Ordinary Amar and his extraordinary village

30 December 2011

The six seater autorickshaw rattles as I see those big cactus plants alongside the broken road that leads to Mahan, a small village near Alibaug. It is that village where my mom used to spend her summer vacation with her Aaji, Ajoba and her Mama (Uncle). All resting in peace for quite some time now. I plan to spend my vacation here as Mom and Aai meet their old friends and relatives, Mama's children have grown up. Amar is one of them and is the only one whom I know (or care to know). His kid will be attempting SSC exam next year. Last time I saw him was when he was yet to join the school. Those memories faded long ago.I declare my excitement to Aai and Mom about the visit after such a long time. 'Things havent changed much' Aai says. After taking a look around, I concur. There is no landline here, BSNL, six-seaters and two or three State transport buses are the only things that connect the village with rest of the world. No LPG cylinder has seen Mahan although HP's gas filling plant is just about 20 kilometers from there. Same is the case of tap water, the river that flows behind the village has never seen an electric pump.  The dispensary is a good seven kilometers away in a bigger village called Ramraj so people try not to get bitten by snakes or scorpions at night. Amar's home is the only two storeyed house in the entire village. The wooden flooring on the second floor is sturdy enough to last for one more century, unless someone plans to demolish it. Looking at it, anyone can easily make out that it was, at some point in time, home of the richest people in the village.

Amar's dad, or my Mom's Uncle was the Sarpanch of Mahan, just like his dad (Mom's grandfather). Chief Minister of Maharashtra Yashwantrao Chavan once stayed in this very home and had dinner with my ancestors. 'Aajoba had the biggest cattle-shed in the village', Mom says, 'Farming was at its peak, rains were never an issue, nor was the soil. The storage room used to overflow with excess bags of grains, Ajoba used to donate it generously, Ajoba was an avid hunter, they had a gun too. If owning a bullock cart was considered as a sign of prosperity, Ajoba had two. Our vacation was a perfect getaway from the poverty and hardships Ghatkopar had to offer for the rest of the year. Anything we ask and Mama or Ajoba would oblige, no questions asked. Diwali was what diwali actually meant !!’

'Where is the gun ??' I look around the house and ask my mom. She points her finger to the wooden peg on the wall. 'They used to hang it here, must have sold it now'

Sold ?? The word makes me uncomfortable, why would the richest family in the village sell a gun which had a legacy attached to it ? The storage room is empty, the house itself feels dull and completely devoid of energy. I can’t find the 'biggest-cattle-shed-in-the-village' anywhere either. Apparently, someone has built a house there.
Its evening, soon its going to get dark. Mom and Aaji are sitting in the small house next to Amar's 'Waadaa' while I try to get acquainted with the cow outside, she is the only one remaining and the bullock cart is nowhere to be seen. By this time, I have befriended a kitten who enjoys cuddling herself up in my arms. I peep inside, there is a woman sobbing and telling something to Aai. I can't decipher the mumbles. They exit the house after sometime. Aai looks a bit nervous, mom hides her emotions with a smiling face. Four of us start marching towards the field.

As I, my mom, Aai and the little cat stroll in the fields, mom looks at Amar and his kid playing cricket and starts telling the story.

'Till the time grandma was in this world, there was discipline, there were prayers in the village, everybody was happy, there were no differences among the relatives and if there were any grandma used to hide them with her caring nature. She was a god-fearing lady and perhaps the most beautiful in the village. She was holding all the strings together. When she died an early death, these men lost all their values.There were no prayers .The village wasn't the same anymore. As if it had lost all the shine it had. Grandfather started gambling, drinking and womanizing. All these qualities passed on to their next generation.
आजोबा गेल्यावर मामाला सगळं आयतं मिळालं.  जमीन, घर, गोठा आणि पैसा.
Mama did the same… abused his wife,  got into drinking and gambling and getting into petty fights with relatives and villagers. He and his friends stopped going to the fields for farming..

‘We are the land-lords, why should we work ?’

They used to hire lesser villagers for farming in their fields, but they weren’t paid well. Eventually there were no workers and as a result no crop. Nobody paid attention to Amar and his brothers' education either. They grew up with the same attitude towards life. Times changed, expenses increased. When the cash reserves started dropping, they started selling anything that was worth selling. The famous gun, the cattle-shed and its cattle were its early victims.  After that, these brothers started selling their fertile lands in pieces to the businessmen of Mumbai; disputes started cropping with many claiming their shares, quarrels became the order of the day. The woman was sobbing about the land her husband had sold without asking her. Whatever money they got, they bought bikes, TVs and DVD players, expensive phones or splurged on alcohol or gambling. Nobody cared about investing or saving or looking at their own future. Now they don’t have any land of their own. As a last resort, they have started working as daily-wage workers in those fields owned by business-men .'

A daily-wage worker who works in the field which once belonged to him.   

But the ego still remains, most of the times Amar skips work and plays cricket with his counterparts on those fertile fields. He earns few extra bucks in the form of 'commission' by making deals of his friends’ land with the businessmen from Mumbai and proudly calls himself a land-dealer. One day there are not going to be any lands to sell. His kid's attitude towards study and education does not look promising. I won't be surprised to see the 'waadaa' being sold to some business-man, but it might just be a tragic end to what was once upon a time an alternative to heaven for them.

Its amazing what easy money, cheap alcohol, lack of education and bloated ego can achieve.