Once in a while, let’s find out how the other half lives. They are the ones we call the underprivileged, often condescendingly. Sometimes, comparing their lives with ours on the basis of certain parameters, we may begin to wonder if being privileged has really done much for us.
While visiting green spaces on the fringes of the metro, I come upon pastoral settings that enable me to engage in this exercise. These villages are marked by a high degree of somnolence. Most of the residents of these spaces seem to be free of the tyranny of the clock. They also seem liberated from the necessity of sounding smart. They are blessed with the bliss of ignorance; and they don’t know they are. So, many of those things we consider essential — fancy titles and credit for a job well done — pass them by and they are not missing them.
Recently, I went on a drive down the Thiruporur-Chengalpet Road, ending my journey at Overtonpet, which marks the halfway point of this 27-km-long stretch. On this road, there are green spaces separated by unremarkable villages. I have explored some of these green spaces and even written about them in this column. On the recent trip, I did the opposite of what I had done previously. I ignored the green spaces and stopped at the villages just to take in their sights and sounds.
Two images remain etched in my mind and both have to do with two old women. Independently and single-handedly, each of them was carrying out a task that is low — in fact, ziltch — on technology and high on ingenuity. There is however nothing singular about what they did. These are jobs that are part of the landscape in rural areas. But the fact that these no-technology tasks were being performed at a space that is organically linked to the IT Corridor, and that too by two noticeably old but brisk women.
I met one of them at Sembakkam village and she was patiently gathering long silken stalks of grass that is popular for the brooms that can be made of it. As she cut a stalk and swept it into a bundle, the broom was gaining girth and taking shape. Where one would need two processes, one following the other, she executed both at one sweep, made possible by a practised judgement of where the stalk should be cut to ensure uniformity when it joined the other stalks in a bundle. In addition to the one being made, a couple of finished bundles of grassy brooms was with her.
The next stop was at Viralpakkam, where an old lady was single-handedly threshing sheaves of ragi by placing them on the road and allowing them to be run over by vehicles. I helped her by driving my car over the sheaves before pulling up to the side of the road. After every run of tyres, she would take the flattened sheaves and using a sieve, separate the ragi from the chaff.
Both the women displayed patience, dignity and self-assurance as they went about these mundane tasks.
It’s interesting that what these old women accomplish with almost-zero technology is likely to enter plush houses that spells technology at every turn. I am not naming these women as I want them to represent the nameless millions that do such thankless work with grace. They are like the trees and the lakes around them that do their job quietly and efficiently, without seeking the motivating factors of fancy titles and credit.
(Hidden Trails is a column that shows you how to be a tourist in your own city.)
