IN the summer of 2002 I had an opportunity that would change my outlook on life somewhat and i took that opportunity. All of 19 with no such plans in my head as to what to expect out of an internship programme, I decided to give this ASHA STANFORD plan a shot. Before I knew it I got selected and then the surprise unfolded. I was attending an orientation session in the fancy NATIONAL FOUNDATION OF INDIA office in Habitat. The moot point of the orientation how this internship is to be taken forward. I really hadn’t planned to take up an internship programme to experience "the grass-root phenomenon" as told by my NFI organisers. For me it was an act of defiance , a teen rebel when parents didn’t allow me to back pack and take off . So I found a cover up, in the form of an internship programme fully sponsored and most of all it assured me of a one of it's kind rural experience. What was that rural experience I didn’t have a clue. Silly though, I am blogging about it at 26. Something the other day reminded me of those blissful days I spent in the Asaniboni Santhal village in Karanjia district for 45 days. It was an internship that I still can’t forget. My first tryst with no electricity, loos or fancy food yet it was so rich at so many layers. So to go back to that air conditioned NFI room, we were being briefed about our internship roles and what all we are supposed to do in our rural programme.
I obviously a wee bit disturbed of being paired with someone from St Stephens for the trip to Orissa and much to my dismay the person had three names coiled into one (very confusing). A guy who obviously didn’t seem fun or resourceful apart from the fact that his dad was an IAS officer of the region where we were supposed to be staying at.
I sat listening to every word that came out of the mouth of the organisers very intently because I was mentally preparing for a safari. Never having experienced the rural /tribal India my mind was conjuring all kind of celluloid images of grandeur and adventure. Untill Mr Stephens opened his big mouth quoting some Edward Said excerpt in a non academic discussion. I knew exactly then what I would be encountering in those two months with this guy who I barely knew. Either we’d be killing each other with our bare hands or we’d be doing something better (which by the way didn’t cross my mind then).
So when we first reached Bhubeneswar and we were put up in the CYSD guest house. Not homesick at all, I was more irked with the number of mosquitoes in my room buzzing and making havoc. I managed to catch a very intermittent sleep before heading out to Karanjia 220 kms away from Bhubeneswar. I knew we’d be staying in some tribal village. At first my first concern was where would I be doing it!??? You know, my daily absolutions. I was very very concerned. Obviously no such arrangements would have been made. And where would I be taking a bath, then came where would I be sleeping etc etc... Oh the list was endless. THe need to roll up a joint finally kicked in (the maal gifted to me by a very dear friend in times of crisis) .. yes I did panick and those heavenly drags where enough to numb me of my sanity vanity fears for a while.
Coming back to Mr Stephens the least helpful bloke throughout my stay at Karanjia, was already in his mode of madness. He was mean. He was arrogant and he showed no interest in the internship apart from pulling practical jokes on me. Till one day I lost it when he bolted me in the eerie guest house at Karanjia till late hours in the evening. Not to mention the other day when he almost lost balance on the bike and I got a sharp cut on my leg thanks to his reckless driving. I abhored the man! He tried and tested my patience till we shared a harmless kiss when we came back to delhi. That later. I was in Karanjia as of now hating this man plotting how best to kill him feed him to the wild boars or rip his head off with my hands and serve it for dinner to the tribals.
Then began those wonderful days at Asaniboni village. My room was one of its kind, a sweet cum shed with chickens, cows, goats tethered to poles. On the other side of the room was this neat bed put for me. I mumbled grumbled at the amount of noise the animals in my room made but I finally had a fantastic sleep only to be woken by a ill mannered hen sitting atop my mosquito net co cooing away !!! Yes it was a natural alarm ... I thought I would only hear that sound in digitally recorded Chinese made alarm clocks. This was the real deal. Morning was at Brindaban Tudu’s house with Jackfruit pancakes as breakfast. Mr Stephens made faces. He hated jackfruit. I saw an opportunity to seek sweet revenge. I nudged him saying he has to eat it because it is terrible to offend their sensibilities and their hospitality. When no one was looking Mr stephens would plead me like a bleating goat to eat his pancake .. but I didn’t budge. Infact I ignored his mercy calls and sat chatting with the women of the house.
Maybe that ignore didn’t go down too well with him, because when I went for a bath in the nearby pond... my clothes were missing. I could feel my entire body shrivelling up in the chill and of course the embarrassment. Till one of the girls of the Tudu family gave me a sari and I felt like punching a few jabs in his face right then. Next was the evening siesta when they cooked a wild chicken for us.. and also everyone danced and played music. The air was intoxicatingly fresh and so was the liquor that the tribals brewed in the morning. I didn’t realize that I would be served the morning liquor in a giant glass in the same evening of it being brewed by a serene old lady. I vehemently said Oh No! I don’t drink.. !!! But Mr Stephens again stepped in using the same line that I had used oh u are offending their sensibilities, please you got to have this. With some 30 people staring at me, I had no choice but to gulp it down and bear the burning sensation down my throat for the next few seconds that refused to settle down. I thought I dealt with it bravely and even had a smirk on my face that said so you thought I couldn’t drink that!! An impressed Mr Stephens promptly shoved another glass to my side saying this is for friendship!!! Oh that just did it.... that glass that I had still brings those ghastly feelings of having consumed spurious liquor. I didn’t remember the rest of the evening. Clearly as the Santhals told me I had passed out!
Many days were spent in that village where I met these wonderful people so welcoming, so warm and so caring. I miss them today when i see their pictures and me in it all of 19 with stupid notions about civility and life. I was given a parting gift a small I love you locket by this girl of the tudu family. We shared some really wonderful moments. From wearing her sari and dancing their traditional dance to eating with them on the same floor, to making them cups of coffee (they had never known the taste of).
I feel truly blessed to have experienced something like that. As for Mr Stephens, we dated for 3 and a half odd years till we parted with an invisible I love you locket. I don’t know if I have it still lying somewhere, surly do if I am talking about it in this blog!
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