Trip No. 9- Medak

Trip No. 9. Made in Medak

Though about a week has passed since I made the trip to Medak I am still unable to shrug off the feeling of regret for not having done something right. Some days I really regret having a ‘tube light’ mind because now and then it causes me a lot of grief. Last Tuesday I was on yet another (and final, I’m told) official trip to the fields in Medak district. After several trips that had me taking an overnight train to distant places, this two hour trip to Medak was a welcome relief. It was the usual trip that had us passing through villages and trudging through farmers’ fields observing the crops and getting feedback from the farmers It was at the last village that I had the experience that left me with the feeling of regret.

At the first village which we had reached in the morning there was a crowd gathered outside the village. The group of farmers we had come to meet was busy listening a woman holding a sickle in her hand and pointing towards a spot under a tree. We learnt that she had seen a cobra slip into a hole right there. We held our meeting sitting on the ground, a few feet away from that hole the snake had disappeared into. As the meeting progressed I wondered if the cobra would come out of the hole and give me an opportunity to take a National Geographic type of picture. But with the type of camera I had which had no lenses at all I did not think it was a possibility.

Someone in the group of farmers, a local leader told me that there was a death in the village- someone had committed suicide drinking pesticide after a domestic quarrel. They were all tense because the dead man was from another village and living with his in-laws. The villagers faced the threat of being accused of abetting the suicide by the relatives of the dead guy. A short while after the meeting started two cops came our way. One was an inspector and had his pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers. This was the style in these areas where Naxalites hold sway. They just listened for a few minutes and walked away to the spot where the other villagers were gathered. I assumed the body was somewhere nearby.

The next two villages were nothing remarkable. I did another dumb thing. I had put ordinary batteries instead of alkaline batteries in my camera which gave up after the first few snaps. There were acres of sunflower fields with bright yellow flowers all around that would have made for a great picture. I felt like kicking myself about the camera batteries. I also missed some kind of ancient Islamic structure that was like a mosque, just on the edge of a small lake. It was a beautiful sight which I had to miss. Earlier we had been to the Church at Medak where I was able to take a couple of pictures before the batteries ran out.


At the last village in which we had come unannounced there were few farmers waiting for us. I asked the usual questions to the farmers one of whom was a young fellow. He told me that he had not attended the earlier meetings because of an accident in the family. Later we went around the village. Just before we were getting into our car I saw a heartrending sight.

A kid, barely four or five years old was playing alone. He was barefoot and dressed in shabby clothes with half the buttons of his shirt missing. He was just like any other kid in the villages except that half his face was dark brown. I asked one of the farmers what was wrong with the kid’s face. I beckoned to the kid to come over. He turned out to be the young farmer’s son. It seems he fell into a pan of hot cooking oil, face first. The right half of his face was burnt a dark brown. Luckily, there was no damage to his right eye but he wasn’t blinking. His father showed us the places on the kid’s legs and arms from where the doctors had taken skin to graft on his face. It must have been torture for the young boy. But he appeared quite calm and even smiled shyly when I asked him his name and asked him why he had not gone to school. I felt sorry for the kid who was scarred for life. Seeing the poor kid filled my heart with a strange sorrow. I always feel sad when anything bad happens to children. That maybe because I too have a young kid of my own.

What filled me with regret later was the thought that I had not thought of any idea to help the kid in some way. I had a couple of hundreds in my wallet which I could have given to the kid. They may have protested but wouldn’t have refused the money. It was too obvious that they were poor and the money would have been of some help. It was this thought I’m agonizing over and over even now.

Next Post on Wednesday: The Sunday Haul