Tag: Himachal Pradesh

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Slices from Life

Technology War in the House

By Chetan Datta Poduri

From Public Domain

The other day I had a tough time explaining mobile telephony and its advancements to my dad who’s around 85 years old. Both of us are highly educated. Neither of us knew modern technology well. Nevertheless, me being a self-taught-geek-or-engineer-or-technologist-of-sorts keep explaining the advancements in technology at regular intervals to my father.

My father, 85, is still actively practicing in a nearby trust hospital. He retired from government service almost two decades ago. Ever since he has been actively consulting patients in local private hospitals. He always says that keeping oneself active (physically or professionally) is more than sufficient to keep ourselves healthy.

“No exercises needed”, he would say whenever someone asked him, and would add, “there isn’t any beach or a lake resort in the arid Hyderabad to sit back and relax. So, the patients give me some avocation to pass my time”.

I must also confess that my father has been using hearing aids in both the ears since he was 50 years old, and amnesia slowly started getting the better of him four years ago…

*

Six years ago, another problem cropped up…

In December 2019, as you all know this planet was plagued by the COVID-19 pandemic. Amidst this hullabaloo, China made a small significant technological advancement – China silently unrolled 5G mobile telephony[1] in Wuhan.

As March 2020 neared, Indian government announced harsh restrictions, prominent amongst them are the lockdowns. To complicate the matters, my dad’s patients desperately needed to consult him for whatever…

… So, literally imprisoned at home my father embarked on video consultations to patients through WhatsApp. That represented the flashpoint between my dad and me.

Dad started complaining that his video conferences were not working properly.

The self-taught engineer in me explained that for proper video streaming and conferencing the mobile handset needs to have certain amount of memory in its RAM and storage all of which must be compatible with the ‘xG’ mobile telephony the government or service provider is offering (where ‘x’ represents a whole number like 2, 3, 4 or 5 and in near future can be 6 also). Like a true technocrat, I explained all the technology I knew with appropriate diagrams and flow-charts.

“What’s this RAM and storage?” asked my dad

“Well, I think RAM means Random Access Memory…”, I quipped peering through the edge of my glasses.

“What’s with the storage?”

“Well, everything your mobile handset receives, be it SMS or any other notifications or photographs you click with your mobile camera, it needs to keep somewhere. It needs a filing cabinet. That is called storage. If your handset has something called an SD card, it is external storage while every handset is sold initially with some storage called ‘internal storage’…”

“So … how much area does this storage take”

I casually replied, “Usually it is measured in GBs (giga bytes) … Your handset, I guess is some 16 GB or so… Mine’s about 32 GB…”

It’s been six years since we have had this discussion. The then government complicated the situation in our house by announcing that in another six months it will roll out 5G services in India to compete with Chinese …

“Ok! That’s alright but why are my phone calls not up to the mark. What does it have to do with storage? I understand if it is missing SMS, photos, storing and retrieving videos, etc… But why is the voice of the caller invariably broken or videos not clear?”

“Well, you might be using a 3G handset. Presently, the service providers are offering 4G+ services. Maybe you need to change your handset”

“Do I look like a fool? On one hand you are saying my phone is 16 G and on the other hand you are saying that government is offering only 4G services. Are you trying to ridicule me?”

Dumbstruck I tried to convince my dad. “Daddy, telephony G is different from storage GB … G of telephony means Generation and GB is giga bytes… 4G is different from 16 GB”.

“I know… I know… If government is offering only 4G and I have a 16 G handset, and there are two SIM cards in my handset 4G multiplied 4G is 16 G… then why is my handset not working properly?”, dad said angrily.

As an adolescent, I always felt that my father was very poor in mathematics and that’s perhaps why he asked me to opt for Biology stream in college. Had I known then that he knew how to square 4, I would’ve opted for mathematics stream giving many-a-CEOs a good run for their money…

“No!” I yelled, “the G in xG is different from GB”

“Now… Now… Now… My hearing aids are working properly… no need to shout… unnecessarily you’ll be disturbing the neighbours… Tell me, if my handset is 16 G why is it not working in 4G technology?”

I tried to pacify myself, “guess he has a hearing problem with letter ‘B’…”

“This G is not the same as that GB… Both are different…,” I said at the top of my voice

“Ok… But how to solve the problem?”

“Change your handset to something that can support 4G services…”

“But it is lockdown now… So… what’s the alternative?”

