Saturday, May 30, 2009

Early learnings.

When you're on the road, you learn to learn quickly. You also learn to adapt and improvise. Not being a veteran traveler, there's a lot I have to learn, and i'm learning a lot of it fast. Its been about a week, and I've learned that i've already made quite a few mistakes. S of them are easily remedied, some of them not so easily.

1) I've packed too much. In terms of clothes, the only things i needed to be comfortable were : A pair of shorts (or 2), a pair of Jeans (levi's, in honour of good ole' Mr. Jack), two tee shirts, one shirt and plenty of underwear. The only thing I got right was underwear. I have 3 pants, 2 thick shirts, two normal shirt (just in case I have to look decent), 5 or 6 tees, a jacket (for the hills), rain pants and shirt (the monsoons are periliously close). Of all of this, I can, now, only stand by my decision to lug the jacket and rain gear all the way. I have no idea how to get rid of the rest... i could dump it, but I don't really want to, since I'll eventually need it, and then I won't have money to buy new stuff. I think I might wait bit, since I have to eventually stop off at home to sign my income tax returns (of which there really are none, but in an uncharacteristic bit of forward thinking, i'm doing it in case i ever need a visa for anywhere).

2) Wandering aimlessly is good, but you should have some basic idea of where you're going next and where you're going after that.

3) Dont always trust maps. Two places may look like they're in a straight line, and that one is on the way to the other, but the universe and the Indian Railways will have different plans for you.

4) I'll tell you which cell phone operator has the best network in India. BSNL. They have towers where others wouldn't bother going, or aren't allowed yet. This is a lesson I should have learnt from my days in Kashmir, but for now, i'm stuck to being the no. 1 customer at the no. 1 Phone Booth in Bhamragarh.

5) The one thing I CANNOT get rid of, is my laptop. But, if I could, i'd do it in a single shot. Or trade it for one of those smaller, cheaper ones... I've seen an acer thats tiny.

6) Its easy to lose focus. While I am wandering, I also have a definate objective - I want to complete research for a book i've always wanted to write. I have to keep in mind that I shouldn't lose focus.

Thats it for now. I'm going to go visit some tribal villages tomorrow ... I hear they make interesting alcohol from Mohua Trees (madhuca Indica)! It isn't illegal for tribals in India to brew their own alcohol, but its potent stuff. A 6 or 7 year old boy was brought to the hospital today, in a coma. Apparently, he drank too much of the stuff last night, and became unconscious. His fool parents waited a whole day before bringing him, thinking that if they force-fed him tamarind juice, he'd vomit it out. Unfortunately, most of it went into his lungs, and his survival seems bleak.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Hemalkasa

I can never look at food again the same way. And, for the first time in my life, i'm truly humbled.

I've spent the past few days at a small hospital in Gadchiroli. Known as the Lok Biradari Prakalp, this hospital was started by Dr. Prakash Amte and his wife Mandakini Amte. The aim was to provide healthcare to the very backward and Madia tribals who live in the forests of Gadchiroli District. Slowly, the hospital has grown, and now also has a school and animal rescue centre.

Dr. Amte was awarded the Ramon Magsaysay award last year. His father, Baba Amte, was also given the same honour many years ago.

I came here without knowing anybody, just an introduction to Aniket Amte, Prakash Bhau's (or brother, as he's known) son. As soon as I got here, they welcomed me, and let the place open to me. Prakash Bhau himself showed me around the place.

The next couple of days, i spent wandering around the place. In the mornings, I sat with Dr. Digant (Prakash Bhau;s son) and his wife Dr. Anagha. Firstly, I was struck by how dedicated they were, and how much they cared for their patients. Of course, they seem to take it all in their stride, like they've seen it all before. Like other good doctors, they too have what can be called a rough touch. But in their actions, and the care they take, I could see how dedicated they were.

"Hey, don't go around with those gloves on!" Anagha yells at an assistant. "Now that you've touched other things with them, don't use them on patients," she tell him. A little while later, i watch as she sews up a wound just about a girl's eye - without anasthetic. "It'll take 2 pokes to put the anasthetic in, and 2 pokes to sew it up. So it may seem hard, but its practical."

