Some houses were adjacent to each other, while others were apart. I walked on and soon I found myself stading in the middle of a process of the making of a new part of the city.
Two rickshawalas stood on either side of the lane. There were carts, one after the other; people were selling things. There were five to six shops. This part has taken the form of the first market in Ghevra.
To my far left, underneath a tree, a stall had been set up like a shop selling general provisions. Next to it was a bench for sitting. I immediately headed towards it. On reaching I saw tea was being made next to the bench. I ordered tea.
“Have you come in search of your house?” The young man managing the tea shop asked me. His name was Deepak.
I replied, “I know some people here. I've come to meet them and also to see this place.”
“Now the space has become capable of being seen. People have made it so. We were given a flat, empty field. People have made their space on it. The earth had to be dug for hours, leveled. Only then has it been possible to make something on it.”
Near me, some kids were at work with their parents. The father was digging up the uneven earth with a hoe and threw the loosened mud to one side. The mother and the kids gathered the mud and loaded it onto a cart. Once loaded, the kids pulled the cart, chanting loudly, “Zorr laga ke haiyya, hut ja ghar banane de jaldi mere bhaiya.” (We're pulling with all our strength; let us make the house quickly, don't become an obstacle.)
Hard work and effort was visible all around. There were busy khatar-patar sounds and sounds of digging. Everyone seemed busy in something or the other. Looking around you saw all the houses were being made of the same material – mat and bamboo poles. When I asked the tea maker about this he handed me my cup of tea and said, “Bhaiya, there is an instruction from the government that no one is to make houses of concrete for three months. The slips we have got against the allotment of our plots will be verified after three months. Plots, lanes, roads will be measured properly in the meanwhile. No one will be exempt. If someone makes a pucca house, and on measuring it is found the built space is more than the allotted space, the house will be pulled down. That's why people are living in kuccha houses. That's why you see doors opening in all kinds of directions.”
I took a sip of tea and said, “The tea is really good.”
He smiled. “I have had the magic of making tea in my hands since my childhood. Whoever has a cup of tea made by me doesn't tire praising me. Whatever whoever was selling where they were living before, they are selling the same things here. Afterall everyone knows a new place is being settled, everyone is used to some things and will need them here. People may buy less, but buy they will. Haven't you heard, 'No one can pray on an empty stomach'?”
There were bamboo poles in every direction. Where there weren't any, there was preparation on to erect them. I asked, “When you run out of supplies, where do you get more from?” He said, “I take off the Shahdra. That's where I bring things from usually. But there is a salesman here as well, who comes on a bicycle with all kinds of things to eat and leaves some here. I get fresh milk from the village nearby. I sit there and make sure the buffalo is milked in front of me, even though this makes it a little more expensive than otherwise. I can do anything to make good tea.”
I said, “Ok bhiya, I will never forget the taste of the tea you make.” And I started from there.
A woman was busy plastering the floor of what was shaped like a house, with a paste of mud to make it amenable to sitting. There was a table, a bench and two chairs in the middle. Some medicines were kept on the table. There was a stove outside the place; wood had burnt and become black in it. Near it, a man was splitting bamboo poles and peeling them one by one with a sickle to remove splinters from it.
There were mobile toilets everywhere, which probably help shade one from shame in the day time and from poisonous insects at night.
When I reached the tea stall again, I saw someone was sitting there. The goods loaded on his bicycle told me he was the salesman. Deepak and he were in deep conversation about the goods. The salesman was insisting Deepak take some things which, it seemed. Deepak didn't want. He said, “Deepak bhai, make me a cup of tea and keep these. Pay me if these sell, otherwise I will take them back.” Saying this, he put them down in the shop.
No one hesitates in forming a relationship here. Everyone is asking after each other and talkin about someone else. Everyone introduces themselves through what they do, so that they may be known by their name or their skill or work in the future in the colony.