“The only alternative is to wait till they relax the lockdown and buy a new one until then endure the faulty video and audio calls… No other way out…”

*

Twenty years ago, in 2002, I bought my first mobile handset – a Nokia 3100 for about Rs3000. I was in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh then. There was a delayed roll-out of mobile telephony in North-western India and Kashmir regions of India for obvious reasons of them being very next to enemy nations, China and Pakistan. It was 2G technology then. Subsequently, a number of cheap Chinese, Taiwanese, Vietnamese and Korean mobile handsets invaded India.

Back in 1991 CE, when India liberalised its economy, India was invaded by a number of international products in all spheres of life. Many Chinese and other Asian national companies also released their wares. This gave the average Indian at least four options.

The first option of buying highly priced superior quality original products from the Western Countries. The second option is that of the cheap lookalikes mostly from oriental countries like China, Taiwan, Vietnam and Korea. These were commonly referred to as duplicates. A third reasonable and genuine option was also offered by the liberalised Indian market – the Japanese products. These Japanese products, particularly the watches and calculators, were diametrically different from either the Western or the Oriental country products. They were priced somewhere in between and offered technology products with graceful designs. No matter what happens, these Japanese goods exceed your expectations. The fourth option was the local Indian products. These were rather crude in their design, usually low in quality and may or may not work testing your luck.

Chinese products, the duplicates, looked more American than the American products themselves but with Mandarin notations. From a distance it is difficult to say which is which. The most popular example in this direction was the copy of popular Batteries. Street vendors used to dispense American lookalike batteries for Rs5 while the original western would cost Rs95. Among the Indian products that stood the test of time were mostly food and dairy items and some watches/clocks.

This period of 90s in India paralleled the European Union’s efforts to revive the defunct industries that were bombed out in World War II. Also, around this time domestic airlines pampered the passengers by giving cheap watches as gifts and souvenirs. Net result: both my father and me developed a passion for collecting watches. My father’s patients would gift him cheap Chinese or so-called duplicates of the popular European watches. While he still collects these cheap watches, I, in due course, fizzled out. Of course, as of today, the pace at which the companies release newer designs outran our passion.

Mobile handsets, particularly the cheap ones that flooded the Indian market, fuelled our passion to collect handsets. So, now both of us have an additional avocation of changing mobile handsets as frequently as possible. Since in 2002 I was in Shimla and my dad was in Hyderabad, it became an unwritten rule between both of us that we appear with a different mobile handset every time we met. This passion continued for about a decade till 2012. By this time, I covered two cities – Shimla and Guwahati in Northeastern state of Assam. My father having retired from active government service lived (and continues to live in, touch wood) in Hyderabad which is in the south Indian state of Telangana.

A neighbourhood mobile vendor used to supply my father with cheap mobile handsets. For some unknown reason he used to call my father ‘Uncle’ and me as ‘Sir’. So, my mother and me used to pull my dad’s legs by calling the mobile vendor as his nephew.

As per our passion, we regularly changed our mobile phones. This continued till sometime… literally till 2018… when the 4G services were launched. Around this time the mobile ‘nephew’ of my father stopped supplying newer versions of handsets to my father.

But when he supplied mobile handsets to my father, he also used to do an additional service to my father: every time my father changed his handset, the mobile ‘nephew’ would somehow do a data transfer from the older handset to the new one. This I call an additional service because my father, as I mentioned earlier, uses hearing aids. So, the mobile handset must also be connected to the hearing aid through Bluetooth or other reliable technology. This is followed by a calibration of the hearing aid with the audiologist. All this took at least 2 – 3 days and multiple visits to both the mobile vendor and the audiologist. The mobile ‘nephew’ was very enthusiastic and never complained about any inconvenience. Other mobile shop owners would bluntly ask my father to get the calibration done elsewhere or with the service centre present at the other end of the city.

In one of the exchanges of mobiles, the data could not be properly transferred.

*

In June 2020, I guess, the government relaxed the lockdowns for the first time. Promptly, my father headed to a neighbourhood mobile phone shop and bought a 4G handset as per my recommendation. To my surprise, my father did not go to his mobile ‘nephew’. He went to a high-end mobile shop. My father this time bought an advanced model of a popular company’s handset.

After a day or two, and more video conferences later, my father expressed happiness and thanked me saying that for the first time in his life I gave a correct advice.

But now he needed something from the earlier unfinished data transfer. He wanted the data in the older mobile handset into the new handset. I took both the handsets to the new vendor and requested him to do the transfer. He gave a polished glib talk giving me the impression that the earlier handset is a cheap model from which it is better not to transfer the data. Crestfallen, I dragged myself to my-father’s-mobile-nephew and asked him to do the needful. The nephew told me that he failed to get permission for 4G and 5G so he’s at a loss as to help me.

