It was a night of two couples and us.
Suman and I were returning from a film screening from the Goethe-Zenthrum, a German institute in Hyderabad. A documentry called “I want my father back”, had been screened there. It was on the issue of farmer suicides, focussing mainly on the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. Govt. Estimates more than 2 lakh farmers have committed suicides in the last decade in the country. It is something which has been never witnessed in the 10000 years history of this land. Vandana shiva, in the film refused to call them suicides. She instead chose the word genocide. The film indeed was moving, specially for both of us. It again made us feel restless, feel a sense of hurry and maybe also a sense of guilt. On our way back we again (like so many times earlier), discussed what possible things we can do which would connect us directly to the land, to the ordinary people and also ensure our livelihood.
It was 9.30 while we were still in the bus. The mess would have closed by now, and so we decided to get down at Indra Nagar for dinner. We had Poori and Uttappa at the Udipi eating place there. The food was good. After that we thought of having filter coffee at this chai wala outside the shop. Two young boys served some 10 varieties of tea and coffee. People loved it. Almost everyone after dinner at Udipi stops for tea/coffee at this stall. We were among them. I ordered filter coffee, while Suman went for tea. It was there we saw our first couple. They had come there for tea like others, but they were different from all of us. And that is what caught our first attention.
The man wore a dhoti and a worn out kurta, while the woman had a green saree on her. The man must have been in her fifties, thin and tall with grey hair. The woman was half her height. She had a biggish bindi on her forehead. Around her neck hanged a mobile phone. They had come there for chai. I loved watching them. To imagine a rural, illiterate couple come out for a chai made me smile. I was just attracted to them. Quietly, hiding behind Suman's shoulder i observed them (as if watching a celebrity couple). There wasn't much talk between them. They enjoyed their tea quietly. We finished ours, paid the chai wala and left the place.
We decided to walk to IIIT, not far now. The weather was pleasant, like it is suppose to be in summers in Hyderabad. The hot day, had given way to a pleasant night. A cool breeze was playing with the trees, watched by the half glowing moon. The traffic had reduced on the road, and so the walk back was peaceful. We talked about this couple, we had left behind. We talked about the farmers again. We talked about our plans (yet again). The couple reminded us of the farmers we had seen in the film. What made them migrate to the city? What work do they do here? Where are the children? Where are the parents, the cousins, the relatives, the neighbours, the fields, the water stream or the well, the rains, the harvest, the festivals, the celerations. I guess all that had been left behind.
As we were approaching the IIIT main gate, we saw yet another couple there. A dhoti-kurta clad man, with a baby in his hand and a saree clad woman were standing outside the SBH atm. They looked marathi to me, by the way the woman had wrapped around the saree. We knew what to expect from them. We knew as we would come closer this man would ask if we know hindi or marathi (as if saying they are lost in an unknown land, struggling with unknown language). We knew if we stop to listen to him, he would start up with some sad story of his life and then ask for some money. They weren't first such couple we had encountered.
And so while we were walking towards them, we wondered what to do. We wondered how to avoid them, what to say, what not to say. To avoid the inconvinience we thoughts its best to avoid a conversation with them. And so we detoured our path. Went round them, keeping a safe distance to pretend not hearing him (as if we would have helped had we heard you) and entered the gate. But all this had made us extremely uncomfortable. We knew that it wasnt a genuine case, but only another creative method of begging. But what if it was a case of a lost family? We repeatedly told ourselves, that it was not a genuine case, but the question of “what if” would not go. And so we stopped. Suman said "lets give them 10 rupees", not to help them, but to help ourselves sleep in the night. I put my hand in the pocket, and a 10 rupee note came out. I turned back and walked towards them. Inside i thought i would go straight to the lady, hand over the note and turn back. I would not get involved in any conversation with them. Didnt want to give them a chance to start with their story (of being lost in the city), which i knew was not true. As i walked to them, i saw they had managed to stop a young man. I saw the man stop, listen and then without saying a word, walk away from them. Just as he walked away from them, i walked towards them. The lady first saw me. I walked towards her showing 10 rupees in my hand. She stretched out her hand, and i kept it on her open palm. She then closed her fist, crushing the note in her hand. All this may not have taken more than a second. It was good enough for me to capture the picture of her wrinkled hand in my mind. It is still very vivid. The hand said it all. I turned back, and walked away. Suman looked at me and i looked at him. And we walked inside the campus.
So what was the story of the couple i wondered? No, not the one they would have told us asking for help. But the real story. Who were they? Were they farmers who were forced to leave behind everything? Were they farmers who still had the courage to fight and not end their lives, who still had some hope left. What was the story of the couple we met at the chai shop?
