There is one ATM machine in Hampi. The sign outside said it was broken due to no power, but it looked like it was on. No luck. I tried again the next morning and still not working. Concerned with not being able to pay my guest house bill before my departure the following day, I inquired where the next nearest ATM was. Kamalapuram, the village 4km down the road. I got a quote from a rickshaw driver. Rs200 there and back. I'd been toying with renting a scooter for the day to tour some of the ruins (they go on for miles) and for Rs250, it made sense to leave the rickshaws and make my first port of call Kamalapuram. It was a pleasant drive through the countryside - paddy fields, temples here and there, rural life going about its daily business. Old men in lunghis on bicycles, herds of goats being ushered up the road, the occasional scooter or motorbike, usually with two or three men, whizzing past, cow-drawn carts with loads of hay – all painting the image of local, rural life. I think I drove around the whole village before I found the ATM but it was interesting just to observe (resisting the urge to stop and take photos as I was turning enough heads as it was). I was dismayed to find that this ATM was also out of order, so Hospet, another 13km, with its multiple cash machines (I think at least three) beckoned. Feeling quite pleased that I had decided against the rickshaw as that would have then bumped my fare up significantly, I set off, content to just be out and about.
A little way down the road I was startled to see a motorbike on its side and a man on the ground, with the driver struggling with the bike. An older gentleman was reeling on the road, a few grazes and trickles of blood. The younger driver was shouting at him, I thought, rather unsympathetically. When the old man tried to stand but staggered back, I was concerned he was concussed and felt even more agitated at the younger man’s attitude, but my remonstrations fell on deaf ears. As with any occurrence anywhere in India, people suddenly appeared to stand and watch the spectacle and it was at that point that a young, clean cut man explained to me that the old guy was drunk, really drunk. In hindsight, I guess he just fell off the back of the bike, which suddenly made the whole scenario fall into place. The young guy was still cursing but eventually they were back in position and off down the road again. No serious damage, and I guess if your Dad/Uncle was that drunk so early in the day, you wouldn’t have much patience with him either.
The rest of my journey into town was thankfully uneventful and it was with a feeling of accomplishment that I parked up on the main street, having navigated through the town traffic. After getting my cash, I decided to grab a masala dosa (a large, thin, crispy, pancake wrapped around a mound of potatoes and onions and served with samba and coconut chutney), my absolute favourite thing on the South Indian menu. There was a place opposite the bus stand Udupi Sri Krishna Bhavan, that had been recommended. After I’d eaten, I ordered more tea, and sat and wrote for a while, much to the curiosity of the staff. I think most people come in, eat and then leave fairly quickly. There was a beggar stationed just outside the door to catch people with full bellies. I watched him as he assumed the position, hand extended as people approached, and then relaxed in between, chatting to the guy on the stall outside. We had made eye contact a few times, and particularly as I had taken photos of him, when I paid my bill, buying myself some pakora, I bought an extra bag Rs25 and gave it to him as I left. He took it graciously and then looked up at me expectantly as though I might have more to give, preferably cash. I just smiled and shook my head. He smiled back. Worth a try, I suppose.
On my way back, I meandered around, stopping at random little temples or to take photos – the rest of the day stretched out before me. I stopped in a small village to admire a temple with very colourful ornate carvings opposite a school. 
I was accosted by a couple of kids out on break, munching on snacks and asking for pens. No pens. I took some pictures and then who should appear but my pint-sized suitor from sunset, Manju. Break was over and he asked me to come to his school. Since I was standing right outside, I thought, why not? Let me go and ask your teacher. I went to park the scooter inside and much to his delight, I let Manju jump on as I rolled into the playground. By now there was a hubbub of excited children as the foreign spectacle made her way towards the school building to greet the teacher.
Varalakshmi, Manju’s teacher, kindly agreed to give me a tour. We went from class to class, talking about the school, the subjects and the students. She was the English teacher as well as Hindi, P.E. and Yoga, so she spoke good enough English for me to be able to ask her questions (she was surprised to hear that English is Manju’s ‘favourite subject’). Ages 6-14 years, there are 170 boys and 150 girls. All of the students live in a 2 km radius. Six months of the year over a quarter of the students are taken out of the school to work in the fields cutting sugar cane. Girls do better than boys but after 14 years, half the girls will not go on to further education but get married instead. As we walked from class to class a small entourage trailed behind us, led by Manju who was in his element. After visiting a few classrooms, I thought I should let them get back to work. I asked her if they were short on supplies, and feeling quite flush as I’d just been to the ATM, offered Rs500 to go towards books or pens. After 
that, she insisted that I tour every single classroom, with some of the younger classes singing songs accompanied by little dance routines. We then met Raju, the very charming dance and art teacher. He is quite extraordinary. Due to some birth defect, he 
has small stumps instead of arms with a few fingers dangling maybe six inches from his shoulders. He draws with his feet. I was so impressed with his manner and the example he was setting to these children that you can overcome the disadvantages that life might bring you, rather than begging in the street. It seems the government only pays for girls to do art class but the boys can watch, so they stand around looking over the girls shoulders.
There was a commotion outside and kids were tearing out of the classrooms round to the front of the main building. When I inquired what was happening, ‘mimicry’ was the reply. A bit confused, I followed the Varalakshmi round as (separate) groups of boys and girls were seated cross-legged facing the front building. There was an old man with a hat sitting on a chair. After everyone (it must have been the middle years only, but including Manju and his crew) had settled, the ‘show’ began. It turns out this man tours around schools and all the children bring 1 rupee, so he makes about Rs100 as a school entertainer. The mimicry referred to the section where he did cow and goat impersonations, but he also sang songs and did a sort of slapstick routine and got kids out of the audience to do role playing. As with any clown or kids show, children are entertained at such a wonderfully simple level, he had them all in stitches and they soon stopped staring at me sitting next to the teacher, as they became mesmerized by the performance.
How often does he come and do this? Once a year. So I happened to show up at the school on a good day? You are our guest of honour, replied Varalakshmi. I left after the show, a couple hours of light left for me to explore the ruins. Not much time to cover miles and miles but I figure the ruins have been there a while so they will probably still be there next time. The few hours I spent at Kaddirampur Government Higher Primary School was an opportunity I wouldn’t have missed and being guest of honour at this annual show, only happens once a year.
... and I did see some of the thousands of ruins.
Wonderful story!!
ReplyDeleteKhosi