Wearing a loin-cloth and a vest, a man came to the tea shop, ordered four cups of tea and sat down very close to me. He was rinsed with mud and splinters from the bamboo mats were stuck to his clothes. Looking at him I could tell he has been working. When I asked him if he had come from the same place as Deepak bhai, he laughed, raised his eyebrows, rubbed his hands and said in a loud and crisp voice, “What special should I say about myself?”
I became quiet. I thought I may have asked a wrong question. I said, “You are right, what will somone do by knowing about someone else?”
He slapped me on my shoulder and said, “What should I say about myself which is special? There is nothing special to be told. I had a house of my own in Nangloi. Because of fights with my brother's wife, I left it and made myself a small hut in another settlement.”
“Left it? Arre, you should have stayed on in some room there.”
He said, “I can't stand bickering. What special about myself should I say to you. When there would be any fight in the neighbourhood, I would reach there and people would quieten down with one gesture from me. I couldn't live like a coward in my own house. Bhai, I used to cook on my own and eat on my own. I made a hut and lived in it alone. Fate has been such that, see, I have a plot to live on here once again. Now I am happy with what I have got. I will make it, decorate it, and live in peace in it.”
I asked, “What do you do?” He said, “What should I tell you about myself which is special! I do whitewash. Anything that needs labour to be done, I just have to see it once and I can do it.” Deepak bhai sahab brought his tea and said, “Here, your four teas.” I stood up and said, “It was nice talking to you.” He immediately placed the kettle on the ground, came near me and said, “What should I tell you about myself that is special, I have not told you anything special till now. I am making houses of mats and bamboo poles for people right now. I will tell you something special once things get made here.” I said, “Of course” and set out from there.
One question kept working in my heart – is the place getting settled, or is the place being made to get settled? Is the place getting made, or is it being made? Coming here is seeming to me no place gets made or settled on its own. Those people, they just measured out and alloted plots of land according to some map. But to decorate a place, take care of it, to carve out spaces of belonging in it, to create an environment in the place, to make new relationships in it, to search something special in it – all this emerges with a beauty when you go and stand close to someone.
I looked up and saw a tempo was approaching, loaded with things and with people hanging out from it. People were still in the process of reaching Ghevra. Behind the tempo were painted these lines, “Buri nazar wale tera munh kala”. (May bad things befall you if your gaze be evil.)
“Have you come in search of your house?” The young man managing the tea shop asked me. His name was Deepak.
I replied, “I know some people here. I've come to meet them and also to see this place.”
“Now the space has become capable of being seen. People have made it so. We were given a flat, empty field. People have made their space on it. The earth had to be dug for hours, leveled. Only then has it been possible to make something on it.”
Near me, some kids were at work with their parents. The father was digging up the uneven earth with a hoe and threw the loosened mud to one side. The mother and the kids gathered the mud and loaded it onto a cart. Once loaded, the kids pulled the cart, chanting loudly, “Zorr laga ke haiyya, hut ja ghar banane de jaldi mere bhaiya.” (We're pulling with all our strength; let us make the house quickly, don't become an obstacle.)
Hard work and effort was visible all around. There were busy khatar-patar sounds and sounds of digging. Everyone seemed busy in something or the other. Looking around you saw all the houses were being made of the same material – mat and bamboo poles. When I asked the tea maker about this he handed me my cup of tea and said, “Bhaiya, there is an instruction from the government that no one is to make houses of concrete for three months. The slips we have got against the allotment of our plots will be verified after three months. Plots, lanes, roads will be measured properly in the meanwhile. No one will be exempt. If someone makes a pucca house, and on measuring it is found the built space is more than the allotted space, the house will be pulled down. That's why people are living in kuccha houses. That's why you see doors opening in all kinds of directions.”
I took a sip of tea and said, “The tea is really good.”
He smiled. “I have had the magic of making tea in my hands since my childhood. Whoever has a cup of tea made by me doesn't tire praising me. Whatever whoever was selling where they were living before, they are selling the same things here. Afterall everyone knows a new place is being settled, everyone is used to some things and will need them here. People may buy less, but buy they will. Haven't you heard, 'No one can pray on an empty stomach'?”
