INDIA 2010

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-- The Kadugodi tent community, seen from the bridge --

-- On the bridge over the railroad, Kadugodi --

On the bridge -- (Kadugodi, 13 miles) -- 07/17/10

ECC / ELIM route to Kadugodi: 0:39:13
Patalamalevet - Chansandra - Northern Trail - Ajgondanahalli - Timandhalli - Harohalli: 0:42:11
Back through Ajgondanahalli - Imadhalli - PM: 0:35:32
Time: 1:56:56
Mileage: 13 Miles
Wght: 155

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

The bridge over the railway has finally open. This likely spells the doom of the Kadugodi tent community, soon it will be "flat karna", as Sampa describes it. The slumdwellers have nowhere to go, nor do they have a clear idea of when they will be evicted.

As soon as I arrive, I ask both Kupamma and Sampa how many people actually live here, in preparation for our meal tomorrow. I get a pretty vague answer, so taking my little notebook, I walk around with Sampa to survey the community, drawing a small map, counting the tents as we go. I come up with 27, her with 25 (frankly, I trust her number better than my own, as I've already noticed how good she is with numbers. For some reason, I love to hear her count in Tamil...) They estimate that there are about eight people per tent, a number which I suspect is too high, as I know from experience that some of them harbor fewer people. In any case, it feels like our original estimate of 150 people will be too low, so I call Milind and ask him to prepare for 200. I also ask Kuppamma about the preparations she had made for the Pooja, which she details thus: 25 kg rice, daal, 1200 Rs. for the rental of tent, tables and chairs, 200 Rs. wood for cooking, another 300 Rs. for utensils. As we're sitting in the central area, Kalpana comes crying to her mother Sampa. She has hurt her foot, full of blood. Sampa wipes it with a newspaper she has picked on the ground, then applies a yellow-ocre powder to the wound. The little girl quickly calms down.

-- Prashanth, Kalpana, Sampa, healing Kalpana's cut foot --

Anand arrives. In Tamil, he's able to further specify our plans. We decide to go book the tent for tomorrow right away. We walk across the railroad, a bit quieter now that the flyover bridge is open, into Kadugodi to the shop. Anand and I are left behind, in the company of Ruxanna, who insists on buying us coconuts. While not understanding the whole conversation, I understand that the merchant asks her if she's muslim or not, a question that has occurred every time we've gone out with her. Kupamma and Sampa soon come back, saying they'll need to give a 500 Rs advance to the shop now, pay the remaining tomorrow once they pack. I see the annoying beggar woman approaching, accompanied today by another beggar, and warn Anand that we'll be bothered (it's particularly unfortunate that they appear as I'm trying to discreetly give the money to Sampa). Sure enough, she asks us money, and won't let us go for some time, even as we're walking back. The woman asks why I always give these people and never to her, but I respond that this is different, these are my friends, we spend so much time together. "Why can't we be friends?" she asks. They will follow us part of the way back, particularly pestering Anand, but I don't yield, giving them nothing.
Sampa has left us to return, apparently to meet someone who will give her money to reimburse some debt. She reaches the community soon after us though.
Everyone is very good humor. The three women (Sampa, Ruxanna and Ramaka) let their hair down, take great pictures. We clarify Sampa's origins, her family has been in Bangalore for two generations, only her grandparents came from Tamil Nadu (yet they have maintained Tamil as their primary language). She has no desire to return to Tamil Nadu though, insisting again that her children be educated in Karnataka.
I notice Ramaka showing cut marks all along her arm to someone, touching them, ask her about them. I don't get a straight answer. Sampa jokes(?) that Ramaka is a fighter. Anand seems to understand this, and promises to explain later. I propose to take Kupamma's picture, which she refuses as usual, preferring me to photograph her tomorrow when she'll clean up and wear a beautiful saree. Sampa playfully messes up her hair. Kupamma sits with me on a little rock ledge, and we chew paan together, which she has prepared from her pouch.
Velangani (Utti, Sampa's youngest sister) is also in the best mood I've seen her so far. At some point, as she's scrutinizing the fair skin of my arm, I pull up my sleeve to reveal my shoulder. She recoils unable to hold back a shriek, as if blinded at the sight of my white skin, where the sun hasn't altered it. The whole group marvels at this curious sight.

-- Sampa and Ramaka, Ruxanna with child --

Sampa has an idea: Why not go over the bridge to see? This ends up being quite an attraction. Sampa, Ruxanna and Ramaka, each carrying a child. From up there, we see the community from above. Little Pushpalata (bagoundi girl), who has returned from school, sees us from down there, waves at us as we wave back. Take many pictures on the bridge. From up here, we get an odd view of Kadugodi, the little shops, the chaotic activity. Sampa points at a Poojaree, all dressed in orange, walking on the rail tracks. On the other side we contemplate the Sai Baba Ashram, big garden. I carry one little girl (who's all powdered in white for some reason) to see over the ledge. Sampa and Ramaka take photos posing in front of a house, pretending it could be theirs. Ruxanna is in the best mood, laughing in her peculiar high-pitched tone which contrasts with her otherwise grave voice. I joke her serious face for the pictures, which makes her laugh. She explains that she knows hindi so well because she's musulman, adding that she speaks Tamil but surprisingly only little kannada. I ask her about her husband, who again has disappeared, and her sister, who she admits was chased out after a fight with the husband. She has left somewhere distant.
The bridge, this old ennemy, whose progress I've looked at with fear, wishing it would never complete, as it pronounces the death of the community. But today, the bridge is like a friend, one which we can tame after all, providing an unsuspected attraction.
Anand leaves us on top of the bridge to return home.

-- Ruxanna --


-- Ramaka --


-- Sampa, in front of "her house" --

As we come back in the community, we meet Lata (always very happy to see me) who has returned from school. But this spurs a heated discussion. Kupamma shows me that the children have been given bagpacks, books (some of which are in English) and uniforms by the school, but Ruxanna complains that her children got nothing because they're muslims. After some time discussing this (Ruxanna is very upset), Kupamma takes me apart: Jhut bol rahi hai... (she's lying...)
As I leave, Sampa follows me. I tell her I'll run through Patamalevet, and ask her about Manni, Sathya and family. Sampa tells me that they did nothing with the tarps, sold them instead. Always wanting to dominate the situation, she asks what I've discussed with Ruxanna and Kupamma. I do tell her that I had promised to buy their "ration", and intend to do so next week. Sampa on one hand says that this situation only creates conflict, that her husband himself has fought with her about no longer buying rations like this, yet she complains that she's hungry, won't be able to eat until evening. I can't do anything for her today though, and repeat that we're about to organize a meal for the whole community tomorrow, where I hope everyone should be able to eat well. Sampa is a little strange, laughing for no reason, perhaps resigned (unless she's high). I leave her and resume running.

-- The tent under the tree --

I quickly find that she has been lying: A tent has indeed been built under the tree in Patalamalevet, providing some shelter to Manni and Sathya's family. THe place looks deserted now, but as I approach, I find Sampa (Sathya's mother) in the tent with sleeping Ganesha. She's eating some rice and offers me some, but I refuse. I sit with her to offer her the pictures from last time. She speaks Kannada only, so we have very little exchange, although as usual my presence drags in a few children, one of whom speaks Hindi. Soon after, Murgesh (her husband) appears, looking better than usual, but no trace of Manni and Sathya.
After leaving them, in the early afternoon, I decide to run from here directly to Harohalli, where I surprise everyone by coming on a Saturday afternoon. On the way, through Timandhalli, I talk to a group of workers who offer me a delicious coconut (most welcome, I'm both thirsty and hungry). As it turns out, they're building 45 houses here, for employees of some company. One man confirms that soon, this whole area will continue to be developped, pushing the beautiful villages further away.
In Aurohalli, many children are still at school. I first spend time in Manjula's house (she serves us a delicious home made fruit juice), and teaches me days, weeks, months and years in Kannada. We then spend time dissecting the difference between the two "L"'s in Kannada, scrutinizing her tongue position as she pronounces, a subtlety that I can barely hear. Little Manish, who used to cry at my sight, has finally adopted me, so we play together. He used to form his mouth in an odd "O" shape whenever he saw me, but now opens up a friendly smile. I then spend the rest of the afternoon with Roopa and Neethra in their new house. I help them cook, and particularly enjoy the dish that Neethra makes, since I haven't eaten since morning. Worried that I might feel too lonely now, they invite me to stay in the village with them.