A little later, I watch as Prakash bhau sets a broken femur right. The girl's leg is completely broken, and she can't walk. When I had a broken knuckle, i was complete anesthetised and 2 pins were put in. Prakash bhau and Digant set her leg right by pulling on it, and holding it in place while a splint is applied. "In the city, the two pieces of bone would have been joined by a metal plate and held in place. Here this is all we can do." When the hospital was started, fractures were treated without even x-rays.


Thats how the Amte's work. Clad in their trademark vests and shorts, they take it all as it comes. While they may seem to treat everything casually, you can see that its actually a sense of duty and purpose, veiled with compassion.

For long i've wondered about the problem of daily. How we go through our lives, running to and from offices, just getting through the day. The amte's have a sense of purpose. That, i think, makes all the difference. They seem to live in a simpler time, when it was important to do good. I could feel that simpler time when the youngest of the Amte's, Aniket and his wife, took me for a small hike this morning. We walked to a temple a few clicks away (Aniket didn't bother praying) and ate the nicest little mangoes i've ever eaten off the forest floor.

Another thing that is beginning to strike me here is the abject poverty that the tribals live in. Its nothing like that which we see in the cities. Most of the people that come here suffer from some sort of nutritional deficiency. The TB patients here all look so thin and malnourished. Even being a journo who claims to have seen India, i'd never seen this before.

Malnutrition here seems to have become almost endemic, and is the major cause for many diseases, including TB.
"Its like AIDS," he says, "except that there is nothing we can do about this. At least AIDS can be treated to some extent... where will these people get food from." During the OPD hours, Anagha says, "It's a vicious circle. They get TB because they are malnourished, and because they get TB, they get even weaker. When they are here in the hospital they get better, then they go back and fall ill again."

Here are a couple of pictures of people that i spoke to.




Looks like pictures from war-torn Sudan, don't they. No, they're really from war-torn Gadchiroli. (oh, i didn't mention, but there is a war on here... but i'll leave that for another post).

Monday, May 25, 2009

Nasik

It's day three on the road, and I'm sitting in a dingy room in a government guest house in nasik. The shower works, but water also flows out of the water-heater when you turn on the tap. The bed sheets had odd, very large patches on them before a skinny boy in tattered jeans and a red wifebeater changed them for me late last night. When I asked him for a bottle of water, he waited to finish drinking himself, then gave me the same water.

And, if you believe me, this is a VIP (very important person) room in this guest-house! Now, by no stretch of imagination am I a VIP, so how did i get this room. Thanks to a News camerman I know with a penchant for drama (I once saw him call a police station, pretending to be the Chief Minister's Personal Assistant, and order the cops to free his nephew, who'd been arrested for riding a motorcycle without a licence). He pulled a few strings and got someone to call the manager of the Guest house, who in turn called the front desk, who got a room unlocked for me. When we were walking in, my friend insisted on carrying my (rather heavy) backpack saying, "watch this." He then went up to the reception and said, "You have to give him a VIP room! Do you know who he is? Didn't your boss tell you? He's a very important journalist. He knows everyone! And he's my boss, so please give him a VIP room." He then turned around and said in the worst engish I've heard, "Sar, how many you wants stay days? One? ok cool one."

Later I asked him (in hindi) what he'd studied, and he said (in hindi), "I have a BA. In English literature." So much for the indian education system.

Other than meet an old friend (acquaintance) I was lucky to meet another interesting young chap,. For some odd reason, this guy, who's so close to the naxal heartland, has a fascination for all insurgencies north-east. He claims to be on back slapping terms with the leader of a Naga Insurgency, and claims to have filmed their training camps in the north east. He says that these insurgencies run a business : to train other militant groups from all over the region!

I realised that coming to nasik was slightly off my route. So, I paid Rs. 80 for a ride to the Nasik Road Railway station. 80 is a lot of money when you have so little of it. I paid another 750 rupees for a ticket to Chandrapur on the Sewagram express. It's an odd train that goes only upto nagpur, but the last 4 bogies are reattached to the Ballarshah express, and they make they way upto Ballarshah. Chandrapur is on route.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

first post.

So, in a few hours from now, i'm supposed to hit the road. I wanted to feel like Che or Jack... or even Gautam Buddha, but i feel like some digital nomad. 

Its not the same, is it, to be connected when you nomading.