There were bamboo poles in every direction. Where there weren't any, there was preparation on to erect them. I asked, “When you run out of supplies, where do you get more from?” He said, “I take off the Shahdra. That's where I bring things from usually. But there is a salesman here as well, who comes on a bicycle with all kinds of things to eat and leaves some here. I get fresh milk from the village nearby. I sit there and make sure the buffalo is milked in front of me, even though this makes it a little more expensive than otherwise. I can do anything to make good tea.”
I said, “Ok bhiya, I will never forget the taste of the tea you make.” And I started from there.
A woman was busy plastering the floor of what was shaped like a house, with a paste of mud to make it amenable to sitting. There was a table, a bench and two chairs in the middle. Some medicines were kept on the table. There was a stove outside the place; wood had burnt and become black in it. Near it, a man was splitting bamboo poles and peeling them one by one with a sickle to remove splinters from it.
There were mobile toilets everywhere, which probably help shade one from shame in the day time and from poisonous insects at night.
When I reached the tea stall again, I saw someone was sitting there. The goods loaded on his bicycle told me he was the salesman. Deepak and he were in deep conversation about the goods. The salesman was insisting Deepak take some things which, it seemed. Deepak didn't want. He said, “Deepak bhai, make me a cup of tea and keep these. Pay me if these sell, otherwise I will take them back.” Saying this, he put them down in the shop.
No one hesitates in forming a relationship here. Everyone is asking after each other and talkin about someone else. Everyone introduces themselves through what they do, so that they may be known by their name or their skill or work in the future in the colony.
Wearing a loin-cloth and a vest, a man came to the tea shop, ordered four cups of tea and sat down very close to me. He was rinsed with mud and splinters from the bamboo mats were stuck to his clothes. Looking at him I could tell he has been working. When I asked him if he had come from the same place as Deepak bhai, he laughed, raised his eyebrows, rubbed his hands and said in a loud and crisp voice, “What special should I say about myself?”
I became quiet. I thought I may have asked a wrong question. I said, “You are right, what will somone do by knowing about someone else?”
He slapped me on my shoulder and said, “What should I say about myself which is special? There is nothing special to be told. I had a house of my own in Nangloi. Because of fights with my brother's wife, I left it and made myself a small hut in another settlement.”
“Left it? Arre, you should have stayed on in some room there.”
He said, “I can't stand bickering. What special about myself should I say to you. When there would be any fight in the neighbourhood, I would reach there and people would quieten down with one gesture from me. I couldn't live like a coward in my own house. Bhai, I used to cook on my own and eat on my own. I made a hut and lived in it alone. Fate has been such that, see, I have a plot to live on here once again. Now I am happy with what I have got. I will make it, decorate it, and live in peace in it.”
I asked, “What do you do?” He said, “What should I tell you about myself which is special! I do whitewash. Anything that needs labour to be done, I just have to see it once and I can do it.” Deepak bhai sahab brought his tea and said, “Here, your four teas.” I stood up and said, “It was nice talking to you.” He immediately placed the kettle on the ground, came near me and said, “What should I tell you about myself that is special, I have not told you anything special till now. I am making houses of mats and bamboo poles for people right now. I will tell you something special once things get made here.” I said, “Of course” and set out from there.
One question kept working in my heart – is the place getting settled, or is the place being made to get settled? Is the place getting made, or is it being made? Coming here is seeming to me no place gets made or settled on its own. Those people, they just measured out and alloted plots of land according to some map. But to decorate a place, take care of it, to carve out spaces of belonging in it, to create an environment in the place, to make new relationships in it, to search something special in it – all this emerges with a beauty when you go and stand close to someone.
I looked up and saw a tempo was approaching, loaded with things and with people hanging out from it. People were still in the process of reaching Ghevra. Behind the tempo were painted these lines, “Buri nazar wale tera munh kala”. (May bad things befall you if your gaze be evil.)
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