A meal in Kadugodi -- 07/18/10

Nallurahalli - Pattandur Agrahara - Dinur - Kadugodi: 0:46:27
Time: 0:46:27
Mileage: 5.1 Miles
Wght: 155

-- Anand with Pushpalata ("Lata") --

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)
I arrive around 10. The tent has been put up, a small tent, strangely with photos of a chinese landscape on the cloth walls. Also, blue plastic chairs have been delivered, which the children love playing with, stacking them up as high as possible then sitting perilously on top. Anand joins me. We go with Valli to buy plastic cups, simply at the Kadugodi bus station across the street. Back in the tent, I sit with the children on the floor. Remembering yesterday, they request to see my white skin, folding up my sleeve, and gawk at the sight. We take turns drawing on my small notebook, first a circle, then a triangle, which everyone draws to the best of their ability (the younger ones barely scribble a few signs). It's not easy to keep everyone organize (Gayatree keeps taking notebook and pen away from the others) but all in all everyone gets a turn. We then draw a man, and write each our name in Kannada next to the drawing (I write for the little ones). Nazia, Ruxanna's older daughter, is more advanced than the others, and particularly into the game. She tries to write her ABC, but doesn't know past "G", so I show her another line of letters which she dutifully copies. She then writes english numbers, while trying to teach me how to say it all in Kannada, up to 54. All along, a young man, visibly completely intoxicated, has been sitting with us, uttering incomprehensible gibberish. I wonder if he'll bother us eventually but no, as we're wrapping up, I hand him over the notebook as he too wants to participate. He takes it and applies himself with surprising care, proudly producing the image of a bird.
Everyone has dressed the children in their best clothes. There's a lot of activity around making them pretty, applying white powder to their skin, applying tikka or makeup with paint. When the rest of the group arrives (Jayanti, Madavrao, Milind, Jennifer, Komal and Rakesh), I bring them into Sampa's tent and introduce them to the young woman. She is washing Kalpana in the corner, and dresses her with a beautiful pink dress.

-- Children, ready for the party --

We carry the food inside the community and get started. Instead of using the chairs (which would occupy the whole tent), we ask the slumdwellers for mats which we place on the floor, and first sit the children. Milind has had two large pots of rice made, and Sambar, sweets and water. The children eat wholeheartidly. I end up sitting with Nazia, carrying Sophia her youngest sister on my lap (Ruxanna has gone to her tent to change).
Everyone in the best of mood... Valli has come back from her village last night, by train. Velangani warms up to me. I some point I refuse to take her picture. She walks away jokingly yelling after me. We playfully take pictures of her yelling. It's then the turn of the women to dress up, particularly, Ruxanna comes out in splendid Saree.

-- Nazia - Ruxanna with Sophia --

A fight brutally erupts between Ruxanna and Ramaka. The two women briefly seize each other, ready to hit, but they're quickly separated. Ruxanna complains that Ramaka has hit one of her children. The argument lasts for a little bit, some trying to calm things down, others not caring about this common occurrence. I do my best to calm both women, but worry about things really firing up. Things do quiet down. Of Ruxanna's six children, three girls stay here with her, while the other three stay away with her or her father's mother. Ramaka also has five children (I think), her first husband died and she's now remarried. I ask her again to explain the many cut marks on her forearm, Sampa responds for her that she has been fighting with her husband, but I don't know whether she's joking. Sitting together, Valli and I play our wide-eye game, making funny faces. I try to get the same out of Ramaka. She finally contracts her face and briefly widens her eyes, a fleeting glimpse which further reinforces her strong features.

-- Valli - Ramaka --

A lot of food is left. We decide to go to Patalamalevet, see if we can bring back other slumdwellers. As we walk out of the community, Sampa briefly stops at the tea stall, then covertly holds a small packet in her hand. I try to wrestle it from her, but she holds tight, laughing. It's a small pouch of Hira guthka, tobacco which she chews on all day. Jennifer, Sampa (with Prashanth) get in the car with Xavier and I, and we drive the long way around (via Hope Farm), now that the railroad crossing has been closed in favor of the bridge. We fortuitously run into Ubagarimary near her house, stop the car. While Valli and Prashanth stay behind in the car, Ubagarimary takes us into a small community to invite some of her friends, one girl whom I recognize from the day we bought the tarps for Manni and Sathia. We then walk to the tent under the tree, but to my disappointment only father Murgesh is there, half asleep. He changes shift and follows us. We take everyone back into the car, this time staying by the railway and making several U-Turns to come back on the bridge. Back in the community, one of the girls insists that Velangani eat with her, but the young girl is already full. We take many group photos, and I let Valli and Sampa take most of them. One man asks to be photographed with Kuppamma, but suddenly lifts her on his shoulder, while laughing she buries her face not to be photographed.
I'm happy to see Arpudam playing also, exhilerated (the last time I had seen her was at the Pooja for her dead husband). She takes extraordinary fighting poses, using a branch broom as a mock weapon, for the pictures. As we discuss, she gently makes fun of something I said, and I laugh with them, although not understanding the joke. As I'm thirsty, she hands me a tin cup of water, which I keep in my hands. Later, seeing me appear with the cup in my hand, Kuppama bellows a big raucous laugh, joking that I look like a thief trying to steal the cup.

-- Group picture, the Kadugodi tent community --

Still a lot of food is left (we had prepared for 200, and perhaps got half that), so Milind asks every family to bring pots to do a final distribution. Unfortunately, this inevitably creates some jealousies. Valli, who has been around with my camera taking pictures, has missed out on most of the distribution, and shows me only a small leftover portion of rice. I quickly go grab her a few of the remaining bananas before those run out as well. "Parvani", she concludes sadly with her usual phrase. And today I finally understand, me who had thought this was some Tamil expression, not at all, it's the Hindi Parvah nahi, "no worries"...
It suddenly occurs to me that I haven't seen Rosie all day, and imagine that she could be mad at me. I picture her disapproving of the chaos I've brought into the community, the strife...
I want to help carry back the plates to the car, but Kupamma stops me, grabbing the utensils from my hands, as if it were unthinkable that I do any physical labor. She then boasts how strong she is, contracting her arms (Xavier and I touch her biceps but are unimpressed). I do praise earnestly praise her strength in front of my friends though: I've seen this small woman carry 30 kg on her head all the way from Patalamalevet, over a kilometer away, walking barefeet on the railroad rocks.

-- Velangani and Sampa, ready to take leftover food --

Milind, Rakesh and Jennifer (the others have already gone) leave with Xavier to bring back the utensils. I still need to give whatever money is needed to pay off the tent, which will be dismounted at 5:30. Kupamma, Sampa, Ubagarimary and I isolate ourselves in Sampa's tent, close the door, trying to be inconspicuous (of course, everyone realizes what we're doing). I unfortunately don't have the exact change for 700, give them 1000 instead. Kupamma is quick on her feet, 150 for me, 150 for Sampa. How else to do this? I look at Ubagarimary for approval.
As soon as Xavier is back, I leave, after multiple goodbies. Valli from a distance gives me a long sad look, which stays with me.
We take Ubabagarimary in the car. Velangani would really love to ride too someday, and I promise her that we will. Ubagarimary makes us stop in Whitefield, where her sister lives, working in the house of an old American woman. She receives us in her little servant's cottage, offers me juice and cake, then introduces me to her daughter who also speaks English. Ubagarimary, in typical Indian bluntness, asks me if I know of a remedy for the young girl's pimples. She moves on to say that she now only needs to marry Velangani (who's sixteen), then she can rest. I make the gesture of finally relaxing, but she replies with a glance to the sky, nahi, uper jana... (go to heaven). THen, as I'm about to leave, Ubagarimary shows her eye where it was bitten by a dog a few weeks back, asking for money for an injection, drawing a loud disapproving mouth sound from her sister. I refuse. Displaying more Indian bluntness, the sister comments kindly that I look very tired.

Later that evening, Anand sends me an enthusiastic text message: "I think I've cracked it finally, it's Patalama LAYOUT!..." I don't care, hearing Sampa's voice in my head, I'll continue to say Patalamalevet as I've been taught!

-- Sampa, Ruxanna, and Nazia carrying little Sophia, from inside Arpudam's tent --

Training run "A Temporary Farewell", Kadugodi -- 07/24/10

ECC / ELIM route to Kadugodi (about 40 minutes) - then back via Pattandur Agrahara - Lake Community - Nellurahalli - Dunmore House area - West Trail.
Time: 1:29:55
Mileage: 10 Miles
Wght: 153

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)


What is it about Kadugodi?
The community is probably the most difficult, yet this is where I've been spending most of my time, fascinated, neglecting others. I find an unparallelled intensity in Kadugodi, emotions are here magnified, people here know to laugh, to cry, to quarrel like no other. It's an enthralling motley of visions, colors and sounds, a concert that remains in the mind. Tensions seem they could always erupt, yet these people in spite of their circumstances seem to live fully like no others. I have often wondered whether the intricacy of their situation would cause me to walk away from them, yet I keep coming back.