“…that”, the nephew told me then, “is also the reason why your father no longer procures his mobiles from me”.

*

Two years of COVID restrictions rolled on somehow. For more than a year and a half every Indian was literally imprisoned in their respective homes due to the on-going pandemic.

The technology argument resurfaced between me and my father once again.

Dad said, “…again the problem of poor-quality video and audio…”

“Ah! Our service provider has now upgraded to 5G+ …Your handset is 4G… Change your handset…”

“Hmm… you mean there’s no problem with the handset?”

“Yeah! There’s no problem with the handset. It is just outdated. It is no longer compatible with the existing technology“, I quipped.

“What do you mean?“

I played the cards differently this time.

“We are three people in this house now. How comfortable will it be if suddenly there are 15 people in this house now?”

“If you talk like that, a greater number of people can be made to adjust in the house…”

“But what if everyday 15 people keep coming into the house without vacating?”

“Ah! Then that will be a problem…”

“Ditto for your handset… It is receiving more information from the network than it can handle…”

“The Apps are also freezing occasionally…”

“Same logic… they are receiving more information and upgrading themselves to the new technology… time to change your handset…”

“How much will a basic handset that works will cost me?”

“The one that is compatible will cost you around Rs15,000. The one that is also compatible with your hearing aids will be at the least Rs 20,000.”

Well, since my childhood, I always kept myself updated on the prices of the latest in market whether I need those items or not. Wishful thinking, I guess.

“If this is the case then, every year or two even if there is no malfunction, I am forced to change my handset. This is very bad…”

“That’s the flip side of the technological advancement… Whether you like it or not… Whether there’s a malfunction or not, we are forced to change our products leading to huge amounts of pollution…”

“Very bad state of affairs. Think about the laptops then. Unnecessarily we are shelling out truckloads of money just to keep us abreast of the technology…”

“Very bad state of affairs… the technology developers think everybody is a billionaire and everybody’s a computer geek…”

*

Thanks to our passions, every year, me and my dad each spend at least Rs8000 just for the batteries so that our watches are in working condition. The other day, I took an Indian watch of mine for servicing which I bought in 2001 with the first salary I received after my PhD. I bought it for Rs400 then.

The servicing personnel cooed, “Is this watch still working?”

Nostalgically, I asked, “What’s the price of this model now?”

“This model is no longer produced Sir…”

If this episode makes me misty-eyed, my Japanese watch always gives me goosepimples.

In 2010, I found a display board in a watch shop in the Fancy Bazaar of Guwahati that read, “Japanese – EcoFriendly watches”. I walked into the shop and bought the watch for about two thousand bucks. The manual said, “10-year Battery Life”. Believe it or not, it lasted 15 years and this is the only watch which did not give me an opportunity to change its battery.

Good and Honest things in life must be appreciated at the first opportunity.

[1] Telephony is the technology involving telephones for communication (audio or video), and data exchange between distant parties

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Essay

A Story Carved in Wood, Snow and Stone  

Narrative and photographs by Urmi Chakravorty

As a traveller, I always try to zero in on destinations that are less frequented and hence, more likely to retain their pristine touch. We applied the same thumb rule during our recent ten-day visit to Himachal Pradesh.  Leaving the more popular venues to backpackers and robust tourists, my husband and I reached Sangla Valley to savour three days of undiluted peace and unsullied natural beauty at Batseri.

Situated at a height of 2700 metres (8530 feet) above sea level, Batseri is a postcard-pretty village in Sangla, in the Kinnaur district of Himachal. Our hotel was located right in the middle of an apple orchard – an embodiment of luxury and modern engineering juxtaposed against a backdrop of idyllic charm, antiquated structures and time-worn practices. As we stepped into our spacious room and attached balcony, the sight that greeted us was nothing short of amazing!

Apple orchard

Just outside the hotel boundary lay an enormous stretch of ivory, grey and beige – rocks, pebbles and shingles, accumulated through centuries of weathering and deposition – through which, gently meandered the Baspa with its wealth of shimmering emerald waters. This breath-taking layout was hemmed in by the giant deodar, fir and spruce trees on one hand, and the glistening snow-capped peaks of the gigantic Kinnar Kailash range on the other. The picture was enhanced by a common sit-out area in the patio, where one could plonk down on the quaint, low seats crafted out of timber and have a leisurely breakfast, while the whispering conifers hummed a ditty. Or simply, choose a vantage log-seat at a shadowy spot and catch up on some reading over caffein. The possibilities were endless and we were already rueing the prospect of our departure after a fleeting three days.

