rural India

What’s in it for me?

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When we moved from the frantic chaos of London to the quiet serenity of Sakleshpura, we didn’t have much to do. We didn’t speak the local language, had no local friends or family and no real work. I offered to start volunteering as a Spoken English teacher at two local primary schools for an hour per week each. They didn’t ask me for a DBS certificate or for any evidence of appropriate qualifications. Not sure I am qualified, but I was sure we would have fun.

Within a few weeks of starting, my students would smile and wave at me if they spotted me in the market. Some of the older ones would offer to carry my bags. Kushil is seven. His uncle told me that he shampooed his head twice on the morning of the class as he knew I would kiss him on the head. He is one of 5 students at one of the tiny schools in a tiny local village.

I bought hairclips for the girls from ‘Accessorize’. Kavya wore them on the very next occasion she knew she’d see me.

Tanushree lives near one of my new-found friend’s houses. She stood by the roadside when she saw my car coming. I stopped the car and lowered the window. “Miss, books.” She said. I sent her a few age-appropriate story books by Indian authors to read, strictly on returnable basis.

Praapti presented me with a lovely little handmade Diwali card which I did not expect. Such joy! She also enclosed two pens in the envelope – one with dots and the other with bunnies, one writes in blue and the other in black.

After the class we walked to our farm nearby and played with cows and dogs, ate laddoos and fed peanuts to the birds.

Some of the locals cannot fathom why I teach the kids for free. What’s in it for me?

(Resource: Health benefits of volunteering: https://www.mayoclinichealthsystem.org/hometown-health/speaking-of-health/3-health-benefits-of-volunteering)

Stories are us.

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Why are they here? These random strange-looking foreigners? One is white and the other we’re told is from the north of India. Wonder which is worse. At least one of them is easy to steel from. Surely the other is obnoxious. But she teaches English at the Primary school for free. Wonder what’s in it for her. Oh yes. She’s using our kids to learn Kannada for free. That must be it.

The minds of the villagers are desperately trying to make sense of what we’re doing here, in this remote village. The nearest airport is 5 hours’ drive away and the closest decent hospital, at least an hour from our village. We don’t speak the local language and hardly anyone speaks Hindi or English.

The first story of us was that I am a film director and Si, an actor. We’re scouting a suitable location to shoot a period drama. But then no camera or crew showed up. So, that was discarded.

The next tale was that we are here to set up a petrol station. That’s how people with connections in high places syphon off their black money. That fits, they believed, knowing nothing about us. But then no signs of construction appeared for months.

The next guess was that we want to open a bar and restaurant. As we are close to the highway, it’s a great place to open-up something for the travellers to rest and refresh. That didn’t seem to be happening either.

What can it be? Oh. They both have seriously grey hair. All their friends must be old. They must deeply empathise with old people. They must be planning an old people’s home. Well, no signs of that yet.

What are they about after all? The dogs and kids seem to love them. They seem like nice enough people. Maybe they’re planning to start an orphanage?  Don’t know. We’ll have to wait and watch.

Well, all they seem to be doing is planting more trees and making more compost and playing music to their plants, setting up irrigation systems and so on. Maybe they’re doing all the groundwork to ultimately grow cannabis.

Oh! How we need stories!

Everything living on Earth is food for the Moon.

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So much of everyday life, including the innumerable religious festivals in India are dominated and determined by the lunar calendar. While the gross impact of the moon on water, especially the tidal waves is well known, the more subtle effects on humans and plants, less so. Biodynamic methods of farming acknowledge the cycles of the moon as fundamental to a good harvest as they incorporate cosmic energy to minimise disease and aid growth.  

At a recent Biodynamic meeting, I was fascinated to see a Planting Calendar based on the 6 cycles of the moon. I thought there was only one – Full to New and back.

Every 27.3 days, the Moon and Saturn are on opposite sides of the Earth. This is a great time for planting as their forces synergise to produce strong plants of high quality. Organic wine growers have been using this technique for a long time.

Like inhalation and exhalation, the Moon ascends and descends. The ascending phase is great for harvesting as the natural flow of energy is upward and the descending phase is a good time for transplanting saplings as the downward energy helps them take root.