I am about to leave for three weeks to the US, and say a temporary goodbye to my friends. Many times I'll explain today, using Hindi and two three words of Kannada, Muruvara...
Anand has told me the meaning of their names in Tamil: Sampa is a flower, Valli a vine that grows around trees, Deivani she who harbors a goddess inside, Velangani a pilgrimage site, Ubagarimary "Mary the Benevolent", Ramaka some incarnation of a goddess, most likely Devi (Parvati).
Sit outside with Kupamma, Sampa, Ruxanna, Arpudam, and Kupamma's other daughter Mary (the woman from the miserable side tent whom I haven't seen in a while). She gently reminds me that long time ago I had promised her that I would buy her ration some day, which I've never done. Today we'll go.
We spend a long time with the hundreds of pictures that I've brought from last week. I excitedly explain as best I can that Prashanth's picture has been selected for National Geographic. I think Sampa gets it, which sort of confirms by pointing at a picture on an old newspaper on the ground, although she has evidently no idea what the internet might be. I promise to bring her once to my house to show her on the computer. Seeing her hesitation, I promise emphatically that nothing would ever happen to her. We agree to do this after my return, and invite other slumdwellers as well. I am however so disappointed to not find Valli. Will I not be able to say goodbye, after our sad parting last time? I ask Sampa, "kam chal gaya...", she answers. "Kaun sa kaam, Kidhar hai vo?". Picking trash, she gestures, she will not return before evening. But a little later, as we're eating in Arpudam's tent, I recognize a fleeting silhouette in green Sari, Valli I exclaim hopeful, but Sampa won't believe that her sister could have already returned. It is indeed her, standing at the door, smilingly staring at me.
Once the picture distribution is finished, Sampa pursues her old idea of getting my address in the States to send me a letter. I object that this might cost her too much and take too long, but upon her insistence, I write both the PDI address in california then my parents' address in France. We take time imagining my travel, 24hrs I proclaim emphatically, using the English word which I know is familiar to them, while describing with my hands how California is on the other side of the earth. A plane passes in the sky at that moment, so we spend time describing what that must feel like. Sampa confesses that she would be terrified to ever go into one of those. I conclude that I dearly hope that they will still be here when I return in 3 weeks. Kupamma appears unconcerned, they can stay here another 6 months, she declares contradicting Sampa. And after? Pata nahi... The exact date at which the community will be evicted remains foggy, contradictory.
Each of the families shows me old photos, some completely wasted by water unfortunately. Sampa young, Ruxanna's children, Arpudam's recently deceased husband, whose death certificate is also shown to me. The document lists "Asthama" (sic) as cause of death, not heart attack as they had told me (I come to suspect that they use the English "Heart Attack" for any sudden death. From the pictures, I am struck once again by the natural beauty of all these people. A few foreigners, arrived her from the nearby Sai Baba Ashram, a group of Japanese ladies, and Sampa's famous "Peter from Germany" friend. Sampa has had three friends, Peter, Philippe from Switzerland, and another white man whose name or country she does not remember. A photo with Peter, where he is dressed in traditional Hindustani clothing, a big man towering over Sampa, who must have been sixteen at the time. She explains that he actually asked to marry her (although she was so young!) but she refused, not wanting to leave India to move to his country.
Eating in Arpudam's tent. I insist on a small portion. Sampa corrects my eating habits (I am actually very thankful for that), here, "Karnataka style", she says. I've gotten into the habit of holding my arm too far forward, folding it back at the elbow to push the food into my mouth. I've come up with this position which has the advantage of not dropping much food on the ground, but Sampa instructs me to keep my arm relaxed, and eat more from the side, which is perhaps slightly harder, but certainly more elegant! I show her proudly my new technique, but she makes fun of me again, as I'm sitting too straight now, instead of leaning over my plate for the excess food to drop straight in instead of on the ground. She also shows me how to eat this fibrous vegetable, basically sucking the meat out inside the mouth then discarding the remaining unedible fibers (I joke that I'm about to swallow them anyway, to Sampa's protest). I appreciate the lesson. How you eat, I eat, I say once again, refusing a spoon. I wish I could sit properly too, but in spite of all my efforts, the position is still somewhat awkward for me, especially for long periods of time. We have the same bodies, yet how can we be so different?
It is time to leave, but I have a moment of mild panic seeing the six women (Sampa, Valli, Ruxanna, Kupamma, Arpudam and her sister Mary), which is more than I bargained, wondering how I'll be able to divide what money I have evenly. I isolate myself in Arpudam's tent to recount my money and figure it out, scribble operations on my notebook, feeling awkward. Eventually it all works out.

Mary and Arpudam, Kuppamma's daughter's --

On the way to the shop: I manage to steal some Hira from Valli. Even though small quantity, they don't want me to eat it, Chakkra hoga, they say, worrying that I'll literally drop dizzy. I play with them, and finally put the white chunks in my mouth. A very strong taste, rather unpleasant. Valli urges me to spit it. Why couldn't I chew it if she can? She confesses she keeps it hours in her mouth. Even Ruxanna admits to the daily habit, says she's unable to drop the addiction. They say they're used to this aadat (habit), so the effect is mild on them, but they really do worry that I'll fall behosh!
Sophia in the shop. We play with flowers. She has adopted me. She sits on her heels, but I realize too late she's peeing on the ground, to the shop owner's contained annoyance. Each of the six women buys for 250Rs, as is now our habit.
Sampa and Ruxanna take photos with the transvestite, dressed in full saree, as is common here. But Sampa stops us briefly before as Valli is about to take the picture: she rearranges the man's saree to cover his Paan pouch... Later, she pulls me aside, barely containing her grin, "Vo larka hai", as if I hadn't noticed.

-- With the Transvestite in front of the shop --

As we walk back through Kadugodi small street, Sampa goes wild with the camera. She runs after Kupamma, pursuing her to take close-up pictures of her Saree butt.
We cross the tracks again to return to the slum, carrying bags (I have taken Valli's), but I'm uncomfortable that we're so conspicuous, I am surprised the women don't make any effort at discretion. Off the corner of my eye, I have noticed Suresh sitting there by the railroad at this busy intersection, with this odd ravaged look of his, sitting idle, as if eternally watching the crowd. Our eyes meet and I can't help but feel his disapproval. I hand back the bag to Valli as we enter the community, here too, I wish we were making a more subtle entrance. Near the railtracks too are Murgesh and Sampa (Sathya and Manni's parents) who have walked from Chansandra and follow us into the community, hoping to get something out of this as well, encouraged by last week's meal.
Suresh has followed us. Standing in the middle of the community, he embarks on a speech, focused yet feeling somewhat intoxicated. I don't quite understand his half drunk Hindi at first, but listen with intensity, accepting the dialogue, standing with him. He repeats some of the arguments he had made to Xavier, discouraging me from giving anything to the people here, 1 person gets, 10 persons don't get, he says waving to the many tents. Sure enough the women are angered by this. I continue to focus on his argument, careful not to withdraw from his presence, and try to keep his speech directed at me. Ruxanna argues against him angrily, and quickly I hear Musulman in Suresh's mouth among the incomprensible Kannada/Tamil mix. But I capture his attention back and continue to hear him out. As this is going on, the young man from last time, who's either always intoxicated or somewhat retarded keeps pointing to his decrepit rags, asking for new clothes. Encouraged, Suresh continues, and these, pointing to Murgesh and Sampa, they don't even have a roof on their head (they've approached as if to fuel Suresh's argument, asking for food, which I admantly deny them)... And your good friend Asha, continues Suresh, but I unfortunately lose the thread, suspecting though that the teen girl has been punished by her father for associating with us. Vo sahi hai, I conclude sheepishly, which further angers Ruxanna, to the point where she would almost yell at me. But everyone calms down after this healthy discussion. Suresh even tries to take a few pictures with my camera, but his hands are trembling badly, betraying his intoxication.
Before leaving, I take Ruxanna apart, and with as much clarity as I can muster in Hindi: You know, Jewish, what does it mean? Some other religion? - She understands. - I am Jewish. - You are a good man, she immediately replies. - Jews and Muslims normally fight. But we are friends. I am Jewish, You are Muslim, yet we do not fight. Right?
She agrees in her wonderful smile.

