Notes from a Village

10/2
( abridged from my journal)

I have come here to observe student training in math and science, led by Kaushikbhai. I came also to get away from the ARCh campus a bit, to have some distance from a troublesome situation I’d been facing, and to just have some room to be present.
Being here, just for this short time, has made me realize how much I love the village lifestyle. The green quiet that surrounds me, the stillness in not speaking – the relief that often rises in only listening. The center here is a large concrete structure (the only one in the village) which is divided into three parts – a dispensary, a training hall for students, and Vinayekbhai’s home – where I’ll be sleeping. It is in the middle of this hilly village center, with nothing around it but trees and little homes where people live.

some homes in the village, built right into the hill 

Vinayekbhai runs the entire center here – he is all at once a teacher, a health worker, and a mentor to the children. He teaches students in the morning and afternoon and sees patients during the day. Just watching him has been incredibly inspiring – he has so much love for the children here, who climb on him as if he were an old tree. He hugs them and swings them around, laughs with them and feeds them all his own food after he’s finished eating. At the end of each meal, he lines up several small bowls, filling each one with a heaping amount of dalbhat (rice and lentils). One by one the children come and take a bowl, running eagerly back to the porch where they all sit and shovel it expertly into their mouths.

The children are all from this village, which is a tribal village, and most of them live in a hostel nearby and attend a residential government school. The school is crowded and the classrooms also serve as the sleeping quarters, where the children’s belongings and clothes are kept in small steel boxes arranged around the perimeter of the room. Their families are far away and they live with only a few residential supervisors. Vinayekbhai, I think, is like a gentle grandfather for them and they upon seeing him walking through the village on an evening walk, they run to him and hug his arms, his legs, grabbing onto any bit of him they can.

Vinayekbhai and some of his students, watching the sunset

From an objective point of view, one might say these children and these families are quite poor. Having visited the few villages that I have, however, and living among them has made me understand what I see as a way of life, not “poverty.” The people here may be impoverished, lacking in financial resources – unable to afford all the things they may need, but certainly this does not define their lives, nor is it something I seem to even notice when I am getting to know the patterns of their lives. Instead, I see celebrations, I see women gathering, I see tea and rotlis and babies playing, children riding bikes, cows and chickens roaming freely, grazing in the night air.

This is what I see, but maybe I am being naive. Anyway, the children come here, many of them have torn clothes and tangled hair (like me!) there are less than half the number of girls than boys. I ask everytime I see this why it’s happening and it’s for one of two reasons…1. Female feticide 2. Girls are not being sent to school. Either option, is not good.

In any case, Vinayekbhai is a wonderful grandfather like figure and I am just amazed that he has chosen, and seems to deeply love, this lifestyle. He seems to live very modestly, without a vehicle, without running water. He is far from easy access to even the most basic markets, towns, other people, etc. His entire purpose is to be here for patients who flow in and out all day, many of them women, carrying babies on their hips, and for the children, whom he allows to run freely through his house, shuffling through his things, babbling loudly to one another. He watches from a chair in the corner and laughs contentedly.

I wonder, what would it be like, to give up most everything for the sake of helping others? For the sake of helping a group of children who will most certainly grow up differently and lead lives that are entirely changed by the effect of one man. To have one passion (teaching) that is so strong, that it carries you through your every day? It seems so incredibly satisfying, yet at the same time is the very least indulgent one could possibly be…

(the next day)

First, I really must record that this is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Last night, we walked through the village to the edge of a mountain to watch the sunset. The village, the mountains, the children, the people – their homes and livestock – absolutely radiate with contentedness, with harmony and with light. It is difficult to use words to capture such beauty – as it really is something that can only be felt when you are surrounded by these things, and much of their magic is in their co-existence.

After our walk, we came home and cooked dinner, then ate on the rooftop under the starry sky. It was also incredibly beautiful – vast and rounded…When you feel that much of the sky, the earth and beyond, you can feel that you are apart of the roundedness of this planet, existing on its curves. And there is a sensation of falling almost, right into place, as if gravity may not exist for a moment. Then suddenly, it drifts back into your body, settling in your soul and the moving to the bottoms of your feet – grounding you right back to where you are.

We listened to the radio together and after some time went to sleep. I slept poorly, but was excited for the morning. Living in these remote areas has made me love to rise early, to feel the growing strength of sun before it becomes too strong – lulling me into a daze by the afternoon. The air is crisp in the morning and even the mountains seem to breathe in the fresh air with you, standing tall in the light after a dark night’s rest.

The morning continued on, slow, but broken up into intervals marked by cups of chai. I bathed with minimal water from the pump near the house, carried in by Vinayekbhai before the sun awoke. It felt good to feel aware of how much I was using. It helped me to feel connected to that water, knowing where it was from, where it was going, how much could be saved and used for some other purpose.

When the children returned to begin class this morning at 11 (though they began to arrive by nine, as they were so excited to be here), they were familiar. I began speaking English with them and it turned, inevitably, into a gigglefest. They were all so sweet and smily, so affectionate and engaged, eager for attention but happy to wait patiently to receive it.

I teach an English class in the afternoon and for the rest of the day all the children are saying “Hello, How are you, I am fine!” By the end of the day, I have fallen in love, with the children, with the place, and when they leave, I am sad to say goodbye. We drink instant coffee and go on another walk, this time to the other side of the village. We walk through the area where many of the children live and they all run out of their house shouting, “Katieben, Katieben!”

They grab onto me, rationing to one another each one of my fingers for one of them to hold onto so that once we are set and walking again, I am at the center of a group of about 6 children. As we walk, they ask me how to say certain words in English but the only phrase that seems to stick is “beautiful flower.” As we continue walking, they are all pointing to fields of wild flowers exclaiming something that sounds like “beeeauutiful flover!” If I could teach any English phrase to anyone, anywhere, I would certainly pick this one. How wonderful, for children to run about, dancing through their villages, chasing one another, singing and smiling about the flowers.

That night, Vinayekbhai invited all the children to sleep on the roof of the center, under the stars and I joined them. They sang songs all night until one by one they each dropped off to sleep and eventually, I too fell asleep, under that giant sky, in this beautiful village, holding hands with Kalpana, sleeping n