On my morning walk to work I’m followed by the eyes of the monkeys, who sit in the tree tops dropping their bits of discarded breakfast onto the road. When I pass the bend that gives the best view of the valley below, a tiny old man in a woolly hat calls out “Hello Madam!” from a parked bus, without fail, every day. He is supposed to be the night watchman, but he’s perpetually there. Smiling through missing teeth. He summons me over to share his coffee, his chapatti, his coconut chutney.
Welcome to the secluded hill station town of Kotagiri! 2000m high up in South India’s Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve mountain range this area is home to 21 indigenous tribes, elephants, leopards, the odd elusive tiger, and a lotta loatta tea. It is also where the headquarters for internationally recognised NGO the Keystone Foundation (www.keystone-foundation.org) can be found - a group of hardworking locals who have been fuelling eco-development initiatives for over 15 years.
It’s here that I’ve spent that last two months volunteering for them. They gave me exactly what I wanted - a combination of both office and field work that has allowed me to spend time interacting with the tribal groups as well as the cyber world.
In brief, my first assignment has been to manage the development of their ‘Feed & Read’ project, which is a restaurant Keystone intends to set up that will incorporate an educative, ecological and creative side. The cafe will arrange regular presentations, environmental documentaries and talks etc, which will be open to all and provide an opportunity for assembly, learning and exchange.
My second project has been to create and collect a database to calculate tribal farmers’ rates of returns on the crops which they grow. This has meant I’ve had some very rural field visits to interview the farmers (with much help from a translator) on their methods, costs and expenditures. It’s provided a great insight into the extremely rudimentary lifestyles that these people lead. Each tiny village is has an immaculately swept clean courtyard and photogenic mud houses that are painted in Tamil Nadu’s signature pastel whitewash. Baby goats, flea-bitten pups and toothless old grandparents potter about, and we sit on straw mats and drink exceedingly sweet chai. Living is incredibly basic and almost everything is done by man-power or oxen. For example, their bio-pest control is an ingenious homemade concoction of cow dung, leaves, millet waste and earth, covered with cow urine and left sealed in a bucket for ten days. Sieve just 1 litre and you’ve got a potent liquid of “panchia cavia”, dilute with 10`litres of water and you’ve got the perfect pesticide spray...at no cost to the environment or your pocket!
Perhaps I’ve gotten used to the kinder climate of the mountains, but the heat of the plains is overbearing. I don’t know how these farmers do it, carrying 30kg bags of millet on their heads at the age of 60 in the 35+oc sun. What worries me most is that every local I’ve spoken to -not just here but throughout my travels- has commented how each summer is getting hotter and hotter. They shake their heads and claim that five years ago it was never like this; the sun rarely this harsh, the heat this stifling, the summers so long. Whilst for most of us climate change is already evident globally, the argument that it’ll affect the poorest first and worst is obviously not just a textbook theory. They’re already feeling it, but can they do? ...the same as every day: wrap a cloth around their heads and get on with the job. I know we are a very adaptable species, but I wonder at what point temperature will dictate survival. Push forward to 2050, even 2020, and what (and how hot) then?
Elephants are a big problem here. Especially partial to feasting on a tasty banana plantation, the farmers have constructed rustic little tree houses in the middle of their fields. At night they climb up a single piece of bamboo and sit in their treetop hideout, on guard for Nelly and her hungry mates.
One evening when we’d just finished interviewing one farmer, the sun had just set so it was too dangerous to follow our path alongside an enormous dam to get back to the motorbike and then home. A huge electric storm has just come overhead bringing some very oppressive black clouds, unnerving winds and booming thunder. “Boat, boat” announced the farmer’s son as he led us to the banks. As the mountains were being lit up by amazing displays of pink lightening, he pulls ashore what was essentially a large, upturned bin lid. Boat, right. Just as the first heavy splats of rain really started to fall we climbed in, squatted down and he began to row. Three strokes to the right, three strokes to the left (or else you become a spinning teacup). It was so dark by now that he had to rely on a small light at the other side of the dam for directional focus. Another crash of thunder, so close it made my teeth rattle. This is how people drown, I thought. I consider myself a willing and able swimmer, but I worried about my camera as well as the blackness of the water. Ten nail-biting minutes later and the farmer’s son is leading us up the opposite side of the bank. He gave us a huge smile and a banana each from his farm. Guests delivered safely, elephant encounter-free, he made his way back towards the bin lid to row his way back home. What a hero.
Back in Kotagiri life in the office is different. Not only has Keystone surprised me with its efficiency and productivity as an organisation, they have also mastered the art of employer wellbeing. Two tea breaks a day either side of lunch provide snacks, tea and important relief from one’s sedentary existence behind a computer screen. At these times we all come together and sit on wooden stools or on the grass, reading today’s The Hindu in the sunshine, discussing this and that. Furthermore Keystone is set in beautiful grounds, where the wide variety of trees and flowers keep exotic birds, bees and butterflies constantly visiting through the office windows. I am increasingly appreciating how one’s environmental surrounding is so influential to one’s general wellbeing.
In fact I think I’m falling more and more in love with the mountains. I love its spectacular views, agreeable climate, electrical storms, its beautiful people. I love how the locals dress in woolly hats and knitwear, no matter it being 30oc when the sun is out. I will miss their winning smiles and big waves when I walk around town, and their unfaltering curiosity and hospitality. South India has been exceptional for this. I have had so many locals offer me chai, dinner, chat, free lifts, their seat on the bus, their phone to use, their cake to eat...one old man even tried to pay my bus fare when I refused to accept the pen he wanted to give me...”you-me, brother-sister” he kept saying.
But what have I missed? Hmmm... to be perfectly honest, not that much. People yes, of course. And the days when I listen to an amazing track blasting on my ipod, I can’t wait for a good night out in Brighton, or better still a festival or two this summer. Cider! Yet India seems to have come at exactly the right time for me; it’s been the perfect blend of cycling self-sufficiency and public transport, own accommodation and local hosting, NGO work and unashamed beach life decadence, familiar faces (thank you Tom, Phil, Jamie, Alice) and inspiring new encounters. I wish I could live off my savings forever.
Decisively, the generosity that has been shown to me along the way is something that I truly hope to offer to others myself one day. Yet another example - I don’t know if you remember Tommy the ‘brilliantly eloquent English intellect’ who I mentioned in my very first post back in Mumbai? We spent many hours setting the world to rights in a Leopold’s Cafe. It so happens that he has a Bio Conference in Bangalore next week, which is also where/when I need to catch my flight home. So on the way Tommy has decided to pay me a visit here in the mountains. We are then making our way to Bangalore by cab (saving me a huge amount of time and stress re. bike-public transportation logistics) and it doesn’t stop there. Between Bangalore and Kotagiri lies Nagarhole National Park, where we will drop by one of the country’s top eco-Lodges for a buffet dinner and wildlife safari; come on tigers!!
Yes, I feel like one of the luckiest people around. With the risk of sounding cheesy, it is great to be alive. Life is fragile. And isn’t that too easy to forget, how fortunate we are to be living? It reminds me of a particular Sport’s Day in primary school when I was about 9. A friend and I were lamenting over how we’d not won the three-legged race, and I turned to her and said “don’t worry, we’ve all won a race...each of us was the first sperm to the egg”. In other words: remember that we’re all pretty bloody lucky to be here.
I’m glad I made it.
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