-- Pushpalata and Velangani have built a small wooden structure --

-- Nanee, from the Pattandur Agrahara "Lake" community --

-- Simon dressing up his daughter Victoria, the "birthday girl" --

Victoria's birthday, Nellurahalli -- 07/24/10

-- Kiran at the birthday party (notice the Kannada Bible in the foreground) --


-- Kiran, Malikarjun and Victoria --

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

Simon has invited me for his daughter Victoria's birthday, in the Dunmore House settlements in Nellurahalli.
I dutifully arrive around 6, having walked the way on my usual running trail, which takes about 1/2 hr. I have brought boxes of swiss Chocolates in nice paper wrappings, which I've bought in France. On the way, I stop at Madhevamma's, inquire about her health. A few days earlier, I had met her one morning in terrible health, her left eye grossly swollen, her body trembling from fever. After calling Jayanti, she took her to our doctor at RxDX, then to an eye doctor, who prescribed antibiotics, and a strict hygiene. This was apparently caused by an insect or worm which got into her eye, and has affected her for about a week, preventing her from working. She now does look a bit better, although her eye is still weeping abudantly. I repeat the health advice given by the doctor, to take the antibiotic for the whole treatment, and continue to use sterile cotton to wipe her eye. Here too, I repeat again that I'm leaving tonight, that I'll be back in MuruVara (three weeks). (Upon my return, Madhavarao will tell me that things got worse again: They went to see some yet another doctor who could speak Kannada, but eventually Madhevama seems to lost all faith in Western medecine, and preferred to be taken to a Ganapati temple. It was difficult to change her habits, and in spite of many admonitions, she continued to wipe her sick eye with the corner of her dirty Saree. Eventually, the doctor decided to tape her eye so it wouldn't get further infected, but by then, Madhevamma had become alarmingly thin. She eventually decided to leave to her native Gulbarga for treatment, preferring to see her own doctor, and pray at her favorite temple.)
Malikarjun walks me on the trail to the third settlement, soon joined by Kiran. It's dusk when we arrive. Simon's family has gathered, his father, who's left leg is grossly inflated, and his brother Gnanmitra, returned from the village after over year's absence, this man one of the first who had invited me in his shack for a meal. Simon himself is nowhere to be seen, still running errands in preparation for the celebration, which it turns out will be quite elaborate. I offer my boxes of chocolate, which are actually received with a quizzical look. An adult sends Kiran and Malikarjun to town so I set out with them, walking hand in hand into Nellurahalli to buy some herbs for 1 or 2 Rupees. We return at nightfall, just as a motorcycle rolls into the community. These newcomers are a catholic priest and his assistant, who've brought an electric piano and a drum. The piano is plugged in (not sure where they're getting the electricity from) and a few of the slumdwellers give it a bemused try. We finally settle the sound on organ, unfurl a large tarp on the ground upon which everyone sits (I refuse the plastic chair that is offered to me to sit with the group). Now in full darkness, the music starts. At first, Vandana's husband has taken the dol (which he plays well) while the preacher's assistant accompanies on the piano. The first songs are initiated by the priest, but soon, each dying song is replaced by another, launched by different members of the crowd, gradually catching like a slow fire. The women's voices sometimes take over, sitting slightly in the back in a tight group, their higher pitch creating renewed enthusiasm, proposing hymns of their own. Gnanmitra plays the tambourin with intensity, his face in sweat, singing loud, his expression in contrast with that of his brother's Simon whose face is constantly weighted by a distant melancholy. The assistant exchanges instruments with Vandana's husband, hitting the drum with expert hands, working to exacerbated rhythms. Sitting between the preacher and Malikarjun, I take a few pictures, but I'm forced to aim blindly into the darkness, troubled by the obnoxious light of the flash, but I see it as my duty to document the event for Simon, wondering if I'll be able to capture any of the magic unfurling before my eyes. Eventually the sudden flashes are too bothersome, and Malikarjun gently brings me to reason, bas!, to which I put the camera away. We sing well into the night.

-- The small congregation, singing outside in the settlement --

The preacher finally utters a short sermon, all in Kannada. We then proceed to cut the cake, feeding each other as is tradition. I am now able to freely take pictures again, and hand over the camera to Simon and others, who are happy to document the event. A large tin container is brought from which food is served to everyone, in pieces of newspaper rolled up in a cone. But Simon treating me with honor invites me inside to sit with the preacher and the assistant, and eat from metal plates. The priest explains his small community in Nellurahalli, invites me to church on any sunday. He knows everyone well here, Christian, Hindu or Muslim, and am happy to fondly remember with him Giryamma's family. He believes they too will come back eventually from Gulbarga, they always come back, as the land up there is too poor for culture. Simon dresses Victoria in two beautiful dresses, which he asks me to photograph (the flash photos are unfortunately not flattering). Finally, around 10pm, I call Xavier to come pick me up, as we need to drive to the airport that same night, and I haven't even finished packing. In three week, Muruvara, I'll come back, I promise Simon, after thanking him many times for his hospitality.

-- The priest, his helper and I are offered a meal by Simon, while others are eating outside.
Thanks to Sampa's lesson this morning, I am finally able to eat in pure "Karnataka style"! :) --

India Independance Day (11 Miles) -- 08/15/10

West trail - through Nellurahalli / Pattandur Agrahara - Dinur - to Kadugodi: 0:47:18
Back same way, with a detour through the Pattandur "Lake Community: 0:52:46
Time: 1:40:03
Mileage: 11.1 Miles
Wght: 157

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

A late start (~9:00) due to the jet lag. The weather is overcast and heavy, damp and threatening, a storm that will never quite materialize. Sampa has called me several times since my return, wondering when I'd come back, and so has Simon from Nellurahalli.
Today is India Independance Day, so I've decided to take the slightly longer route through Nellurahalli, to see if I'd meet anyone along the way, after this three week absence which feels like months. Sure enough, I hear overloud speakers as I approach the village center, as the kids have been gathered by the government school for the celebration. Few of them recognize me shaking hands, but I do my best to not perturb the function. I run into Akbar's older brother carrying two large water plastic jugs on his shoulders. We try to find Akbar among the little crowd to no avail. He invites me to his tent but I am committed to Kadugodi. A few meters later I am stopped by a man on a motorcycle: the priest from Nellurahalli who had celebrated Victoria's birthday. He has wanted to invite me to a flag hoisting ceremony at the church this morning, but I have to deny him as well, "Kadugodi ja raha houn". He says he has tried to call me many times, but I explain that my phone could not work while I was in America. A few more familiar faces salute me, some which I can't place... Entering Pattandur another encounter, a young man who has recently shifted from the "Lake Community" to live here in a tent community at the entrance of Pattandur Agrahara (him too I have promised to visit some day).
I reconnect with the familiar route towards Kardugodi, crossing ITPL main road, onto the trail through Dinur. Here too, I stop by the governement school, scrutinizing to recognize any of the slum kids (Nazia, Lata...), in vain.
I slow down to a walk approaching the slum, in an attempt to mitigate my profuse sweating in today's stifling climate. I'm soon interrupted by my name: It's Ruxanna, carrying little Nazia on her hip, coming back from work (it's about 10 o'clock). Finally some of the slumdwellers have started calling by my name, instead of Uncle, which although it's meant to show respect, feels impersonal to me. Upon entering the slum, I immediately catch the familiar sight of Kupamma, seemingly perpetually sitting there, who intercepts me first with Arpudam, inviting me to sit on the ground on a mat that they hastily unfurl. I take off my shoes, pointing out that these are naie jute from America. They ask me the price of course, to which I respond that it's in dollars. One dollar? Arpudam asks naively. Difficult to imagine what the cost of these 100$ shoes, about 45,000 IRS, could represent to them, when 250 IRS is enough to feed a family for a week.

-- Arpudam and Gaiatree --

We immediately take pictures of little Gaiatree who is dressed in a beautiful Saree for Indepedance Day. The kids, who haven't seen me in three weeks, immediately gather, articulate "Bagoundi, Bagoundi" with over exageration. I salute Sampa who's cleaning the area around the tent by applying a thin layer of cow dung which is then left to dry, upon which people typically paint intricate Rangolli designs. Arpudam and Kuppamma repeatedly offer me food, which I eventually find impossible to refuse, but settle for as little a portion as possible. I explain that how could I possibly eat their food, since they themselves have so little, but both women briskly show me each pot where they're keeping rice, Sambar or Dal, see, see? I still push back their multiple offers to serve me more. I pretext that I've put on weight during my trip to the US, Mota Ho Gaya, but isn't it displaced here, of quite bad taste among these people who struggle every day for food? We are interrupted a few times by Sampa who's come here to borrow white powder for the Rangolli. In the tent is a beautiful picture of Durga, and the photo of Arpudam's recently deceased husband (it's been three months now). The women explain that they will clean up and perform a Pooja here in the afternoon. A couple arrives, this is one of the husband's brothers, who has come to pay his respects, and offers us fruit juice. Kuppamma explains all about me in Tamil (I can tell by the occasionally mixed-in English, for example "running", which he confirms with me in Hindi "Bhag gaya?"). I eventually take leave, go meet Sampa outside, who has completed a large Rangolli, which I photograph. She invites me inside the tent where she's drawn a few smaller designs, and we take additional photos of her beautiful children Prashanth and Kalpana (who's all naked today).
I ask for Valli. Sadly, she has left, "to her husband's house", in some other part of Bangalore, with no plans to return. I express my sadness. Her tent is now vacant, with its comparatively newer green tarp left behind, which provided a unique light inside, memories of the times spent there. Sampa doesn't know who will settle here. Deivani has also left from Chansandra, moving with her husband into Tamil Nadu. Apparently there was no baby after all, and I cannot quite understand whether the 16 year old was never pregnant to begin with, or whether she lost the child (I remember Sampa once expressing their worries that the baby was no longer moving.) So the sisters are now dispersed, only Sampa and Velangani staying here not far from their mother. After all these news, Sampa hands me a paper which has Valli's husband's number written twice (the paper is actually one of my torn photos, as it happens just showing Valli sitting that day sulken by her mother's house). I dial for her and hand her over the phone, Apou? Apou?, she says, calling Valli's husband. Arsen, I propose, proud to remember the man's original Tamil name. But the conversation doesn't go anywhere and she soon hangs up.

