The grandeur of the night sky, I wrote about a few
weeks back, is an incomplete truth. When the night slips away and a serene
moment of absolute silence grips the whole place at dawn, the sky becomes such
a fine cloak to all the sleepy inhabitants beneath it. Since the sun chooses to
say "Hello" a little later
these days, with my wake up alarm still stubbornly stuck at 6am, I get to
observe the beautiful twilight in the morning. The stars are still around, a
few of them at their shining best. The clouds of white are blurry lines across
a black-becoming-blue sky. There are tinges of orange and crimson peeking at
the corners of the cloak. This, this one moment, before even the birds begin to
chirp, is the pinnacle of the grandeur.
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| Sesame fields set against the Aravalli hills on a foggy morning. |
It is SO difficult to prop oneself out of the bed from
beneath the warm and cozy blanket when the air outside is a chill six degrees.
However, the minute I soak in that image from my backyard, the laziness
astonishingly makes way for rejuvenation. Add to this beautiful scene, the calm
trees and the earlier brown-then-green-now yellow sesame fields. I stare at a
postcard every morning. In silence.
There is a message that is written all across the
card, unseen to many, but it eggs me to do good that day. Then gradually the
confident orange strides in, the last star manages to give a wink before fading
out and I splash my face with cold water. My fingers and face freeze from the
rude shock, it is time I shifted to using the neem twig toothbrush, I decide. (The
village folks have their indigenous and healthy ways to conserve water, keep
themselves warm and healthy- I make a mental note.)
All inspired and thoroughly awake, I look forward to
the day's events. As is with everything else, there are only two things that
could happen, things could either go uphill from there or downhill. The first
thing that makes me lose that spring in my step is definitely the morning
newspaper. In specific, the disappointment with what is happening at the
Parliament. The winter session is a week old as of today. The number of full
working days out of five- zero, zilch, shunya. In deep thought as I sip
on the garam chai, I wonder about our leaders and the people who choose
them. Mirroring the highest house of democracy- the Parliament- the Haryana
state too holds winter Gram Sabhas. Starting from November 27th the slew of
Gram Sabhas are scheduled till December 15th.
Slightly digressing, I should describe here an imagery
I had of the Panchayat. Blame my upbringing, surroundings or the company that I
keep, I have been nurtured on movies- Tamil, English and Hindi. Anybody who has
even a narrow past with Tamil movies maybe familiar with the many Panchayat
scenes that the industry throws at us. Gripped in all anxiety, fear and curiosity
motley villagers gather under the shade of a huge (gigantic, in fact)
Banyan/Peepal tree. The 'Nattamai' of course is the ever-rich dynastic
hero/father of the hero (why never a woman?!). Only he sits on an antique
chair, of maybe the most expensive teak, embellished complete with lions' heads
at the arm rests. He is, quite naturally, surrounded by cronies/other powerful
men, whose only work in their entire lives (as we see through the movie) is to
nod in agreement or echo His Highness' words. Then, there will invariably be
the one accountant/bodyguard/secretary/younamewhat ready with a
book/spittoon/book again/younamewhat by the side of the all-powerful Nattamai.
After patiently listening to both sides of the case ( Why is it always a case,
never a discussion or meeting?!) a beatific Nattamai is now shown with
lines so deep on his forehead, the villagers- I am surprised- do not get out
their tilling equipment! This moment is notoriously accompanied by a background
score that peaks towards the end, after which, the Nattamai thunders
with his earth-shaking decision. The consultant-cronies and villagers sundry
express shock/consent/satisfaction/glee depending on whether they are paid
well/crony/averagely paid/crony again. Anyway, nobody opposes it. After zooming
in and out on all their reactions, the scene..
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| Since Google failed me in providing you with an authentic Nattamai scene, I present to you a close substitute. |
cuts to Haryana, November 27th 2012. First stop is at
the Rewari Block Development and Panchayat Office. Sunny morning, a cluster of
chairs is placed outside the office. The officers plonked on them seem at
utmost leisure, an honourable mention must go to a lady who was knitting a
sweater. It is 11 in the morning, there are half a dozen empty tea-cups by the
legs of the chairs already. Four of them seem to be keenly discussing the
upcoming wedding of the Block Development Officer's son. Nobody could provide the Gram Sabha schedule
for the villages in the block, that I asked for. Worse, nobody was even
interested. They had to be at one meeting each, by call of duty. When the
winter sun beckons, they care only to crack open groundnuts. So the 11 o'clock
Gram Sabha session was "washed out" in sooo many villages!
2 o'clock. I am seated in the temple premises of
Sundroj. The Gram Sabha should be underway any minute. Half an hour later there
are 9 people on the temple floor- five women (from SCRIA's sangathans)
and four other men. Not even all the Panch turn up. The meeting starts at 2.35
pm. The new Panchayat Secretary is initially seated on a chair (giving all the
airs of being the boss, contrary to her role as the Government Servant) and the
men are seated on a mat, facing away. Then bogged down by our gaze, the
Secretary shifted to the durrie, while the Sarpanch still sat stylishly
cross-legged on a chair. (The Gram Sabha's egalitarian dictum is that everybody
is seated on the same level.) The
women are huddled together and worrying about their buffaloes. No kidding. The
only thing that thundered here was the wind against the drying Peepal tree. So
feeble was this meeting, no discussion on development activities, no discussion
on social evils, nothing! I cursed those movie directors who had spun a
dramatic yarn around a somber proceeding.
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| (L to R) Panchayat Secretary (with register), Sarpanch, one of the five women. |
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| Sarpanch striking a pose. |
Are we ever surprised at a child taking to its parent?
Same goes here. Parliament does not function. Panchayat does not function. The
cat on the temple's parapet was more active than the villagers who turned up.
There was not a buzz in the village about the Sabha. The announcement was made
the previous night at 8pm after the villagers had shut their homes to the outside
world. (The rule states that the announcement be made at least 15 days in
advance.) My co-fellows in Odisha narrated many incidents of Palli
(ward) Sabhas where there were huge gatherings and mad chaos to demand answers
regarding development. Maybe, as one of my co-workers at SCRIA pointed out,
Haryana has comparatively less incidence of poverty and hence the people do not
bother to fight for their rights, just as much. Turning up on the pitch counts,
I retort. Oops, that is simply asking too much!
I am expecting more of these instances in the coming
days..
It simply nailed the purpose behind my work, more than
ever. Strengthening Gram Sabhas and the 3-tier Panchayati Raj system is going
to be a tough journey. However, when the foundation of self-governance is
well-established, the democracy functions well by default. When all these
India-China debates come up, my mind always chooses to pick the one trump card India
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| Tomorrow's another day. May our democracy prosper, I pray. |
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