Rajasthan Rambles

So many images jostling for their own rightful space in the public eye.
That one really doesn't miss the camera left behind - the mind has its own memory y'see.
Little snippets captured here and there that surface at the end of the day.
And make you believe that somewhere, you must have walked the right road.
To hear the stories, see the things you were meant to see.

Met a man today. A farmer by vocation, an ascetic by calling.
His daughter was brutally murdered at her marital home - he tells the story well.
Of how she was pushed into the 'kund', a storage tank for water.
And how he took 10 days to wrap his mind around the thought that she was no more.
Another 4 years running from pillar to post to ensure that the killers were jailed.

He walks on. His wizened face belying the youthfulness within.
He carries a small red bag slung across his person - with a spare 'dhoti', some 'bajra' and sheafs of papers.
He is illiterate, he will have you know. But he knows which of the 5000 RTI applications have been written for what.
And he tells you that it is not him that does the walking - it is God that drives him.
You wonder at the simplicity/strength of his faith as he walks away into the scorching sun.

Her name literally translates into 'orange'. She has prepared her script well.
She speaks of mobilising 'Sangathan's to act against drunken husbands and abusive men.
Of walking to the Collector's office at Ratangarh to plead for a pipleine connection to her village.
Of protesting against inflated electricity bills that the government regularly serves to the poorest of the poor.

But even as she regales you with her stories of change, her face remains covered as her husband enters the room.

She is the daughter in law who has come in from outside. You'd remember her face long after the rest fades.
She serves you a meal of 'roti' and 'sangri ki sabzi', insists that you use the bathroom before leaving for the field.
Looking at her, you'd never guess that she is part of a village committee that monitors the activities of the Panchayat.
She laughs in glee as she recalls her attempts to campaign for a woman sarpanch in the village.
And informs you, with pride, that she has learnt how to write out an RTI form all by herself of late.

I walk into a large compund segrgated into 5 distinct spaces.
A domestic area, one for livestock rearing and another for an 'atta chakki'.
The remaining 2 spaces taken up by a small kirana shop and a sewing machine in another room.
I meet the woman who runs the show - singlehandedly earning the upkeep for her family.
The field worker complains that new money has spoilt her - I see only a sense of accomplishment in her eyes.

And finally, the most enduring image of the day.
I go to see the site of a house that is being built by a member of the team.
Meet his parents instead - they are from a remote village and have dropped by to help their son build his home.
His old father sits in the sun separating the stone chips, his mother carries them to the waiting labour.
He proudly introduces his parents as they pull up a charpoy for me to sit awhile.

There are many many more, tucked away somewhere.
But those are for private consumption, to be savoured when the mood is low.
I leave you with these stories, with the feelings they have evoked over the past few days.
Feeling fatigued and nourished at the same time - I hope you get the drift?
I know I will be travelling some more.