-- Sampa's Rangollis --

Somewhat surprisingly, Sampa directs me to visit Ruxanna in her tent (has their old rivalry abated?), where I spend a while. It's much easier to talk to Ruxanna of course, because of her better knowledge of Hindi (which most Muslims possess). Nazia is still at school attending the Independance day function where she's supposed to dance. I ask Ruxanna why she isn't attending herself, but she had to work this morning, and besides doesn't show that much interest, saying that Nazia can always repeat the dance for us when she returns. Ruxanna insists on feeding some chicken that she has just cooked, here too impossible to refuse. I share some with little Prashanth, but he gets gently scolded for having thrown a bone at me. In comes Kuppamma briefly, who is perhaps vexed that I'm eating here when I've refused additional food from her. She leaves us.
Today happens to also be Nazia's birthday, yet it is unlikely that Ruxanna's husband, who has disappeared again for the past eight days, will come back for that. He wanders, sleeps outside, she describes, fighting on those rare occasions when he returns. She confirms the I've indeed seen him only once, barely time for a brief hello. Ruxanna's sister who was recently chased by the husband now lives nearby on Chansandra road, across from a college. She asks me more personal questions, seeing my hesitation, she encourages me to speak, that we are friends, so upon this gentle insistence, I tell her in surprising detail my own life's story, in Hindi of course. She comments that Muslims may have two or three wives, but she would never let her own husband do that! We both ponder at what happiness could be made of. I suggest a good job for her. She describes her current activity, helping prepare food with a group of 6 - 7 employees, which then gets carried to a hotel. She carries the two young girls with her who play there, while Nazia studies at school. Ruxanna is holding little Shazia on her lap now, who's hiding her face half asleep. I try to engage with her but the child recoils even further. "Sharmati hai", comments Ruxanna, before wondering dreamingly if little children in the west also act bashful like this.
We're interrupted in this pensive mood by Sampa. Through Ruxanna's door, I just saw her come out of Valli's tent, and for a flash thought that Valli had come back after all (I'm so used by now to people appearing when they've been pronounced gone). Ruxanna complains to Sampa that Kalpana is left running around naked all day, but Sampa doesn't seem to mind much. Somehow or another, someone mentions Patalamalevet, the prononciation of which continues to be one of our running jokes. But this time I triumphantly correct them: Patamala-LAYOUT! "Naaa, Levet..." insists Sampa, while Ruxanna slowly tries to master the new word. I explain my trip in Hindi, the boat, the island on the ocean, which Ruxanna all translates for Sampa. For some reason she insists on knowing how boat is said in French, Bateau, Jahaz in Urdu. They ask if my parents will visit here someday, and insist that I bring them here to meet. The Hindi is mostly flowing between Ruxanna and I, although at times I cease to understand her, in spite of my concentration, which always causes a disappointed click of the mouth in the women before they attempt to explain again. But strangely, it's the occasional English words that are mixed in which are often the hardest to grasp. One such word resists comprehension, only after some time do I realize that what Ruxanna is saying has nothing to do with Hindi: It's the word Independance, which she pronounces in the oddest fashion. (The word Birthday, normally used in English for some reason, and roughly pronounced Bar-tthu-day, is another example of this). When I correct her prononciation, Ruxanna laughs and laughs, unable to stop for some reason, drawing queer looks from Sampa.

-- Prashanth and Kalpana --

Ruxanna is playing with a packet of Hira in her hands. I coax her gently, asking her to drop the habit, and remind her that day that I had tried it after snatching a little from Valli, and how everyone was worried that I might faint. They've had the habit for a long time, she repeats, so to them it's harmless, but me for the first time? I reassure her that I had felt nothing, except for a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth. Sampa boasts that she herself has stopped, but we don't believe her. I ask her to open her mouth wide, which she refuses laughing. Shrugging her shoulders, she jokes that her illness has gone from her heart to her mind, continues to laugh, almost despondent... Then she switches to her hushed conspiracy tone: What was Kupamma asking you, over there in her tent? She doesn't quite believe that the old woman actually asked for nothing. So returning to a more serious tone, I bring up the obsessive topic of our relationship, how if at all is right to help them, and how to do it without creating problems. They deny that I much of this is a problem, but I confront them, reminding them of Suresh's pertinent speech just before I left, as well as the barely disguised hostility of some of the slumdwellers (Rosie in particular). They relent to acknowledging this, but pretend to not think much of it, and we're left with no tangible conclusion. In comes Velangani who insists brusquely that I take her picture (random slumdwellers are used to routinely barging in and out of the tent with no regard whatsoever for privacy), then off she runs with the camera. It's time for me to go anyway. Sampa has somehow gathered my stuff (shoes, socks, towel...) by her tent, but as I'm getting ready, Nazia has finally returned from the Indepedance Day function at the school, dressed in a colorful dress. We of course have to take pictures, and the girls re-enact the dance that they just performed. It's Nazia's birthday today, as well as Suresh's, and we agree to celebrate next week by buying a cake, and perhaps new clothes. As I'm about to leave, Velangani also asks for clothes for herself. I refuse, so she dismisses with mock anger, "Jaa!"

-- Nazia demonstrates her "Independance Day" dance --

On the way back, I make a quick detour through the Lake Community, then into Nellurahalli, in spite of the increasing rumblings of rainless thunder. Headed to the Dunmore House area, I run into Anthony (Kiran's father) walking on the street. He asks whether he could borrow my camera for Kiran, to take pictures of a friend they will be meeting this afternoon. I refuse, and proceed running towards the Dunmore House settlements. But on the way, in a tent community that I've long wanted to explore (the tents here have no walls, but the inhabitants wear strikingly colorful clothes), I notice a group of children playing in a plastic toy car. Having done a lot already, I pass by, but immediately regret that decision, so by the white temple I retrace my steps back, and with as much respect as I can muster in Hindi, I introduce myself to the women cooking outside. Good, these people do speak Hindi, having come from Maharastra (where even though the language is Maharati people typically speak Hindi). I politely ask if I can take pictures which the women accepts, and add that I will bring prints back to them. Another encounter full of possibilities...

-- Tent community, Nellurahalli, first contact --

-- with Ruxanna, Sampa, Velangani et al., Kadugodi --

Nazia's Birthday, Kadugodi (9.6 Miles) -- 08/23/10

W. Trail - Dunmore House area - Nellurahalli - Pattandur Agrahara - Dinur - Kadugodi -- Back later via the shorter ECC/ELIM route.
Time: 1:26:34
Mileage: 9.6 Miles
Wght: 156

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

Have been sick this week so unable to run, but now recovering. In fact, this is my first day back to normal, and I want to keep my promise to the people in Kadugodi. In fact, I'm also sollicited in Nellurahalli and Harohalli, and have to find a way to keep everyone happy.
I first set out for the Dunmore house area. Yesterday, because of heavy rain, I had to settle for a "test" run on a treadmill, which actually felt good. Running for real though, I find my breath short and difficult, worsened by the overcast humid climate that has prevailed this month. As I approach the third settlement, I'm told that Simon is absent, but sure enough, he almost immidiately appears. We share the pictures from the birthday, gathering a small joyous crowd around us (including Lavannia's husband, the Dol player, who says he's doing "very, very, very well" (in English)). Drenched in sweat in spite of the moderate temperature, I find myself chilled by the wind gusts to the point of wondering if I should turn back to carry a change of jerzey (and grab my cell phone which I've forgotten). I'm as hesitant as the climate, which alternates threats of rain with brief sun openings. On my way back, passing the first settlement for the second time, I meet Madhevamma's husband, who says that her situation not gotten better: She is staying in the village in Gulbarga, eventually had to be admitted to the hospital for her eye infection, which is currently almost entirely closed. The only good news I guess is that the village doctor has confirmed our recommendations, asked her to continue following the treatment, and reinforced the rules of hygiene that we've desperately been trying to impress upon her. She will come back after getting better, but it's unclear when that might be.
In one more hesitation, I decide to proceed to Kadugodi directly without going home. Going through Nellurahalli and Pattandur Agrahara, I get "intercepted" a few times: First, a group of men working in front of a slum community waves me in. I first mistakenly think these are the "telugu people" from Dunmore House who've come back, but eventually recognize them when a man introduces himself as Akbar's brother, from the tent community at the entrance of town. We take a few pictures of them with their tractor, and a newcomer whose face is grossly deformed. Later, of group of youths runs with me up the road towards Pattandur, but I stop again recognizing another acquaintance in the tent community on the left side. The young man describes our relationship to his friends (we had met in the Lake Community from which he has moved), but I evade their offer to come in, not wanting to miss my engagement in Kadugodi. In spite of not feeling my best, I make it there in about fifty minutes.