Apogee is when the Moon is furthest from the Earth, a great time to sow potatoes. Perigee is the point in the orbit of the moon when it is nearest to the Earth. This means there is more moisture in the soil, making the plants more prone to fungus and insect attacks.

Nodes occur when the Sun-Earth-Moon are in line. It happens twice every month. It’s a bad time for any horticultural activity as the Sun’s beneficial influence is negated on these days.

As the Moon passes through various Zodiac constellations, it exerts different influences on different types of plants. At this point, my cognitive abilities were saturated, and I had to leave the rest for later.

I shall have mercy on you and stop here.

Splendiferousness from last night. I am sure Saagar would say something like,”Big-ass Moon. Innit?”

PDA

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(Awakening Needs Cards Created by Linda Nolan and Karen Plumbe)

It was natural, spontaneous and normal in London. Now, we must look around to ensure no one’s watching us.

Holding hands in public? At our age? Oh my God! At any age. Strange.

A hug. Inappropriately bold.

A peck on the cheek? Unthinkable.

A quick kiss on the lips to say hello or bye. Absolutely scandalous.

“Your husband even holds the umbrella for you in the market”, an acquaintance remarked.

I had not given it a thought. “Yes. He’s very good”, I said. I was tempted to defend his actions by making statements like, it’s easier for him as he’s taller than me or it helps me use both hands to select the fruit and veg but I stopped myself. He needs no defending. I was learning about what is normal here.

Affection isn’t a thing here. Public Display of Affection (PDA) is prohibited.

Food. Yes. Gifts. Yes. Laughter. Yes. Folded hands as greeting. Yes.

Hugs. No.

A young man of seventeen studies Biology with me for an hour, twice a week. He wants to be a doctor. He showed me an MCQ that he did not understand. It was about Barrier contraception. I asked him if he had covered the chapter on Sexual Health in School. He said the teacher had completely omitted it. She had asked the students to read and learn that chapter on their own.

The next day I found myself retrieving a little square white and blue packet from the small cupboard outside the door of the local Health Centre. It was labelled Nirodh (the Government sponsored condom). I had not signed up for this, but I turned out to be the one to explain Sexual health to him.

In a society where men and women pretend, they never touch each other and it is somehow wrong to do that, how can the adolescents learn affection, let alone intimacy?

“Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.”

– CS Lewis.

What is your Superpower?

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When I lived a cramped, hectic life in London, I often romanticed the texture of life in a scenic little seaside cottage with no neighbours in Cornwall or a tiny remote island a few miles off the coast of the Pacific Northwest or a lonely dwelling on the side of a vast mountain in the Himalayas. Deep down lay an incipient desire to experience it.

A few years on, I make the choice to live in a one bed-room house in remote South India. Malnad, the region of rain, notorious for a long heavy monsoon. The nearest airport, five hours by road on a good day and the closest half-decent hospital an hour’s drive away. After a few months the newness of this rural setting starts to diminish. Mornings begin with chirps and trills emerging out of a serene silence. I draw the curtains to find the morning fog gently floating across layers of overlapping lush green slopes, reaching right up to the horizon. I am filled with gratitude. I say to myself, ‘Don’t ever take this for granted.’

If I start listing all the things that are not here, an exhaustive inventory might appear – a library, a café, a restaurant, a museum, an art gallery, a community centre, a swimming pool, a book shop and so on. But I do have a superpower. On whatever I put my attention, that seems to grow, fill my awareness. Music, chanting, yoga, reading, writing, meditation, nature – all the things that I used to struggle to make time for, are now in abundance.

I can choose where I want to place my attention because this is my one precious life, my one chance to live and learn and enjoy. I am exactly where I want to be and need to be. This is the perfect opportunity to match my inner silence with the one I sit within. To observe and let go. Examine and let go. Feel and let it go. Think and let it go. Breathe in and let go.

Contentment does not need objects to justify itself. In every moment, it is present as a choice. At the tiniest hint of my attention, it shows up, smiling. The more I sit with it, the more it makes itself available. When I touch, its texture is silky.

Caves are well-known conduits to enlightenment. May be this is mine. I wonder if contentment is another name for happiness.