Nagpur Diaries

It was my first outdoor assignment as a journalist for Mid-day. A man from Nagpur had contracted a strange disease whose name I have now completely forgotten (and I’m too lazy to google) and which was also called ‘sleeping sickness’. One of those ridiculously rare (not to mention embarrassingly funny) illnesses that could on a whim decide to prove fatal. So yea the edit meet was of course fun and everyone had their take (mostly perverted) on it. But when the World Health Organization decided to send two of its officials to collect his blood samples…we knew we had a story.

So off I went, packed into a train bound for Nagpur. What with all the excitement of trying to make conversation with extremely sociable passengers, trying to hold my pee in and trying not to get groped at…I reached Nagpur station in no time!

Once there I checked into the closest inn I could find and then set off for Shivni, a village tucked away in the interiors of Nagpur, where the patient resided.

Here’s where I take a break in the story to thank my mother, who never once stopped me from doing the million and one foolhardy things I have gone on to do in life! Yay for SupercoolMom!

Ok so coming back to the journey that according to my research should have lasted three hours and that had now stretched to five. It was 6pm when we reached the last stop…which in case you were aching to know…was NOT Shivni. Shivni, I was told was another half hour by ric or another hour by a bus that would arrive when it wanted to.

My plans of quickly finishing the interview and leaving back for the inn seemed stupid to say the least. Calling my boss who was waiting for my story with breathless excitement brought me to the conclusion that she was fuming. Why, is something one NEVER asks. I wondered if I should make up a story and dictate it to her but I was too tired to summon the powers of my imagination so I told her I could not hear anything and kept the phone.

The other thing I had not accounted for was the dark. Villages usually descend into darkness by seven and right now it was as good as the middle of the night. So I took a ric.

It was a mud road with jowar fields on both sides and I had just begun to appreciate the beauty when my ric driver asked me if I was from Bombay. On replying in the affirmative he said, “I thought so too. Only girls from Bombay would have the guts to travel alone in a ric at this time in such a lonely place.” This memory never ceases to freak me out today but there is something to be said for the audacity of youth, (I was 23 then. I’m still young of course!) I did not quite think there was reason to worry. He continued, “But one thing I should tell you…don’t do it again…you may not be so lucky”. I saw a light at a distance and a few men waving for the ric to stop. Before he stopped the driver told me to say no if they asked for a ride.

I should have said no, but I did not have the heart to. Villages involve long distances and these men looked old. If I was in a ric I might as well give them a lift, I thought. So three of them got in, one sitting with the driver, the others behind. We got talking (Thank God for my knowledge of Marathi) I told them I was a patrakaar and why I was there.

They knew the man’s house but he would be asleep now, (of course!) they said. You will only be able to meet him tomorrow morning. Great. I inquired about village inns and they laughed it off. Nobody ever came to Shivni. They suggested I meet the Police Patil (basically the head of the village) and asked the ric guy to take me there.

The Patils house was the biggest in the village. The door was open and I asked if I could speak to him. He came out, a tall, regal man in his 70s. Grey hair, aristocratic features and an unmistakable air of authority. I spluttered out my story, embarrassed at my lack of fluency, his stature making my Marathi sound worse than usual

He heard me out, called me inside, and asked one of the many women in the house, their heads covered with their sari pallu, to get me water. While we waited for the water, he did not speak. I looked around. The house was littered with children, the object of their all consuming attention, a TV set, the only one in the entire village, and it was playing Chandrakanta.

Once the water arrived, was drunk and tumbler returned, he told me I could be their guest if I wished. They could keep me for the night and tomorrow morning I would be introduced to the man I had come to meet.

Dinner followed, the TV now showing some saas bahu saga, post which the women retired into the kitchen, each washing their own dishes accompanied by happy banter and a general air of satisfaction.

All the children had surrounded me by now, their shy giggles and awkward talk endearing to say the least. The one I most remember though was this little girl…all of 6 years…who I later learned was not part of the family, but a cousin from another village. There was no shyness about her…just refreshing candor. She had a thousand questions…all of them about life in Bombay and she listened to all my answers intently. When I finally asked her why she was so curious about the city, she said she did not want to stay in a village for long; she wanted to travel and live in a ‘big city’. She had even made a list of cities she wanted to go to! I was zapped!

Anyways it was bedtime now and just as the women and children were ready to sleep, the TV changed its tunes to Kaliyon ka Chaman…the men were ready to rule the remote now!

The next morning, I met the man, spoke to him and his family, spoke to neighbours, took pictures and then finally bid adieu to my hosts. While saying goodbye to the 6 year old bundle of curiosity, I asked her, “Yetes ka majhya barobar Mumbai?” (Will you come with me to Bombay?) This is a safe question as no child will really want to come away with a stranger but this one was ready…she had even packed her bag that morning when she realized I’m leaving!! We all just laughed it off as a joke but I was stunned to say the least. She asked me for my mobile number and my address and told me that she would call or write to me when she came to the city. I really hope she does…