Sitting in a large “dining/kitchen/family” room with mud floors in my young friend’s home in Karjanha Village I was thinking about how fortunate I am. The TV was on Nickelodeon and there were numerous children and some adults sitting on a mat on the floor watching, a small fan overhead; one woman and her small daughter making roti, another woman heating up fresh buffalo milk; a cat running through the room, a goat; large storage bins of grain/rice in small coves.
I could have been sitting somewhere in the US, maybe just coming from swimming or shooting some hoops, green grass everywhere, little dust, real roads, cars, dogs on leashes, but yet I felt as if this home in the Village was the right place for me, even with all of its seeming “discomfort”.
I asked my friend where he slept in the multi-room somewhat decrepit house with many people, a joined family, and he said, “wherever I can”. The lights and television flickered on and off and there were mosquitoes everywhere, the fan didn’t do much, no real break from the humidity. In the Village ox carts abound, people ride bicycles, some motorcycles, lots of walking, women carrying huge loads on their heads, people defecating in fields, eating with their hands, drinking water that isn’t always pure. In my friend’s yard grapefruit and mango trees, buffalos, goats, children running barefoot and porches made from mud.
At this point in life, I could be totally misguided, but my perception is that people in the west (and those living more of a western lifestyle in the east) generally want things to be simpler/easier as if working for years has somehow brought them to a point where they feel it is their right to relax and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Many might volunteer for a few weeks, months some even for a year, but in general, if money has been saved it might be about taking vacations (cruises) to places that they’ve dreamed about.
For whatever reasons, I’ve found that living in a room in a hospital hostel, in a small village is the place to be. It’s about the friendships which I’ve made with those who have grown up 180 degrees from me, being able to not necessarily communicate verbally but through a smile, pointing, helping people to laugh. It’s about my sense of wonder every time I see an oxcart or people planting paddy, the smiles when I take out my camera or the strange looks that I get from people of all ages, when they see this alien from literally another planet.
The work isn’t easy, trying to get others to see and adapt to western ways of focus, discipline, pride, enthusiasm, punctuality and commitment can be very frustrating. But as I ride on a borrowed bicycle on the only paved road in the village and see the lush green fields, woman working in multi-colored saris and men tending their buffalo I relax, feel the slight breeze and really see the brilliant sky as the sun sets. I say hello to everyone I pass, and my young friend reminds me to say Namaste, many people responding to me with a smile, others looking at me like did this alien say something to me?
As I took in the entire scene while eating my rice, roti and vegetables, drinking the warm buffalo milk, the family’s eyes fixed upon the television, there was a sense of peace; I didn’t need to rush my dinner. There was a feeling of contentment in these small pleasures which I was experiencing. I was enjoying the fruits of my labor , so many miles and years away from where I used to live.
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