It is hard to be optimistic with all the madness in the world. Open the paper or switch on the TV, there are wars, plane crashes, and people hurling abuse at each other whether they are weapon wielding crazies or just participating in an tv ‘debate’. If we thought about this on a daily basis , we would surely be depressed, in a permanent funk. No wonder we all shrug it aside and soldier on with our daily lives. But every now and again, we come across someone who rekindles that last ember of belief in humanity, giving us hope that not all is lost.
Several years ago, I was travelling in the southern states and documenting the worldviews of traditional healers (nattu vaidyars). The healers themselves were often inspirational in that many of them worked very hard for little money. Their clients were poor people and so payment was always non-existent. The healers’ worldview also requires humility so for them their healing is a gift from God to be used for the greater good and not something to make big money from. However, this anecdote is not about any of them. This is about a young woman I met.
I had travelled to Wayanad in northern Kerala. I had been told to make my way to Mananthavady town via Kalpetta and then I was to contact a local NGO who had made arrangements for me to stay somewhere. My bus from Bangalore to Kalpetta was late and I reached only at 6 p.m by which time it was getting dark. And then in Kalpetta I could not find anyone who spoke anything but Malayalam and my ability to speak that language was non-existent. With difficulty and growing worry, I managed to reach Mananthavady and was told to take a bus to Boystown, an orphanage, where I was to stay. The problem was reaching there. I took the correct bus but didn’t know where to get off. We were going through the Western Ghats. It was pitch dark, all one could see was a bit of road and trees when the bus headlights cut through the dark. Every now and then a small hamlet with a light or two would whiz past. There were no signboards, no landmarks for me to know where to get off. So I kept trying to ask the conductor who didn’t understand. I was getting quite worried. It’s no fun travelling alone as a woman in the middle of forested mountains in the dark!
Suddenly, a woman in front came up and spoke to me in Tamil and asked where I wanted to go. This young woman it turned out had worked in Chennai in a hospital for a few years. She then told me not to worry and that she would make sure I reached my destination. It was lucky she was there for we had to switch to a share jeep from the bus and go off the main roads to find Boystown. By the time we reached it was almost 9 in the night. And she still had to go further to go home. This was back in the days when cell phones were not so common and her house did not even have a landline for her to call and inform home she would be late! But she refused to part with me till I had met the sisters from the orphanage and she was convinced that I was in safe hands. When we parted, I had no way of checking if she reached safely. I was concerned she was going to be travelling so late in the night on her own but she was calm. Yes her family would be worried but it was okay, she would be fine, she reassured me. Anyhow there was little I could do but be grateful for her help. She reached home finally I know because I took down her address and when I got back to Bangalore, I got a friend to write a letter in Malayalam for me and so we kept in touch for a while.
Even today when the cruelty in the world gets me down, I think of her and it gives me the optimism to face the world and to see the positive side of people.
the chronicles of s 