There are various kinds of travel journals. Some focus on the food, setting your imagination and palates salivating on the local cuisines. Some are eloquent on the grandeur of monuments, buildings, museums and architectural marvels. Some move your soul with vivid description of the landscapes – the insurmountable harshness of the lofty mountains, the lure of the pristine beaches, the verdure of the fields and the colours of the lands. Some offer a wee little glimpse of the people and their lives with fleeting observations, clichés, and often, hasty generalisations.
I am no writer; least of all a travel writer and I don’t have to pretend to follow any method. So, this journal of mine is not about the places I saw, the sights that allured me or what it did to my soul. This is about the people I met and how they moved me.
Recently, I went to Sitla, a small hamlet of 15 families nestled up somewhere in the Kumaon Hills of the Himalayas in Uttaranchal. I stayed at a friend’s sister’s home, a modest yet charming stone cottage of two storeys. This is the home of VK Madhavan, the Executive Director of CHIRAG, the Central Himalyan Rural Action Group. CHIRAG (www.chirag.org) is a non-profit, grassroots development organisation working with rural communities in the Central Himalayan state of Uttaranchal. Started in 1986, Chirag is a beacon of hope in about 150 villages in Nainital district providing programs for education, empowerment of women and girl children, teaching life skills and income generation activities while actively pursuing and encouraging sustainable natural resource management programs.
Having worked for about 2 decades and not earning a fancy corporate salary, he seems to be more committed to his job and enjoying it too. If money can’t buy love, I don’t think it can buy job satisfaction either. You only have to see him to believe it. Running a school, hospitals, providing market services for farmers, community forestry, watershed development, conservation of natural resources are not enough for him. He now runs a program called Swadesh ki Khoj, a program to energise youth between the age of 21-24 to spend a year living and working in rural areas. He runs a multi-activity organization requiring enormous patience, persuasiveness, the ability to deal with frustration and yet, push for results, in addition to the ability to motivate and charge an army of 120 people. Looking at him makes one wonder, why aren’t there more people like him? Why isn’t more work done in the impoverished and infrastructure-starved interiors of India?
When I see his home filled with books and surrounded by nature’s bounty, my short-lived dream of owning a quiet place in the hills is revived. When I see his work, I feel so small – so much can be done by all of us and yet, we are in pursuit of some mythical, elusive something. I see him, a spindly man, choosing to leave behind the comfort zone and doing something different – I am jealous and reverent at one go. I see his people speaking with genuine pride and satisfaction over their achievements – I see hope. I see that there is a way that can and should be emulated.
I leave behind Sitla and head to Sattal. Sat Taal (or Seven Lakes) is about 23 KMs from Nainital. Named after mythical Hindu Gods, Goddesses and other characters - Ram, Lakshman, Sita, Hanuman, Bharat (all from the Ramayana), Garud (the celestial vehicle of Lord Vishnu) and Nala/Damayanthi (prince and princess from a Hindu fable) these lakes provide an idyllic atmosphere, a captivating display of rustic Himalyan beauty. We went first to the main group of lakes (Ram, Lakshman, Sita and Hanuman), the hilly obstructions between them blasted by human intervention to provide a contiguous unit favourable for a more picturesque view and the untainted truth be spoken, primarily to provide boating facilities, a definite must for attracting the tourists’ dollars. Here we meet Kushal Singh Negi, the boatman who took us around the lake.
Negi is a small made man, with sun-burnt cheeks so characteristic of the mountain people. As he sits to take control of oars, you can’t help noticing that he is muscular despite his obvious poverty. Years of hard work can do wonders to your body what a gym workout at wallet-damaging prices can’t. He has to take us around 3 of the lakes for Rs. 180 (just about 4$). While he says it will take about 45 minutes, I hiss in Sakthi’s ears very distrustfully, “Make sure he doesn’t drop us within 30 minutes.”
The ride began at 2.23 pm. Seated across the boat from him, we peppered him with questions. I didn’t care for the geography and history of the lakes; I can learn it from any travel website. He is 1 among 3 brothers, married with 2 kids. He worked as a machine operator in Gujarat near Vapi, one of the 10 worst polluted places on earth, a far cry from his pristine home. He had to quit that job owing to a personal tragedy and now supplemented his meagre income from his farm with money made by rowing boats – at Rs. 30 per round (less than 60 cents). The rest of the Rs. 180 went to the Union, the Boat owner, Government for taxes and other charges by the Tourism department. In a lean season, he managed 2-3 rounds per day and in a tourist season lasting between the months of May-July, about 5. So, his daily income was anywhere between 2 to 4$ a day. Negi is not poor, technically no, the World Bank's definition of the poverty line for India, being US$ 1/day/person.
