Perhaps... a little late in
getting to you!
December 31/10... to the end of my
stay in India 2011
Somewhere around Dec. 21st
the rains stopped. Since then it has been breezy, bright and very
pleasant. Things have shifted gears. The heavy work has started in
the village… it stuns me. I watch the brickyard in the fields on the west
side of the house; and the equal sized open area on the east side the house,
where there is heavy bush that has been cut with machetes. There has been
non-stop brutal (10 hr. days), heavy labour by both men and women, with more
women on the job than men for close to 10 days. The stamina is
incredible.
It is hard to watch. It is hard to
write about it. It is back breaking work. They could be prisoner work
gangs doing hard labour. Yet, I know the people are eager for the
work. You can tell they have pride. They come dressed in clean
clothes every day. Often young children come with their mothers.
Very seldom do I hear tears; and when they happen they are quickly
quelled. It is amazing how the children find things to occupy
themselves... no toys. I watched a woman today who was wearing a hot pink
Punjabi outfit. She wears the neck scarf too, using it to wipe sweat from
her brow and nose, as well as to protect her head from the hot sun. How
it is not an annoyance I do not know, given it is hanging forward as she bends
to her work. (I think she makes a subtle tuck in here or there?) An
amazing juxtaposition to see such graceful clothing and such brutal work:
India is always a paradox. I have decided that the construction work I
have watched at the house across the road is easier on the workers, most of the
time. For them there is a lot of lifting and carrying, but not a
perpetual squat, working in mud; or a constant hacking and hauling. The constant bending, and the hours of
repetitive action must take an incredible toll.
So, the brickyard! There are 4
open air kilns and on one side of each of the kilns are it’s ‘drying
fields’. Each field is about 20 brick lengths wide and 2000 brick widths
long with about 5 major fields to each kiln. To begin this gargantuan
task, each field which had been turned to muck and begun to grow grass (all the
bricks lost during the very long rainy season), had to be cleaned with a flat
10 inch edged, short handled scoop; then from truck loads of dirt to the
west of the yards, more scooping of dirt into wheel barrows. This dirt is
brought closer to the fields and dumped, so bricks can be made on the spot and
laid out on the field. Water is brought from a nearby creek in a water
container usually carried by a woman on her hip. If a field is too far from the creek, a great
hole is created in the nearest mountain of dirt; and a large hose and pump is
set up to pull the water from the creek to the dirt hole to make a small lake…
then she carries it to her mud pile.
Strange to see the use of the more sophisticated pump, along side the
very primitive work style. (Must be a generator too… no plugs!)
Essentially, the technology required
is minimal: dirt; water; and a loaf
pan. A man squats, fills the pan with mud and lays it out with a quick
shake of the wrist. In this squatting
position he works until he is out of mud.
His creation, in the true sense of the word, is impeccable! straight
lines of row upon row of wet brick. The man usually works with a woman
(also squatting), who is making the mud: a constancy of motion hour in and hour
out. Imagine the rhythm: The sprinkling of water into dirt;
the hands kneading the mud (the consistency has to be right, of course, or it
won’t form properly); the pulling of dry dirt into the wet; repeating the
process over and over; as the man to her left dips into the mud with his right
hand filling the loaf pan in his left. Their breaks come when more dirt
or water is needed. There is also the 2 hr lunch break and nap... thank god.
People arrive in the brickyard as early as 3:30 am; and leave at dark, about 6 pm.
With this breeze and strong sun it
only seems to take a day to harden the brick so it is strong enough to move.
There are already tremendous walls of stacked bricks beside each of the 5
fields by each kiln. Day by day the walls get taller and wider: 4ft X 2ft
at this point, in the field nearest to me. They are stacked so there is
an opening of 1 brick above each layer of 4??
The stacks are columns first, with spacing so that other columns can be
added between them, after another 24 hrs. This process helps insure all
bricks dry fully. How many bricks? I cannot bear to count, even to
estimate. It is overwhelming. I can only hope that this is so
tedious to read, that the sense of tedious comes through. I can find nothing to
illustrate the impact of watching this backbreaking work... the constant
hearing and seeing of it hour after hour, day after day. The reading takes
just a measly tedious minute, not a momentous tedious 10+ hours/day, 7 days/
weeks... perhaps months??
I haven’t even attempted a detailed
description of constructing a kiln... when finished the kilns are at least 15
feet high. The base is a 20 foot
square permanent perimeter of brick arches; this ‘basement’ is stuffed with
logs. After the readying of the
basement, comes the layering of bricks.
Each new brick is laid by hand, one at a time, on the layer before. The layers are stacked with great skill
allowing spaces for more firewood about every dozen layers so the fire from the
bottom floor can gradually reach up to light the wood laid throughout the
kiln. After a full day of approximately 10 people building the kiln, somewhere
around the 4ft level, stairs are constructed so the women with pans on their
heads, can walk up the outside of the kiln and hand over about 10 bricks/woman
for the men to place. The whole kiln is then
painted with mud. Next day when all is dry, the fires are lit in the
bottom arches of the huge stack. It takes 3 days of fire and smoke to
bake the bricks.