-- Velangani and the children, in front of their "temple" --

I'm careful to walk a bit before reaching the community, to let some of the sweating abate. As I'm getting closer, I notice a group of children from a distance, playing in a small field near where the slumdwellers fetch water. Curious, I enter the field, and soon enough, am greeted by the cries of Uncle, Uncle as they all come running towards me. Gathered around Velangani, they've all been building a miniature temple on the ground, with bricks, flowers, and a statue of Ganesha, which of course we photograph. We're soon joined by Ruxanna, who's wearing a green embroidered heavy tunique and Sampa, who immediately rummages through my stuff to look at the photos I've brought, which she then distributes among the children. Sampa particularly likes her picture with the Transvestite taken in front of the shop in Kadugodi. I explain to her that there are far better pictures of her than that, yet she still prefers this one (I sometimes wonder if Sampa realizes how strikingly beautiful she is). The photo also appeals to Nazia (Sampa's daughter) because of her expression staring up at the transvestite. As for Ruxanna, she loves the photo of Nazia and Sazia showing their Independance Day dance...
We walk into the slum, straight into Ruxanna's "house". Although still a tent, her dwelling does have walls about a foot high, which prevent any water from coming in, even under heavy rain. Seeing my socks as I'm taking off my shoes, Nazia boasts that she too has socks, imitated by her sister Shazia, indeed showing two pair of white socks drying along the wall. Having come through the side has the advantage of escaping Kupamma's scrutiny, so we're left alone for once. I explain to them that I do like Kupamma a lot, with her funny gruff manner, but they evidently don't so much. Sampa and Ruxanna however, seem to have become best friends, a sharp contrast with their earlier fighting. I wonder if since having lost her sister Valli, Sampa has felt the need to forge this new alliance. She even calls her Ruxana on occasion now, instead of the Buma that everyone uses (to the point where I had initially tought that was her name), a somewhat derogatory nickname for a muslim woman (derived from Burka).
Ruxanna offers me food which as usual is impossible to refuse. I insist on eating only a portion of the plate she has prepared for me (which is delicious by the way), and she agrees that the children will finish the rest. THey have a new friend apparently, a man who visits occasionally and helps, by the name of Vijay Kumar, who in spite of his name, appears to be English and not speak any of the Indian languages. The man is further described as Mota. Since we're on the topic of England, and to avoid any confusion, I try to draw a map to explain the relative positions of India, England and France, the oceans... (This reveals critical gaps in my geography!). Sazia takes my little notebook and is happy to see all she has previously done in it, drawings, counting numbers... She now makes a nice drawing of a Mosque. I ask RUxanna whether she ever goes to Mosque, but realize through her explanation that the women, past the age of seven, are not allowed to go. The children can go, you could go, but I can't, she says pointing around with slight frustration. She adds something about the burka which I don't understand. Instead, she prays at home, on a small green carpet that she shows us. Strangely, it's made in Japan. In the middle is a compass, which she has mistaken for a watch. Realizing myself its probably usage, I try to explain to them how this must be to figure out how to turn towards Mecca for prayer, but strangely, Ruxanna seems to ignore this custom. I don't know if my use of the word Mecca is correct though for her to understand, and going back to my drawn map, find that Ruxanna better understands Saudi Arabia. With the compass, I try to orient the rug the way I think it should be, which luckily happens to be how Ruxanna has been praying herself, which she confirms she does five times a day.
Ruxanna's husband has fallen sick, which she describes as liver/kidney problems, using those English words (I've noticed that medical conditions are nearly always described in English for some reason, even here). She explains, back in Hindi now, that the man's feet are terribly swollen, that he's unable to do anything. He's staying at a location unknown to me, near where her three other children live in a hostel (six children in total, in addition to the three daugthers here), in some other part of Bangalore. Someday perhaps we could go see them, to which Sampa adds that we could pay a visit to Valli as well (although it's not clear to me that she actually knows where her sister now lives). I respectfully ask Ruxanna for her age: Twenty-eight, she answers, before asking for my own. "We are fifteen years apart", she concludes, minimizing our difference slightly through approximate math.
Last week, we had decided we would buy cake for Nazia's and Suresh's birthdays, I remind them. But they laugh at me slightly, preferring to buy clothes, as we had also discussed. As usual, I object that this could create some problems, and accuse them of fighting all the time, to which they strongly object, we do not fight. Ok, you have arguments, I pursue, but we all conclude that a birthday gift should be fine.

-- Sampa and Kalpana, walking through Whitefield train station --

So we set off, still oddly undisturbed by anyone today. Sampa prefers to walk on the tracks and through Whitefield station rather than through the streets, which I'll later understand has the benefit of shielding us from all the beggars that roam on the main artery. As usual, the two women and I are dragging along five children, most of them clasping my hands along the way. Sampa grabs flowers for the girls from the trees, we then take nice pictures in front of one of the trains. Nazia and Sazia ask me to also grab flowers for them. Kampana (whose name Sampa typically abbreviates to something that sounds like "kamp-uh") walking barefeet enjoys treading on the railway tracks, holding my hand. Off the railway, we plunge into the small alleys of Kadugodi, bustling with small commerce, until we hit several cloth shops. We enter a first shop, where, after removing our shoes, the owner makes us sit on a mattress and starts unfurling clothes (as is always done here). Meanwhile, Nazia is standing outside, absentmindedly playing with the ring of a bike, having seemingly lost all joy, perhaps because she's been scolded by Sampa for something or other (Sampa had prudently checked with Ruxanna first. Mistreating other's children is one of the prime causes of fights I've noticed). We invite her in to participate in the choice. But the shop owner's patience eventually runs thin, either you don't like it, he says addressing Sampa, or she doesn't, pointing to Nazia. We eventually settle on a dress, but Ruxanna is inflexible on the price, refusing to give more than 200Rs. (the man is asking for 250). He has hastily wrapped into a plastic bag as if we were going to buy it, but we just walk out and leave, Ruxanna being convinced that we find a better deal elsewhere. A little further down the street, we enter a bigger Gujurati shop, which offers a mish-mash of stuff, including a rack of children's dresses. Sampa, having forgotten her Chapals at the first store, sends Sazia to get them for her. But here, the price is even higher, a fixed rate of 300Rs which, in spite of Ruxanna's best efforts, the man won't lower. We walk out on him as well, while he says that we wouldn't find a better price in Kadugodi. The prices are very high, comments Ruxanna to me once in the street, with the Ramz'an festival approaching. Sampa who has again forgotten her shoes runs back this time. We enter a third shop, are made to sit on the mattress again, while the owner starts unfurling dresses. Nazia lights up occasionally, with a wide "oooo" expression, but her choices are either off size, or too elaborate (a strange golden dress is proposed at 850Rs.) Ruxanna also asks me for my advice and we do settle on an orange pattern dress with underpants, but the price negociation take a while. Nazia is not so happy with this choice. Kampana has started crying because she too wants a dress. Ruxanna won't budge from 200 Rs (the initial ask is 350). Here too the shopkeeper has packed the dress as if we had committed to buying it, but still Ruxanna holds her ground. The shop-owner occasionally turns to me while decreasing in small increments, but I follow RUxanna's lead, intent on letting her lead the negotiation. Kalpana won't stop crying now, squirming in Sampa's lap. Ruxanna complains in his face that the shop owner is jacking the price up the moment he sees a foreigner (me), which he of course denies. We're now down to 250, yet she still doesn't yield. Finally, she grabs 20Rs (which she pulls from the straps of her bra) , gives the bills to the owner and gets up, while I hand him 200. The man makes one last attempt at pleading for the missing 30, but then lets us go. Outside, Sampa bursts out laughing, releasing the tension from this awkward negotiation.
We walk back on the street this time, after having stopped for drinks and cookies. I soon realize the benefits of walking on the rail tracks: Here, we're often followed by beggars, who are difficult to shake off. I refuse donating generally, but Sampa ends up giving a few coins to an older woman. We pass by a mosque, and the "Snake" temple, that I point out as Valli's wedding location. "How did you know?" asks Sampa surprised. "Valli told him", replies Ruxanna with assurance, somehow in the know. Ruxanna's little boy hold a measuring tape, which we fear he may have stolen from one of the shops. We stop again at a roadside cart to buy clothes for Suresh, whose birthday was also last week. Sampa carefully chooses a Jeans, inspecting the stitching, one of those pants with embroidered patterns that are so popular here, then picks a matching shirt. Another beggar woman keeps touching me from behind, asking for clothes for the little child she holds in her arm. We buy dresses for Kalpana and Sazia as well, after having carefully agreed on the price, and at the last minute RUxanna grabs a few underwears for only 20Rs more. As we're leaving, finally yielding to the beggar woman, I place a 10Rs bill in her hand.
As we rejoin the tracks, Sampa points ahead, seeing her husband Suresh. Is he stationned as usual, vacantly observing the crowd? Sampa shows him the Jeans and shirt. He thanks me which I wave off sheepishly, not knowing what his reaction might be, my eyes to the ground. I then insist on talking to him privately, ask the women to proceed ahead, but of course Sampa is too nosy to do that easily. I neverthless ask Suresh if he's ok with all this, tell him that I only seek their friendship, but if he thinks that these gifts will only bring strife, I will stop. But he denies all this, accepting it all with a friendly smile, then proceeds on his way down the track.
At my request, we enter the community chupchap, along the side wall by which I used to enter in the early days (which avoids Kupamma's tent and her eternal watch), and inconspicuously enter Sampa's tent. But sure enough Kupamma is soon on our case, and we show her the birthday presents. I ask her about Arpudam, who's at work even today (Sunday), having six mouths to feed by herself (including Kupamma's). I promise that we'll spend more time together next time. I should go, but why hurry? asks Sampa. Velangani and Sazia borrow the camera from me, and take it outside. We move back to Ruxanna's tent where we resume our chat. Seeing that I occasionally repeat their words here and there in Tamil, Sampa feeds me a few lines. Ruxanna guards me in Hindi, no, these are bad words, she speaks bad! - Do you not speak bad Ruxanna? - Sometimes, she confesses, but urges me not to repeat anything Sampa says outside of this tent (for example "Kurikotti", which doesn't sound that bad really).
Sampa is holding another plastic pouch of Guthka in her hand (in spite of having proclaimed that she had dropped the habit). Both her and Ruxanna regularly chew tobacco like this, which provides them a mild dizziness (Chakkar). I remind them that I had tried it with Valli once, and insist on trying again, eager to feel what they feel. Sampa is firmly against it, but Ruxanna taking my side manages to convince her to pour a small portion in my hand (in fact, the portion is initially so small that RUxanna has to insist that she give me more). Ruxanna shows me what to do by taking some herself, keeping stuck in the mouth, without swallowing which would cause vomiting. But seeing my hesitation, she takes it from me, rolls the tobacco into a small ball and lodges it herself into my mouth, between my inner lip and my lower teeth. I get a sour taste from it, and not much else at first. She asks me to talk to verify that I'm handling this well, and our conversation proceeds. I eventually tell them that I'm starting to feel a slight dizziness, so Ruxanna urges me to spit in a pot (the women, very naturally, regulary spit out the door outside). Seeing how awkward I am at spitting, Ruxanna offers me water to wash of, but both women cry out when I swallow instead of spitting out. If you've swallowed any of the Guthka, you'll throw up, baad me, they assure me (this won't happen).
It is time to go. The girls are still running around with my camera. As it turns out, they've taken a long series of portraits of Velangani, striking all kinds of poses. We take a few more pictures by the tent, using Ruxanna's little plastic chair.