At Batseri, our bedside morning alarm was replaced by the natural birdsong. Relaxing in the balcony with a piping hot cuppa and waiting for the sun to peek from behind the peaks was an experience to cherish. We watched in awe as the sky metamorphosed into a fast-changing palette of peach, pink and gold, steeping the entire valley in a warm glow. Men and women, flora and fauna, welcomed yet another chance at renewal and opportunity.

One morning, we set off for a village walkthrough, after polishing off a hearty breakfast. The hotel exit was located about half a kilometre away from the building. The connecting pathway was smooth though quite steep, and was flanked by apple orchards on both sides.

Summer is the time when the trees bear white-and-pink papery flowers, which are eventually blown off by the winds, leaving behind the core, which, subsequently bears fruit. The flower-laden trees, against a backdrop of green grass and snow-capped mountains, were a splendid vision in white. The women working in the orchards seemed a cheerful, gregarious lot who either tended to the apple trees, or prepared the soil for a crop of green peas, red beans and buck wheat – cash crops which can withstand the extremities of nature in these parts. During their break, I found them sitting, sharing tea and chatting animatedly with the owner of the property. Class barriers and alienation of the non-privileged had clearly not tainted this picturesque hamlet, I mused happily.

The same camaraderie and co-existence marked even the simple, day-to-day interactions of the villagers, as we observed later. The highlight of the village was the hallowed temple of Badri Narayan Ji[1], an intricately carved wooden temple which sported a very neat, well-maintained premise. The original temple was destroyed in a fire in 1998 and it was rebuilt with the collective effort of the villagers. The young priest shared a familial bond with the local residents, who, in turn, helped uphold the sanctity and cleanliness of the temple and the shrine. No visitor is allowed to climb up the three steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum – the offerings are collected by the priest and offered to the deity. Nobody — young or old, rich or ordinary — challenges or questions. We had earlier observed a similar austerity in other temples of Kinnaur, as well. In fact, some mandate the wearing of the colourful, traditional Himachali cap for men inside the premise. Women usually have stoles, scarves and dupattas[2] to cover their heads with.

Baspa River
Quaint village

From the temple, a single path led us forward to the village. We met and spoke to the local store-keepers, animal herders, agriculturists, home-makers – everyone greeted us affably and spoke about their lifestyle and community. Their pride in their village and its traditions, along with their warmth and hospitality, left an imprint on my heart. We observed the houses which were a complete and welcome departure from the glass-and-metal structures that we usually see. They were all built of sturdy wood collected from the nearby deodar forests and burnished well to display a sheen. Each house had ample open area where they stowed away firewood and other essentials. There were no fences or barbed wires to demarcate properties. Piles of stones collected from the Baspa riverbank were stashed neatly to make a low boundary between two houses. I remembered noticing a similar demarcation among the orchards outside our hotel, too. Here was a community where people thrived on an innate sense of trust and fraternity; scaling of boundaries, literal or otherwise, was something unheard of.

Motor vehicles were not allowed inside the village, barring a rare two-wheeler, though we did see a couple of cars parked at the entrance. Fluffy, pampered street dogs dotted the paths and slept on the stairways of homes – they formed the extended family of the entire village. Just like the adorable Sheroo, a Bhutiya furry who ruled over our hotel like a boss!

The entire Sangla Valley is on the path to accelerated development with multiple road and hydel power projects being executed at regular intervals. The strong currents of the voluminous Baspa are harnessed for this purpose. These projects form an important source of livelihood for the local residents who cannot engage in extensive cultivation because of the inclement weather and soil conditions.

Enroute to Chitkul

The next to-do on our itinerary was a visit to Chitkul, the last village on the Indo-Tibet border. Perched at an elevation of 3450 metres (11,320 feet), this charming village with its panoramic view of the majestic Kinnar Kailash range and the verdant vistas, is often considered the ‘Jewel of the Baspa Valley’. Our cab took us to the last motorable spot beyond which were located the Army and the ITBP camps. As we stepped out of the vehicle and looked around, we were left agape by the ethereal splendour of the place! The snow-kissed peaks alternated with rugged mountain faces and together, they stood like silent sentinels towering over the sprawling alpine meadows, pockets of dense green woods, and the gurgling, meandering Baspa. The Baspa is fed by the perennial Himalayan glaciers and shares a common catchment basin with the Ganga. Fifty shades of green, all in one canvas, I thought to myself!

Scenic Chitkul

Far away, we spied the Chitkul village, conspicuous by its symmetrical hutments and their colourful roofs.  We walked around the undulating meadows with cautious steps – a reminder for us to embrace the various ups and downs of life with grace and equanimity. The place abounded in rocks, boulders and pebbles of all sizes and shapes which prompted me to make a humble cairn of my own – a modest attempt at preserving my footfall on this slice of heaven!

