My tryst with rural India added one more chapter this week. This time, I went deeper into the villages. Kagarole isn’t new to me; I have been there often. But this time we planned to not skim through it; instead we rolled up our trousers and plunged into the villages surrounding the place.

Mercifully our host suggested that we travel in-road in the company’s hired Mahindra Jeep; a decision for which I thanked him profusely, since the ride was unimaginably bumpy and only a sturdy vehicle could have negotiated the kachhi sadak. The recent rains had added their own soggy and muddy designs.

“Adventure!” my colleague remarked, crouched on the back seat, as we plunged deep into another crater-size pot-hole. Yeah indeed, I grimaced, sitting tightly in the front seat, with another official on my left, and the long gear handle sticking into my abdomen on the right. Earlier, I was positively scandalized when the driver suggested I sit at the back, but since the door wouldn’t open I didn’t risk jumping in.

Of the two villages we visited, the first one had a local ‘mela‘ on. Stalls of frying jalebis and steaming urad-dal balls (mungras) lined the dusty street, dotted with a rusty hand-operated ‘giant’ wheels (only that they weren’t too particularly giant) and colorful merry-go-rounds. We were there to promote our company’s product, and the village pradhan had arranged a small gathering at the Panchayat house. It was a small two room brick building, and the walls were painted with general welfare messages like the importance of having a ‘janm pramaan patra’ (birth certificate) and a ‘mrityu praman patra’ (death certificate).

Despite my obvious discomfort, I think I managed fairly well in speaking Hindi all through out, without any English words slipping in inadvertantly. When I struggled to find a suitable word for ‘investment’ (nivesh) or ‘scheme’ (yojana) I realized how deeply English is etched in my mind, and how innocously it enters my conversation without any intention to do so.

After the meet, the pradhan served us with hot jalebis – they were much lighter in color than their Delhi cousins, and far sweeter.

The next village held strong propinquity to the stereotypical image re-inforced by watching movies and viewing Krishi Darshans during childhood. We sat in a typical ‘chaupal‘ in front of the pradhan‘s house, and though we were on plastic chairs, there was the ubiquitious ‘khaat’ (bed) made of jute strands. This time I discovered I was more comfortable in speaking Hindi. After two rounds of tea, we left the village,assured by the pradhan to divert some business our company’s way.

Our journey for the day concluded at Kheragarh, ten kilometers away from Kagarole. Here, we had only one meeting, with a leading tractor dealership. It lasted for some time, and our host here served a plethora of snacks, and thankfully coffee! We returned to Kagarole by five in the evening, and took stock of the meetings held. It looked beneficial enough, and I hope we can get some business soon.

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