With this money, his son Vijay (he affectionately recalled his pet name Bobby) studies 7th grade at a private school and his daughter Ritika (nicknamed Ruchi) studies 9th grade at Government-aided school. He plans to let his daughter finish high school at the least. Very laudable considering this is in a country where female literacy per the census of 2001 is 54.1%; literacy is just defined as the ability to read and write with understanding – whatever that means!
He talked with pride about the lakes, how they have been left untouched despite the onslaught of tourists. About how the group of people whose income depend on the lakes ensure its cleanliness insisting upon tourists not to throw rubbish in or around the lakes, about how they are all acutely aware of preserving this very lifeline of theirs and about how the tourism department regulates fishing (license fee of Rs. 25 per day) limiting the depletion of fish. He talks of the climate, the depth of the lakes during rains (90 feet) and after (80 feet), of his fields where he grows wheat and other seasonal vegetables, of the history of other lakes (it is taboo to fish in the Nala Damayanthi lake, there is myth about how a fish caught and taken to the frying pan jumped out and all fish still bear scald marks on their bodies) of the Methodist Missionary present since the British era owning one of the lakes (private ownership of a natural resource is some concept!), of how he borrowed life jackets from the lake authorities to teach his children swimming and so on.
Charmed by his talk, we rowed to the fourth lake for a princely sum of Rs. 60 (1.2$) and talked some more. All along the lake were his friends, some teasing him, some showing of their prized catch – the man smiled through it all. The trip ended at 3.13 pm, a good 50 minutes since we started. In those moments, there was fleeting intimacy. We virtually entered his home and life, had a glimpse of his present struggles and hopes for the future. We saw an environmentalist caring for Mother Earth in his own way. Environmentalism made economic sense to him. We saw a caring father, a loyal husband and a true family man who stood by those who needed him. In simple terms, he is anybody that you see everywhere. He is a nobody that we fail to see amidst the hustle bustle of our own lives.
At Negi’s instance, we go to Madhubhani restaurant at the shore of the lakes. I ask for the local cuisine, the Kumaoni Thali (platter including Dubka, Joli, Chudkani and Bhaat). I am refused – “takes half an hour to make.” When I insist, I am told again that it has to be an order for at least 4 people. At Rs. 70 per plate, it won’t hurt to pay for even 4. Again, I can’t have it; Bhaat takes one day of pre-soaking. Disappointed, I have rotis and mixed veg subzi. After finishing my meal, I fought with the restaurant owner. What is the point in giving me Kashmiri and Punjabi food in Kumaon when I can have them in Delhi itself? He is helpless and pleads with me to call him a day in advance the next time I go. I am terribly disappointed. This is a repeat of not being able to find Himachali cuisine in Shimla in the Government-run restaurant when I went there in 2008.
This is the impact of globalisation – of Food. You can find capers and galangal in India, Saravana Bhavan in California, and the golden arches of McDonalds all over the globe but try asking for local cuisine – it is tough to find. Punjabi food has overtaken everything else as the primary Indian food, although its stature is still diminished by calling everything as “Curry.” South Indian food is known only for Idlis, Dosas, Sambhar and Uthappam. Who knows of other recipes and culinary traditions?
I urge my driver Atiq to take me to a restaurant serving Kumaoni food at least for dinner before catching the train back to Delhi. He asks around in Kathgodam and can’t find a single place. But, he is not willing to leave us unhappy. He calls his wife and asks her to cook for us, even as I started protesting. His wife promises a feast in an hour but unfortunately, we don’t have time to spare and besides, it would be unfair to impose on the poor man.
This is the time of recession, not just in economic terms. We city people are wary of neighbours, and barely know them. We don’t have minutes to spare in the constant race against time. We never have enough money. Calling friends over requires meticulous planning, cleaning up the home and mostly food is ordered in. Or the pain is spread and stirred together in a Pot Luck – if you are lucky, you will like what you eat. Yet, a man in the distant hills of Kumaon restores my faith in the time honoured tradition of Indian hospitality. Athithi Devo Bhava – The guest is God. Atiq Bhai doesn’t think about his humble abode or its rag tag condition. He doesn’t hesitate to partake in his humble meal. He doesn’t mind putting his wife through the pain of cooking for 2 strangers. He says, “yeh hamara farz hai – it is my duty.” I didn’t get to eat Kumaoni thaali but my heart is filled.
For more on Kumaon and its cuisine, use Google. If you want to know the people, go there and talk to them. You will know more than what any travel guide can teach you. Here goes my favourite quote of all times by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, “Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag.” How true!
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