At a distance, we saw defence personnel going about their duty in a brisk, professional manner, unfazed by the grandeur of their surroundings. As the clock ticked by and the shadows lengthened, we knew it was time to turn back. We drove into the small hub of activity in the village which housed the last Post Office of India and also, its last dhaba[3]. Rows of colourful prayer flags strung alongside the road seemed to whisper prayers for our well-being and safety. Multiple pictures and a hearty meal of rajma-chawal [4]later, we headed back to our hotel in Batseri.

As we approached the premises, our driver pulled up on the side and switched off the engine. There was a pile-up of men and machine, and all vehicular movement was halted. We alighted and ambled forward to probe the matter. The sharp slope leading up to our property had been completely blocked by the sudden uprooting of an ancient tree around noon, its gnarled branches reaching up ominously towards the twilight sky. The administration had swung into action, aided generously by the villagers. The monotonous whirr of the giant chainsaw cutter axing down the tree into large chunks, and the occasional thud of the felled logs, reminded us, yet again, of the unpredictability and difficulty of life in the remote mountains. We strolled around the nearby areas for about half-an-hour before a narrow tract was created on one side for us to walk through. The stranded people — visitors and villagers alike — trundled out.

After spending three memorable days at Sangla, we headed out to our next destination. I spent the last few minutes on our balcony, listening to the gentle susurration that seemed to whisper ancient secrets of the mountains. I admired the patterns created by the play of sunlight through the leaves –- that gave me life lessons in gratitude for these fleeting, beauteous moments of life. As we drove away, I cast one last lingering look at beautiful Batseri –- a fascinating story of life carved in wood, snow, and stone.

[1]Badri Narayan is another name for Vishnu

[2] Stole

[3] Roadside eatery

[4] Red bean curry and rice

Urmi Chakravorty is a former educator and presently, a freelance writer and editor. She has been published by The Hindu, The Times of India, TMYS Reviews, Indian Review, Mean Pepper Vine, eShe, The Chakkar, Kitaab International and The Wise Owl, among others.

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Excerpt

Canvassing the Lives of Banjaras

Title: Chakmak

Author: Ramesh Karthik Nayak

Publisher: Red River Books

Our Tanda


Our tanda is a bird’s nest
our homes: broken refuges
and our lives are feathers 
swirling in the air. 

The moon and the sun 
hatch time so long as they wish 
and flee, leaving folds, 
on the lips of time. 

Mirrors raise our hopes 
showing ourselves 
break our knuckles quietly 
shatter into fragments and prick hearts. 

Goats, cows, buffaloes, sheep and hearts, 
all dig out rivers of forests with desires
as kids draw winged horses on the black of night
with fingers
dreaming of sugary peppermints or custard blobs. 

Mothers sing lullabies,
oil-lamps 
embellishing the night 
to sleep. 

Fathers guard homes
one eye on the house
the other eye on the field 
with their heads out of their windows
they turn into flaming torches. 

The ippa flowers grieve
releasing inebriety 
listening to the story of our tanda.


Chakmak 


	I 

There were a few chakmak 
at the window, ants and insects wandered
among them.

Whenever I visit the window, 
I licked the chakmak, 
no sweetness touched my heart, 
nor did smell hit my nostril, 
though they look like candy jellies.

I picked them 
and threw them out of the window.

Daada picked them up, 
took them again into the house 
and placed them at the sill.
I thought of doing the same again.
He taunted our hen indirectly —
I could understand that the hen was me.

I thought the mysterious relationship
of our folk remains untold, 
hid in the skulls 
about chakmak.



	II 

One day when daadi was busy 
in stitching her tukri 
she kept the chakmak beside her
sharpening the needle on a chakmak.

I sat beside her staring at the chakmak —
darkness and light played about, 
I was astonished by the sharp light 
emitting from them.

The beads were placed in front of daadi 
on a piece of cloth for stitching them on her tukri,
they stopped singing and rolling, 
were trying to peep into daadi's honey eyes.

The needle writing the joy of tukri on the chakmak,
white stains swelled out from the black chakmak
when accidentally her sweat fell on it.

She saw me and asked me to sit beside her, 
started narrating the tales of chakmak, 
as I continued staring at them.


	III

Birth after the water broke —
you crept out of your mother's womb
with stains of the eternal world
giving her womb to rest from the eternal sea.

This black stone gave you the world,
cut your umbilical cord
but it suffered by your birth, 
fevered, it one day burnt our hut.

