Paddy. Rains. Love.

I walked along the bunds (baandh) of one paddy field after another. My feet sank in the moist earth, often slipping and sliding. I felt it begin to rain lightly. My mind was going over the questions I needed to ask women transplanting rice some distance ahead of me. My notebook was in my backpack and there was no way of trying to take it out without falling into the flooded fields. The mud soaked up to my feet from beneath my sandals (?). The initial mucky feeling gave way to a messy but nice feeling, one which was only reinforced as the rest of my clothes were splattered with mud as well. 

About one dozen women in bright colorful sarees were bent forward, their hands transplanting rice saplings (?) with such dexterity it looked almost mechanical. We talked for a bit. And walked on to the next field. 

Today was a good day.

Bas...

As much as I wanted it to rain, and as much as I absolutely Love the monsoons, after a week of gloomy skies, damp chappals and a bag full of pretty dirty clothes, the lack of sunshine is beginning to get to me. Coming down with the flu while in the field is definitely not a good idea. It's much worse than the usual being away from home scene. I feel terrible :( At this point I don't even want to think of another new village, many more interviews and cups of sweetened tea. I just want to go home. Two more days and I'll be done - for a bit, at least.

From the Field

The exploratory phase of my fieldwork is almost done with. It’s good to be in touch with the reality, as it is, for most people in this country, once again. It’s also been tough. I realized I’m no longer 21, filled with excitement and enthusiasm at the thought of hopping from one village to the next every couple of days. I need a clean bathroom and bed to sleep on. Irrespective of where I am. I just do. I don’t need it to be plush and fancy, but it needs to be clean. I’ve slept on a bed, on the ground, on a stinky mattress, with electricity, without electricity, sometimes surrounded by mosquitoes – dead or alive. I drank bottled water, tap water, chlorinated water – even tried out the fancy UV water purifier they gave me for Africa! I’ve prayed every night that my digestive system is able to handle the spices and oil in the food of this region for just one more day! I’ve walked in the sun, heat, humidity and fallen in love, all over again, with the monsoons. The rains also make me nostalgic – about school, college, friends, travels – so I’ve been nostalgic too, these past few weeks. Buses, trains, cars, autos, motorbikes – roads, gravel paths, mud, slush, flat plains, hills – I’ve travelled/walked through it all. And I found kindness everywhere. In the face of every farmer I spoke to, in every cup of tea I drank, in every house that I spent a night as a guest, in every meal they cooked for me. 

Wardha for me was that tiny part of India where the Gandhian philosophy really does live on, even today. Amaravati was where I saw the most ‘shiv sena bhawans’ (!) and watched a bollywood movie in, quite possible, the worst movie theater ever! Yavatmal was rains and the flu. Akola was brief but nice. Chandrapur awaits me. Landless agricultural workers, marginal farmers, large farmers with irrigation, tribal communities, health schemes, food schemes, costs, prices, expenditures, gender specific decision-making, cash crops, food crops, kitchen gardens, livestock, Bt vs. organic, market vs. state, education system – so many conversations and I know it’s just the tip of the iceberg.