-- Kalpana and the shoes --

Kalpana is the first to come up with the idea. In her own world, with no one paying attention, she tries on my running shoes, even trying to tie the laces in her own way, giving her disproportionately big feet. I happen to catch her with the camera before she notices me, and before this creates quite an attraction. She takes several giant steps in the slum, touring around, proudly displaying the enormous shoes. Prashanth tries them on as well, followed by Sampa herself, who has to tuck her Saree for the shoes to be visible at all. But when it comes to Ruxanna's turn, she starts running laps back and forth in the slum, for once stealing the limelight away from Sampa.
Ruxanna and I say goodbye, as she's checking her clothes hung outside. Salaam, I propose. We've agreed to all eat lunch together next week.

-- Ruxanna, running through the slum --

-- Old woman in tiny village classroom, Kottur --

Sprained ankle -- 08/28/10

PM - Varthur - Madhuranagar - Muthsandra - Kottur - Harohalli.
Time: 0:57:36
Mileage: 6.4 Miles
Wght: 154.5

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)

I take a later start, after working out in the gym, knowing that the children won't have returned from school until mid-day in Harohalli. Soon after leaving, along Varthur lake, I twist my ankle on the run, a sudden pang of pain, which quickly abates, leaving me free to continue the run. As usual in sprained ankles, the pain will only come later, after stopping.
It's been a very long time that I haven't run this way, and haven't stopped by Shilpa's house in Madhuranagar. This is the time where children are starting to come out of school, which makes for a particularly lively run. First, in Madhuranagar, I am recognized by two little girls in school uniform, who happen to belong to Shilpa's family. I walk with them all the way to their house, but Shilpa herself is not there. I am greeted by the other women, together we look at the pictures of the Harohalli Pooja that I am carrying. An older man talks to me in broken Hindi, grabs my arm and drags me to invite me to his house, without possibility of refusing. He's difficult to understand, but I gather he's a carpenter who has worked in both Palm Meadows and ITPL. I take pictures of his family before leaving.
At the fork that leads to Kottur or Muthsandra, I meet a group of school boys in white uniforms, a bit raucous, who try to drag me almost by force towards Kottur, even though I've decided to do the detour by Muthsandra today. A bit annoying, they drag me by the arms towards the road, but I resist them. Later, after having passed Muthsandra and approaching Kottur the other way (my old route), I am joined by a larger group of children, this time in the more common blue uniform. Among them I recognize a few familiar faces from Kottur, and particularly Shilpa, who I had met a long time back, and who had struck me by her exhuberant mood. Here too, we take pictures, but the kids are out of control today for some reason, and the little crowd is difficult to handle. My camera falls to the ground, further deteriorating its state (that camera has been through a lot!). We run a few times towards the village. Shilpa, funnier than ever, goes completely wild, saluting me with Bagundara, hands joined on top of her head, a gesture that the others imitate. She leads me through the village to a tiny school that I hadn't even noticed before, where we take pictures of teacher and small children, and an old grandma. But my escort of children can't help pushing everyone around, including the grandma, so we eventually have to kick them out of the small room. Back outside, Shilpa leads me to another house where we take more photos, while desperately trying to keep the young crowd reasonnably quiet.

-- Shilpa, Girl with Baby, Kottur --

I finally reach Harohalli, happy to see all my friends after this prolonged absence. The children aren't back from school yet, but I try my best to converse with the adults (almost no Hindi here, only Kannada and Telugu with adults, English with the children). I have brought an additional set of photos from the Pooja for Neethra. I am keen to visit all three main houses today, Manjula's, Ambuja's and Neethra. Neethra cooks chapati for me, then Ambuja serves me food again, which I eat with parcimony. With Lavannia and Rakesh, we practice writing everyone's name in Kannada. The children start to come back. In Manjula's arms, Baby Manish starts to remember me, and adopts me all over again, smiling eventually.
But now that I've stopped running, the ankle pain occurs with a vengeance, escalating to the point where I can no longer walk at all. Teyamma (Roopa's grandma), after feeding me Paan as usual, massages my foot with some soothing cream, but I have to stop her as she starts to vigorously pull my toes. The children are slowly coming back, and I walk using them as a cane from house to house. Inside Monika's house, her mother Manjula also offers me some Vicks to apply to my foot. I try to call Xavier, but the phone doesn't answer. But Anjan's older brother (who speaks a little Hindi) offers to drive me home on his motorbike. Since Xavier continues to be unreachable, I accept his offer, so off we go, also taking Anjan and Hyemanth for the ride. As we enter Palm Meadows, we're stopped by security. I explain to the guards (all in Hindi) that these are my friends which I've been visiting every week for months, that they are helping me get home after this small mishap. But security isn't objecting to their presence at all, the problem is that four people on a bike are not allowed within Palm Meadows. So we leave the two children there at the entrance, the older brother drops me home and comes back for them. They enter for a moment. But once home, completetly unable to walk by now, I just drop to bed.

-- Manjula and baby Manish --

-- Sharing a meal in Palm Meadows --
Left to right: Pushpalata, Nagalu, Gaiatree and Velangani --

In Palm Meadows -- 08/29/10

(Link to complete photographs on Flickr)


-- Prelude : Thursday 08/26/10 --
It has rained again last night. Morning is wet, muddy roads, but no actual rain. I'm running without the "Patthar" today, and with that slim new belt that allows me to keep phone and IPTL pass, feeling light. In spite of a tentative start, I warm up to the run. I am introduced into Ruxanna's tent, where she's feeding a group of children all dressed in school uniform. We're joined by Sampa, Prashanth and Kalpana to whom she also offers food. Nazia complains that she doesn't like the taste of the food, but Ruxanna urges her to eat anyway, otherwise she'll be hungry later at school. I send Utti to get tea for us all, hand her a 20rs bill.
Ruxanna talks again about her husband's illness. He was here for a couple days, just left. Both his legs are now grossly swollen, to the point where he can hardly move by himself, because of alcohol, specifies Sampa. Ruxanna shows me some small medical paper in English, with the husband's name (which I unfortunately forget), some word that none of us understand, and an injunction to "please do the needful". She interprets it as an order to go to some distant hospital to take care of this, for which she has no money (it would apparently cost 100Rs.). She asks for help, which I can't do today carrying no money. It's getting late, I don't have much time today, should leave at 8:30. I want to confirm Sunday's plans. Sampa opens by saying she won't be able to come, wanting to go to Church in Shivajinagar (a big church near where we had bought the tarps). I think I'll cancel the whole thing, but Ruxanna promises that she'll come, as well as Kupamma/Arpudam (who today are off to the village it seems), in total nine people.
I am in a hurry and need to go to work. But as I leave the children going to school walk with me, grabbing my hands, and I can't resist going al the way into Dinur with them. We run in parts (at their insistance), and I occasionally lift their backpacks from their shoulders to make their run easier (Nazia is the best runner, and sort of leading the group). They show me the contents of their bags, books and notebooks, probably ten in all, although Nazia complains that she has only six. Once off the trail and on the small road to Dinur, our presence of course attracts attention. They stop at a small roadside shop to buy pencils (ask me to contribute but I refuse). Approaching the school, a group of young boys gathered there in uniform run towards us, a happy crowd. One of the boys ties a friendship bracelet around my wrist. I thank him in Hindi, but a man (whom I've seen and talked to a few times here) interjects that the boy only knows Kannada, so I ask him to translate. A group of boys insists on running with me through the village, and the group thins out in the field leading to the main road, until after waving goodbye I am left alone to run to ITPL.