At the age of two 
when the moon was peeping into the rice
squeezed in my hand with milk,
my hand filled with moonlit serpents crawling down
that trembled in my blood tunnels.

Your daada sang a song —
the red stones brought joy to earth,
consoling the hard skin of daada's hand, 
illuminating his loneliness

Then you got an invitation to the wonderland,
and there you slept in the bed of the red stone's reflection.

At the age of five, 
we were summoned by the monsoon and started migrating.
We were stuck in the forest
you weeping of darkness and hunger, 
in the fierce night.

Flesh-coloured stones devoured the darkness, 
sprinkled its hunger on your fear 
and roasted a few onions for you.

At the age of eight, 
you were anxious about seeing the lunar eclipse —
the milk stone dragged the sky in its reflection.

She kept on stitching her tukri.
I was plunged into gazing at the chakmak,
my heart sensed something strange strange is about to happen.



	IV 

I picked the chakmak into my palm.
The curves in the palms and lines on the chakmak
are trying to mate, and the curiosity in me reached my neck.
A cleft appeared in the chakmak. 
I checked others for any more. 

After a few minutes, 
a butterfly soars from stone, 
a man falls from its wing.
I take him in my hand, 
he turns into a flute 
made of animal bone. 
I train my ear to hear him.

A voice from the bone flute starts talking
from the rusted past, 
how we vanished from our identities,
how we were sheltered in the tortoise shells 
and hung on horns of deers.

The world is trying to heap the chakmak together,
ransack our tribe for stones
and change the tanda into a haat 
of banjara tribes.

The chakmak in the haat were ready to burst
with chronicles untold. 
You gather the people.
The flute disappears.
I try fabricating the remaining tale.
Courtesy: Chakmak, art by Ramavath Sreenivas Nayak
Canvassing the Lives of Banjaras

By Surya Dhananjay

Banjara is an indigenous ethnic tribe of India. Banjara were historically nomads and later established settlements called tanda. Generally known as Gor-Banjara, they are also called Lambadis in Telangana, or Banjaras collectively across India. However, they are known by different names in various parts of the country, including Banjara, Gor, Gorya, Tanda, Laman, Lambadi, Sugali, Labhan, Labhana, Baladiya, Ladniya, Adavi, Banjari, Gypsy, Kora and Gormati, among others. The other names also indicate synonyms and signify the principal nature — wandering of Banjaras in various parts of the country.

Banjaras generally suffix Nayak with their names, along with other surnames such as Jadhav, Rathod and Pawar. Nayak was a title given by the local kings, Britishers and Mughals, as the Banjaras were warrior transporters, who transported essential commodities, such as salt, food grains (as well as weapons) on ladenis, bullock caravans for their armies. The titles were bestowed in appreciation of their honesty and hard work. Over time, the title has become the traditional name of many of the Banjaras. 

The word Banjara is derived from the Sanskrit word Vana Chara — wanderer of the jungle. The word Lambani or Lamani, by which our community is also known, is derived from the Sanskrit word lavana (salt), which was the principal product the community transported across the country. Their moving assemblage on a pack of oxen was named tanda by the European traveller Peter Mundy in 1632 AD. 

Historically, they were the original inhabitants of Rajputana, Rajasthan, and professional cattle breeders and transported these essentials to different parts of the region, using crucial transport routes. They are known to have invented Laman Margass1.

They then migrated to North India, East Asia and Europe in the ancient periods and to Central India and South India in the medieval periods along with the armies of Mughals from thirteenth to eighteenth century.

Banjaras lost their livelihood during British rule when the railways and roadways were constructed and they became the victims of predatory capitalism. Banjaras who were uprooted by the British government from their transportation profession were forced to indulge in petty crimes for their livelihood, which invited the wrath of the British and brought them under the ambit of the Criminal Tribes Act of 1871. Later, abandoning their traditional Ladeni profession, they settled wherever their Ladenis had halted in the colonial period and established their tandas, dwellings. 

Traditionally, Banjaras depended on the pack of bullocks and bullock carts, called balder bandi in their Gorboli, for carrying out their ladenis and the cattle and oxen only were their properties for the ages, on which they built their livelihood through centuries. Many generations of Banjaras have taken birth on the balder bandi and have used it as shelter too. 

Their language is called Gorboli, an Indo-Aryan language in addition to their own culture and traditions.

Gorboli has no script, it is either written in Devanagari script or the script of the local language, such as Hindi, Marathi, Telugu and Kannada, etc.

