it’s all farm for me

As we reached the crossroads where we bid our share taxi goodbye and waited for Hari, the farm manager, to pick us up, we spent a good deal of energy trying to communicate to the assembled locals that we didn’t need any of their rickshaws. Finally the message got through, and the local postman, mailbag stowed on a chair, insisted we have some tea with him. As kept a watchful eye for Vijay’s car (driven by Hari), I noticed some locals waving at me from an Ambassador jalopy. I figured they had seen some white folks, wanted to wave, and would be on their way.

Then I realized they were the familiar faces of Vanita and Chetan waving. And in true Indian fashion, we piled everybody, including Jayesh, into this broken down Ambassador along with our two big bags, and began the bumpy ride 7 kilometers back to the farm.

It would appear we made an impression on this fine family, and they came to meet us in grand style. The hug rIAm got from Vanita was especially telling.

But now rIAm is meditating and I’m alone on the farm, which, admittedly, suits me fine. Sure it’s a bit lonely without my wife and traveling companion, especially in the evenings, but I’m managing fine. And for me, farm work and relative solitude – with days filled with hard work and friendship with the men workers – beats silent meditation and 4am wake-up calls.

Hari, Vanita and the boys are worried that I’m sad without rIAm and that I’ll overwork myself in the sun. Not altogether bad sentiments, although sometimes it means I’m sent to do a small task in the shade instead of working with the guys in the sun. Perhaps good for preventing a red face, but I enjoy the camraderie of the workers and the feeling of a hard days work.

It’s funny, though, how the second time round there’s a certain veneer that’s been lifted from the farm stay and the resident family. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a most wonderful place, but the quirks and reality that every person has their strengths and weaknesses is a bit more evident. In some ways it’s reassuring; we’re all just regular people.

For example, I’m sent to tie bundles of a root that goes into drinking water. It gives the water an earthy taste and is supposed to be good for your system. In any case, it is nothing more than roots steeping in water – tea, basically – and messing this up isn’t really possible. As I’m left with a pile of root, a roll of string and a cutter, it seems that I’m also left to divine the proper method on my own. Naturally, I do it wrong. Which is pointed out to me freely, although the right way is less obvious (my bundles, to me, look an awful lot like the bundles done previously).

This is one of this things that you can chalk up to cultural and language barrier, and also the result of a much different way of life. Vanita, for example, pointed out that my bundles were not as tidy as the others. Let’s take this example a bit further.

Vanita, by convential American or Canadian standards, would not be considered very smart. She has no formal education, her world view doesn’t extend much beyond her local village and region (with the exception of the WWOOFers who come through) and things are done wrong if they are not done her way (not that this trait is unique to Vanita!). And yet, she is one of the smartest and most capable woman I know. She successfully raises three boys, who are getting a most excellent education. She manages to communicate with foreigner after foreigner. She makes perfect chapatti, excellent subzi and an even better kitch-er-ee. Plus, she knows how to do more things than I dare list here. But alas, the nuances of communication across cultures can escape her or me and it’s like we talk crossways. Like the root bundles, the way I tied them would result in water just as satisfying as always, but for Vanita, they were being done wrong. Fortunately, it’s a small, trivial matter.

Similarly, Hari spends a great deal of time concerned that the sun will make me red color and will assign me a more solitary or “easy work” task to take care of me. A most wonderful sentiment. Perhaps even brought on when he noticed one morning I was often sitting while Imran was working. But what he doesn’t see is that I enjoy working with the guys, and make a point to sit (ideally in the shade) and have water regularly, so I don’t wear myself down. But I understand what Hari’s doing, and by golly I know rIAm is loving him for doing it.

I’m sure it also hasn’t escaped Hari and company that I sweat about as many liters of water per day as I drink (which is, on many days, conservatively, 8 liters – 2 gallons!). All this is good for my system, even if it means laundry everyday! [skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to read bathroom talk] Despite all this drinking, my daily bathroom output is probably no more than a liter. If you take out my first morning bathroom run, at most I’ll have one stop during the day, in which I’ll eliminate probably <500 mLs. If I’m lucky, I’ll go again before bed. So I just keep on drinking and drinking.

In any case, it is impossible to really have any complaints while on the farm. I’m treated exceptionally well and get along with everybody famously. Although I can tell they all wish rIAm were on the farm too, and not 30 kms away in silent meditation.

Even today, Vanita made a point to include me in Raksha Bandan a festival where sisters give brothers (not just the blood-related ones, think of it also as very close friends) bracelets, put a red dot on their forehead, and a super sweet small hockey puck of a treat to eat, and in return the brothers give a small gift, often some rupees. It’s supposed to help ward of evil in the coming year and be good luck, or some such thing. It’s a very good day, anyway, and a much practiced and enjoyed custom. Vanita made sure I got my bracelet, and so this should mean a year of good things for me. And tomorrow the family plans to take me with them to Hari’s niece’s wedding. rIAm is most certainly going to be jealous of these experiences when she returns.

I would also be remiss to not mention that the plants and wildlife on the farm are in much greater quantity now, with the rainy season in full effect. Everything is super green; things are growing just about everywhere. The number of birds, including peacocks, storks and some other things I don’t know the name of is impressive. Some sparrow-sized bright yellow birds are building amazing nests in a tree and made for a dazzling display, with often more nests than you can count in one tree. There are also lizards of seemingly every size, such as the geckos on the wall (from pinky finger size up to probably 8 inches) and “big lizards” which can be 14-36 inches. The number of mosquitoes is much less than we anticipated (yay!), but the number of flies and other bugs has increased dramatically (boo!). And we’re also ever mindful of the possibility of snakes, a precauation made all the more sensible when a farm’s goat apparently got bit by a snake and died an hour later. Yikes! But now I can say I helped bury a goat… a most bizarre experience. The good news is that were only days (or less) away from the other goat on the farm giving birth.

I guess with all things there is a cycle, and as one thing ends another begins. Such is life on the farm, always more to do, always another plant sprouting, always another adventure around the corner. It will be sad in 10 days time to say goodbye again, not knowing when we’ll see these great people and this great land again. And yet exciting to know that as this chapter draws to a close, we begin our south Indian adventures.