-- Sunday 08/29/10 --
I have arranged with Ruxanna and Kupamma, for them to come over to my house today (Sampa had said she couldn't come as she would go to church today in Shivajinagar). Jaya, Xavier and I have been preparing food for about ten people. Chicken, to make Kupamma happy...
But with my sprained ankle I wonder how this is all going to work out. With Ruxanna, we had decided that I would come around 10 (she works until then), then all leave together around 11. My foot is getting better to the point where I can hobble along, but of course running is unthinkable, so I leave with Xavier by car, park in front of the slum. But even though we're quite late, things are unusually quiet. As she had said, Sampa is absent, having gone to church, while Kupamma is busy inside her tent cooking, and no sign of Ruxanna, her door locked. I wonder whether we'll cancel the whole thing. But seemingly out of nowhere appears a pleasant surprise: Valli! Hi, Uncle, she declares simply as she had never left, more beautiful than ever. I haven't seen her since leaving for the US, as she had moved during my absence with her husband. She tells me she leaves far in Bangalore, somewhere near the Majestic train station. Today she has come by train to meet her sister Sampa, probably for the first time since she's moved out. She announces to me that she's pregnant (she uses the English word).
Meanwhile, Ruxanna has finally returned, and invites Valli and I in her tent. She immediately serves food to everyone (which I refuse). I ask her why eat now since I've prepared food at home, but she's confident that they'll all be able to eat later as well. I will realize later that she is not observing Ramadan, which is about to end in a few days. As I'm playing with the many children who've followed us, she gets her daughters Nazia and Shazia ready, putting on the orange dresses that we had gotten last week. We send someone to inquire if Kupamma is also getting ready. We find out more from Valli and her pregnancy, she's apparently two months pregnant, due in March, I calculate, but she seems a little confused as to when the due date might be. She complains of Chakkar (dizziness) and sort of asks for money for the doctor, but I ignore her. I ask Ruxanna how her husband is doing (the man has been very sick from liver problems, probably related to alcohol), but to my surprise, she says he's ok and doesn't pursue the topic. As she also is about to get ready, Ruxanna unfurls and combs her black hair, while Nazia points out to me the long dark strands that have fallen to the ground. The children scrutinize the bracelets on my hand, the Rakhis. I explain to Ruxanna that last Thursday I had walked with the children to school, where some boy had tied one of these around my wrist. She knows the story already, the children having already told her. I leave the tent to let her dress up as well, and outside, continue to play with the children, showing them the French game of Je te tiens, tu me tiens, par la barbichette..., which they more or less repeat even though they understand none of it - before inventing their own Kannada or Tamil version of the same tune. Kupamma is getting the children ready one by one, which takes some time. Ruxanna after having taken care of the children comes out of her tent superb in a beautiful Saree. We're about to leave when Sampa returns from Shivajinagar, with Prashanth dressed in fancy clothes. I witness the reunion of the two sisters, Sampa and valli, who haven't talked much at all (and not seen each other) since Valli moved out. Valli tells Sampa of her pregancy, which Sampa didn't know. I leave them to their reunion. We walk to the car, embark everyone, packing the car with children. Among the adults, Ruxanna and Kupamma (who's neatly combed her hair back) have come, accompanied by a young man who I don't know. Sampa is staying as predicted, but her younger sister Velangani and daughter Kalpana have joined us.
We walk to the car, embark everyone, packing the car with children. Among the adults, Ruxanna and Kupamma (who's neatly combed her hair back) have come, accompanied by a young man who I don't know. Sampa is staying as predicted, but her younger sister Velangani and daughter Kalpana have joined us. I am carrying Nazia on my knees in the front, with little Gaiatree sitting between me and Xavier. The girls play with the Air Conditionning, amazed by the cool air, placing their hands on the vents, then pressing them cold against my face or their own. On the way, I point to the Whitefield mosque for Nazia. Although we’re all in the “authorized” car, I wonder if the Palm Meadows security might create us some problems, but we’re let through fine, entering the strange mock-California bubble. We reach the house, later then expected of course, where Jaya has been cooking a meal.
Inside, the children’s curiosity quickly erases the initial intimidation. Ruxanna, as if daunted by the austere expanse house, tries to keep them quiet, which won’t last for long. Velangani seems outstanded by the place, and soon asks for my phone to call Sampa to share the experience. But how are they seeing it? Is such a contrast disgusting to them? Kupamma in any case loses no time, and pragmatically starts bombarding Jaya with questions, on the side, while we visit the rest of the house. I misjudge their familiarity with a Westernized home, and insist on showing the restrooms to Ruxanna, explain their use (the village children had been completely ignorant of this, funnily jumping in fright at the toilet flush). But Ruxanna quickly stops me with a vehement gesture of the hand, as if I was offering for her to go to the toilet now. She seems quite familiar with such settings, to my surprise. They’ve asked to watch TV, so we land back in the entrance room, sit on the ground. I have prepared whatever children’s DVDs I could gather, and start with Presto, the Pixar film. Ruxanna has understood that this is my job, and asks which films we’ve made. The films purely visual humor easily conquers the crowd. But meanwhile, not participating in this, Kupamma has stayed in the kitchen, interrogating Jaya.
We now serve the food. Kupamma has taken control with Jaya, and as usual, no one allows me to do anything, especially since I’m limping. As everyone is getting settled sitting on the floor mat, I propose a hand-wash, here too naively thinking that the faucet would feel novel to them, but Ruxanna and Velangani are completely unphased. My ankle is preventing me from sitting properly on the ground, but I still refuse a chair, wanting to be with everyone, just unable to fold my legs. Kupamma, squarely seated in the room with all pots and pans around her, serves plates for everyone. As Ruxanna had predicted, everyone eats wholeheartedly. Sitting next to me, she shows me another strategy to eat those fibrous vegetables, by holding it firmly pinched with the hand to slide it between the teeth, sucking out the flesh. I try it a few times under her guidance, a solution somewhat more elegant then Sampa’s. She refills my plate with Sambar a few times, herself eating with apetite.
After the meal, I let the children play the old Tabla set. Ruxanna asks me about the piano, which I plug in for her. She tries to play with application, wearing a mask of concentration, but eventually stops limited by her ignorance, asks me to play. I try out a few things, but as it’s difficult to keep the children off the keyboard, we both agree to “band karna”.

-- Gaiatree playing Tabla, Ruxanna playing Piano --

We’re now playing the songs from Three Idiots on the TV. The man has taken control of the remote and eventually figures out how to use it. I let them try a few films by themselves, the most successful being Kung Fu Panda which manages to rivet everyone’s attention by its visual appeal, even though they don’t understand a word. I ask Ruxanna whether the children ever see movies at all. I gather that sometimes electricity is brought in and the children are treated to a projection, somewhere near a hospital. I clarify as best I can a few things about KFP, what is a Panda (she had mistaken it for some sort of Monkey), how it takes place in China , and we try to name the various animals (in Hindi of course). It’s great to show something from my work, and I’m happy to realize the extent to which they had already understood what I do. Meanwhile, Velangani has gone outside, seems to be sitting dreamily in front of the house, staring at the other large luxurious homes. Further discussions with Ruxanna, who tells me about the upcoming end of Ramzan (Ramadan) in fourteen days.
Worried about not having much to do with them, I have bought some coloring books and crayons for the children. Everything has gone well so far, unfortunately, getting the books out ends up being a huge mistake. I haven’t planned this very well, thinking that we’d just all share, but sure enough, this creates chaotic fights, the children immediately grabbing as much as possible for themselves, fighting over each item. Nazia turns out to be particularly greedy, holding on to two coloring books for herself, while little Kalpana has nothing, which angers Velangani. Unfortunately, Ruxanna is not much help, and I am unable to control the situation well enough, overcome by discouragement as another one of these conflict erupts, blaming myself for the mishap, with a near sense of despair. I am tempted to take everything back but don’t have the guts to do it. Rather, I try to work it out through negotiation, enlisting Ruxanna’s help, but this takes far too long. Ruxanna has actually noticed that I am keeping a stack of school notebooks in one of the rooms, and suggests that I could distribute those (I had bought them with the intention of giving them in the Katigerupe village school some day). I am very surprised that she would have found these notebooks, which are kept in an inconspicuous corner. I do take a few out, but this only fuels the fire, so I soon abandon that idea. The argument last too long, re-erupting again and again after having seemingly calmed down. Kupamma criticizes Ruxanna for her children’s greediness, pointing to Lata and Gaiatree who are now quietly watching TV as examples of good manners. Everyone worries about Sampa’s reaction if she finds out that Kalpana returns empty-handed. We do reach some sort of compromise, but this has taken too long, and has somewhat tainted the event. I call Xavier to drive everyone back.
In the car, Kupamma continues her questioning, this time of Xavier, while the children and I play again with this fascinating cool air coming out of the vents. We drop everyone in front of the slum without too much ceremony. I feel almost cowardly in not entering the slum, suspecting that some of the arguments might continue there, not afraid, but just tired. As we’re about to leave, I see Nanee, from the Pattandur Agrahara community, walking here in the busy area under the bridge. They recognize me and through the open window I warmly shake their hands.

-- Pushpalata and Gaiatree watching Kung Fu Panda --

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