Most of their populations are concentrated in Maharashtra, Karnataka, Telangana, Andhra Pradesh, Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, Tamil Nadu, Himachal Pradesh, Orissa and West Bengal.

As such the local languages have much impact on their language, the words of which have found their way into Gorboli.

Owing to the fact that it is a dialect, the Banjaras do not have much written literature either. However, they keep their songs, lyrics, and literature alive orally. As there is no written literature available to the outer society about Banjaras, the chances of knowing their history, sentiments, culture and traditions are meagre.

Banjaras show a unique lifestyle, holding steadfast to their ancient dress code, perhaps the most colourful and elaborate of any tribal group in India.

The versatile and colourful Banjaras are found to be interspersed amidst tribal and non-tribal populations and yet tenaciously maintain their cultural and ethnic identity. Their dress and decoration and social practices have remained almost unchanged through the ages despite the habitation shift from northwest India to across India. Banjaras are a strong and virile race with tall stature and fair complexion.

The Banjara women’s dress and jewellery are auspicious and the whole outfit consists of elaborately embroidered and studded phetya or ghagro (skirt), kaacnhli or kaali (blouse), tukri and ghunghto (veil stitched in patches of cloth of various colours along with mirrors of different shapes, cowries and beads).

Women also wear baliya, bangles made of ivory to save their lives from wild animals. They wear many ornaments like topli, hanslo, rapiyar haar, wankdi, kasse, ghughara and phula pawla, which weigh nearly 20 kgs or more.

Banjara men (maati mankya) wear turban on their heads, a few wear babli (earrings) on the top of the right ear, kameez (white shirt) and dhoti, kolda (silver fat ring wrapped to wrist) in turban they hide chutta (cigar), tobacco, beedi leaves, cotton and chakmak (flint stone), etc.

Tattoos on their body parts define philosophies and memories of childhood. The main intention of tattoos is to sell them and buy food after death in heaven or hell. They make sacrifices to the earth and stones because they believe that God is in nature.

Banjaras have their own culture and traditions that reflect their life and beauty. Banjaras celebrate the festival of Goddess Seethla Matha (starting at the time of the rainy season to save us and our cattle from seasonal disease and for good yield) at the end of the rainy season.

They celebrate Teej Festival, a celebration of wheatgrass grown for nine days in bamboo baskets by maiden girls to get married to a good groom in the presence of Goddess Jagdamba,

Baar Nikler/ Baarand khayer is a feast in the forest, exposing the love towards nature that protects them.

Historically they had a big struggle to settle down since they led a nomadic life for centuries. During difficult times, they ate grass and clay. Their regular diet consists of grass poppies, leafy boiled dough-made baatis (chapattis), bran, maize, jowar, deer, pigeon, rabbit, fish, hen, turkey, peacock, tortoise, turtle, porcupine, goat, sheep, radish, raw onions, wild onions, green chilli, roasted potatoes, red clay, black clay, tamarind sprouts, rela pulu (golden shower flower as used to make curry) and monitor lizard.

Few folks sell their children, lands, traditional dress, ornaments and even wombs and many girls and women are known to have faced human trafficking. Many people have slaved as daily labours, women were sexually exploited, many of their tandas were wiped out and they have been killed. 

Though The Constitution of India had provided many rights to the tribes, the provisions are unknown to these people who lead their lives as daily labourers, selling firewood and children for food, becoming street vendors, roadside chapati-makers and the like. People who do not know this stare at them. A small percentage of people use the reservation benefits, and most of them are subject to discrimination and exploitation.

As such, not much is spoken about in media channels and newspapers about the atrocities of land evictions and exploitations of Banjaras. This still happens throughout the country.

Only a few scholars have written books and presented papers on their lives. Few non-fiction collections have been published in Telugu, Kannada and Hindi languages. But no creative literature has been produced from the community.

This effort of bringing out the poetic illustration of the life of Banjaras is made by Ramesh Karthik Nayak, a young member of the Banjara community.

He hails from the small, remote village of VV Nagar Tanda of Jakranpally Mandal of Nizamabad District. He has published a poetry book, Balder Bandi (Ox Cart) and a short story collection, Dhaavlo (Mourning Song), canvassing the life of Banjaras in Telugu.

Both books have been received well by the literary world and have since opened the doors to Banjara literature. Within a short span, he has been able to bring before us this wonderful poetic format, which shows his interest in bringing out the historical, cultural, traditional and contemporary issues of Banjaras before the world.

I believe that he is like a popular flower called kesula (moduga puvvu in Telugu), which is seen brightly among all the trees in a jungle.