This tedium is to my left, then
there is the tedium to my right. You see! How can I go on to describe the brush
cutting with machetes: Men trimming the major branches; women hacking at
the base of the two to five inch thick stocks (five plus stocks to a
bush??). I have been listening to that hacking for 10 days. The
fields are almost bare... strewn with the excess dried twigs (a fire hazard for
sure, but safety is never an issue in India). All the stocks have been
cut into approximately 4 ft. lengths, then stacked into small bundles that can
be carried on the head. The stacks are gone at the end of every day (too
valuable to be allowed to lay over night and possibly get stolen). Where
have they gone? Sold to the firewood supplier, or to the furniture maker
to be used for heating or maybe furniture making? I have said there are
stacks of dirt to the west of the brickfields; there are also great stacks of 5
different widths of ‘branches’ to the east of the fields. The wood to
fire the kilns seemed to suddenly appear… from these wood makers across the
way? I had not noticed these new stacks until the last few days… no doubt
arriving in the very early morning when I slept. What to say? It is all
too much.
I have made arrangements for my
rickshaw driver to come at 4 pm. His brother/cousin (families use the
words interchangeably) is gathering information for me regarding the 5 star
hotels in Pondicherry. I have decided I need a rest: Partly because
I have been ill off and on over several months; partly because I need some
solid protein; partly because I cannot watch this any longer. This trip
to India was to strengthen my meditation practice; it is turning into something
else. It has all been very hard. I have decided I won`t be coming back
(must admit this was even a thought in early October).
I have been so enchanted with the
medieval aspect of India. Though we have the vestiges of the tribal, we
do not have a hint of the medieval village in Western Canada. It has all
been a very new experience; yet somehow, deeply familiar. I now find it
incredibly distressing to bump into it, even in Europe. Village life is
organized, I could say civilized with still being real... human and earthy.
But there is such harshness, a ‘living violence’ in a way. Why is
this violence such a shock this year? What is different? Seeing the
violence is not new. Yes. I find myself in a strange state: Finding
I cannot stand the medieval village life; to meditate; or be near an ashram...
close attendance being a vast disappointment. So I choose a 5 star hotel,
with swimming pool!! So! not my choice over the past 10 years. No
logic. I must need a rest! OR ...
“Even from the simplest, the most
realistic point of view, the countries which we long for, occupy, at any given
moment, a far larger place in our actual life than the country in which we
happen to be.” ~ Marcel Proust
March 7, 2011 ... writing from
Andrea’s home in Alabama
Seven days at The Mango Hill Resort
near Pondicherry turned out to be perfect: French owned… charming; French
guests… elegant; French food… yummy. So beautifully relaxing, swimming in
a beautiful pool every day; listening to the surf in the Bay of Bengal every
night. To make it even better I had a friend from Canada turn up. My dear
friend, Heather, from Courtenay was staying nearby at a yoga retreat center and
loved coming over to the resort for a swim during her mid-day breaks.
I wasn’t sure I would be able to
return to ‘the village’, but after the 5th day of resort life, all
was well. I came back to Tiruvannamali ready to trot, literally:
walks around the mountain; private yoga lessons; serendipitous meetings with
‘teachers’, old and new; dinner out with friends, old and new... much
laughter. Meditation is finished. Good lord! who would have
guessed. Of course there is more to the story than the day to day:
psychological and spiritual shifts abound. I would say there is a new
beginning. There is that old Zen saying, “At the beginning of the path
one sees ‘the mountain’; then one sees ‘no mountain’; then one sees ‘the
mountain’.” Yes! ‘the mountain’. How wonderful.
Arrived in London February 10th;
off to Copenhagen with Caroline the evening of February 11th... a
great visit with my friend Anne (Denmark was very impressive); and then back to
London the evening of February 14th. Caroline and I
trooped around London for 10 days: some fun time with Erin & Elliot;
the ‘tube’ is great; the food very good; shopping overwhelming; a boat trip up
the Thames and a walk over Hampstead Heath both a delight. Must admit it
was damn cold... burrrr. Now I get to spend a month experiencing a
beautiful, gentle spring in Alabama with Andrea/Seale/Zoey... plus 5 cats; dog,
Scruffy; and horses, Katy and Randy. Many days in the 70’s, thank
god. Will be back home March 25th.
Hey! A good thing I cancelled
my trip to Egypt at the end of December. Don’t you think? It was planned for
the 10th of February. What WAS the motivation for that decision...
tired of the 3rd world? premonition? Matters not. I got
a refund! which took a great deal of effort on the part of my travel consultant
and would have been impossible if I had left it to that first week in February,
after the trouble in Egypt had broken out. All in all a difficult but, as
it turns out, a good winter. On the other hand, there is no sense
planning a trip for Zoey to visit Egypt next winter. So be it!
``The best laid plans....``.
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