The Hindu Business Line : Rains bring back the smiles

For four days, one did not glimpse an idli or a dosa or a Kellogg breakfast pack. It came to a point where one had nightmares of never ever being able to have idlis with sambar.

GOOD rains have washed clean the worries of the citizens of Sailana town and the outlier of villages.

After four years, every tank and every depression is glistening with water and egrets, the grass is tall and green and the smiles on the faces of women and men are wider than the thin strips of streets wending their way through the town. One smoky and screaming lorry or private bus holds up traffic but the public do not get into a rage. In Sailana, nobody has any grouse. Farmers tending to standing crops of jowar, bajra and soyabean thank the gods above for the switch in luck.

Even now, the skies cloud often, sending down a hard drizzle for about 30 minutes before the sun blows the whistle. When one got out of the Avantika Express at Ratlam the train was on time at 5.30 a.m. and it was dark and pouring. Through the day the temperature never went beyond 20 degrees and probably fell in the night as the fans were switched off. At the Rest House we slept on chatais, all in one room.

Sailana has a strong population of Jains and Muslims, while Ratlam district is a trading centre dealing mostly in agricultural commodities, says Dinesh Kothari. For four days, one did not glimpse an idli or a dosa or a Kellogg breakfast pack. It came to a point where one had nightmares of never ever being able to have idlis with sambar. Breakfast joints, spread across open gutters, serve processed poha (rice flake or aval in Tamil) in newspapers. Processed poha is invitingly stacked high on steel tavas (plates) covering basins of boiling water to lend freshness to the poha. The two-tier structure sits on bhattis and the breakfast menu never changes.

Unlike in Maharashtra where the item is served with coconut garnishing, at Sailana, the hoteliers spread a handful of bhujia and sliced onions over every helping. For a change one can order hot samosas, swathed in oil and most relish it. Then one has to walk over to a tea joint with the tea having more sugar and milk than is necessary. For some reason, the poha and tea shops are always separate. Eat as much as you want and the bill can never top Rs 10.

There were no lunches as we carried only water bottles into the grasslands chasing the Lesser Floricans. None felt hungry including Dinesh's son, who had bunked school to be with us. In the night, at the open air dhaba, it is easier to spot Mars than the food on one's plate. Dinesh ordered rotis and dal and we had to feel our way to the food plates, though the fare was tasty and cheap. Even today a Rs 10-note can take you a long way in India's villages and a tip of Rs 5 is first rejected before reluctantly accepted by the servers.

The local population speak a mix of Hindi and Rajasthani and Kothari is good at it. Quite a few in the town were curious at our group spending (or wasting) time on watching Lesser Floricans in the grasslands though they were always warm and helpful. Siya Ramji is the intro for any talk as it is all over north India. A shop owner walked over on an evening to check out on us. "Aap log, kya kar rahe hain (What are you doing?)," he asked and was not satisfied when we confessed our intent.

One suspects the women are disposable pillion riders with their faces ever hidden behind dupattas. It was the first time one was walking through wide and wavy grasslands with a whizzing, rainy wind breaking on one like sea surf. "You should be able to identify 200 birds without help to stake a claim for being a birder," said Kishor Rithe as we walked into a nowhere.

He explained to me the finer points of bird watching and the basic rule of keeping more than an arm's length. The man carries in his bag some key reference books on birds, insects and butterflies to tackle problems of identification.

Recently, he fell for butterflies as "there is nothing to match them". By his measure, one has not gone beyond spotting common crows and sparrows, which are getting scarce in our towns and villages. There is always the fear of getting lost in the open spaces and one was careful to be somewhere near the group. While others were busy, Dinesh's son played on his own with a song on his lips which ran: "Aaj hamari chhuti hai; kalam, kitab aur pencil se chhuti hai (Today is a holiday for me; a holiday from pen, pencil and books)." For this writer, it was about the perfect holiday, doing nothing but watching.

P. Devarajan

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