According to my knowledge, this is the first poetry collection written on the lives of Banjaras in the English language which brings out the rawness of Banjara’s lives and the poems are brilliantly written. It is a rare drop of honey from a kesula flower, in which the lives of Banjaras are carved transparently.

I believe that each poem of this collection is a chakmak, flint stone, which ignites many endless thoughts in the reader. I hope that this poetic creation of Ramesh Karthik Nayak will also definitely be received in a big way by all the literary minds. I hope this introduction about Banjara tribes will help you understand the tribal communities a little. 

Finally, without going into the depth of his poems, I would like to quote a few lines from his poem ‘Tanda’:

Our tanda is a bird’s nest
our homes: broken refuges
and our lives are feathers 
swirling in the air.

In this poem Ramesh has carved the picture of the status of the lives of Banjara tribes in the present-day context and earlier days. Banjara lives are indeed shattering day by day.

Courtesy: Chakmak, art by Ramavath Sreenivas Nayak

About the Book

Ramesh Karthik Nayak’s poems are marked by rich imagery, poignant stanzas, and moving stories about his people. I enjoyed reading his poems. — Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar

Ramesh Karthik Nayak distills all the pains and fears of his tribe to create a poetry of intense suffering and profound communion with nature. There is something primal, elemental, about his poetry that helps the reader distinguish it from the dominantly urban Indian English poetry. The poet brings a fresh voice, a new tone, and timbre seldom seen in traditional English poetry in the country, without making his poetry less sophisticated. — K Satchidanandan

Through his poems, Ramesh Karthik Nayak presents the celebratory life of the Banjara people; at the same time, he questions his existence. The questions he poses to us are both poignant and plausible. The poet expresses the truth with spontaneity and ferocity that if we are untouchables then, from nature to your vitality to your body, everything in this world has been touched by us. — Sukirtharani

Ramesh Karthik Nayak’s poems represent the dimensionalisation of Indian poetry in English. It’s appalling to think that a mature collection of poetry from a tribal/nomadic tribe poet had to wait for so long after Maucauley’s initiatives. Anchored in his cultural inheritance, Nayak documents with elan his dreams for the future. — Chandramohan S

About the Author

Ramesh Karthik Nayak is a Banjara (nomadic aboriginal community in South Asia) bilingual poet and short story writer from India. He Writes in Telugu and English. He is one of the first writers to depict the lifestyle of the Banjara tribe in literature. His writings have appeared in Poetry at Sangam, Indian Periodical, Live Wire, Outlook India, Nether Quarterly, and Borderless Journal and his story, “The Story of Birth was published in Exchanges: Journal of Literary Translation, University of IOWA. He was thrice shortlisted for the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar in Telugu.

Chakmak is his first collection of poems in English.

The poet can be reached at rameshkarthik225@gmail.com

  1. A type of map ↩︎

Click here to read the review of Chakmak and interview with Ramesh Karthik Nayak

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Categories
Poetry

In the Third Quarter of 2022

By Amrita Sharma

There have been too many suns in the sky lately,
too many times outnumbering the indefinite stars,
too dull, and yet too many for you and me.
I begin each day with a name, a number and a notice,
typed out in a grammatically incorrect frustrating format,
that I mentally attempt to correct over a breakfast of overcooked cereals.
As I work on a mediocrely fancy desk with a nonfunctional WIFI – I often imagine you smiling – high 
still on the share of my favourite white wine.
My mornings are the dullest part of the brightly sunlit
yellow brick walls, as they slowly cradle me to uncomfortable conversations at work.
I no longer complain intentionally as the afternoons
are rapidly habitualising me to an ungrateful existence.
I face a crowd, six times a week, and that alone
defines my love and command of the foreign English in 
an unbearably unkind Indian locale.
I am trying not to hate the place for the people,
I am trying not to abandon the people for the pain,
I am trying not to starve myself as the final consequence.
The food here carries an unfamiliar rural smell, far
divorced from what I read while growing up in a city,
and I unlearn each lunch as a survival necessity.
I often take the longest path after work, watching
the sunset sky as I walk, wondering
how unfriendly the clean air can get.
I feel really hungry at night but refrain from eating,
punishing myself for being too afraid to execute the mistakes at work that I promised myself to commit.
Each night I examine the things in my hostel room,
mentally chalking out a plan to travel,
weighing the odds of it against my unsanctioned holidays

Amrita Sharma is a guest faculty at the Indian Institute of Information Technology, Una, Himachal Pradesh. She has worked as a Fulbright Fellow at the University of Notre Dame, USA. Her works have previously been published in several journals. Her first collection of poems is titled The Skies: Poems.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL