Learning a Lesson in Contentment from Two Villages

Last weekend, on the eve of Makara Sankranthi, we went on a day trip to Innovative Film City, Bidadi in the outskirts of Bangalore. After pondering over whether to take the NICE road or the Shanumangala road, we decided to take the latter because my husband Pavan wanted try a different route and wanted the drive to be a little suspense filled and somewhat adventurous.

Well, the new (for us) route took us thorough some quaint little villages – two of them being Karenahalli and Shanumangala.

Karenahalli was kms from Bangalore and Shanumangala a little further off. The two little villages were actually pretty close to Bangalore, their metropolis neighbor, but they were completely unaffected by the rapid urbanization that Bangalore is witness to. Instead they actually have retained every bit of their true rustic charm.

I did not find any traces of anything city-like in these villages. Of course, we just passed by these villages – merely rode through its few lanes, never really explored it; but I’m sure even if we went on a search for city- influences, we wouldn’t find one. In fact, both Karenahalli and Shanumangala were beautiful – beautiful for their low roofed mud houses, vast green fields, narrow roads, bullock carts, healthy, well fed goats, sheeps, buffaloes and hybrid milch cows, innumerous water bodies and of course the villagers themselves – happy, innocent and busy at work.

That day being the eve of Makara Sankranthi, everyone in the village was involved in making arrangements for celebrating the harvest festival. Men were carrying home bundles of freshly cut sugar canes; the women were either vigorously cleaning and scrubbing the utensils or bathing the cows, bullocks and buffaloes. Some of them were also applying a plaster of cow dung paste to their front yards. The children were simply running about and seeing or hearing our bike approach, would stop their play and watch us pass by. Young girls were making rangoli designs and stringing flowers.

So, why am I saying all this? I mean, isn’t this how villages all over India are?

Yes, but what there is something that struck me when I saw the villagers and their simple way of life – contentment.

The people of Karenahalli and Shanumangala had no luxuries – no duplex houses, no fancy schools, no plush malls, no attaractive restaurants, no weekend getaway destinations. They did not even have proper basic amenities like a hospital or sanitation facilities. But they were happy. Happy with whatever they had – a tiny home, some agricultural land, some cattle and probably a large family. They were happy doing what they knew to do best – plough their fields, harvest crops and rear cattle for milk and wool. That was their life. That was their economy. And they were extremely content with whatever money they earned from this life. I couldn’t but help feel the complete contrast to life in Bangalore or any other urban centers of living.

We, urban inhabitants are never content, are we? We forever complain about the lack of everything –money, better job opportunities, space, water, infrastructure, facilities, essential services and the list goes on.

The problem with us is that we are spoilt for choices. There is so much of everything in the metropolitan cities that we do not know what to pick and what to let go. There are so many residential apartments and plots for sale, so many job offers piling up in your inbox, so many malls, pubs, restaurants and clubs beckoning you, so many buses plying, so many roads, underpasses and flyover, so many super specialty hospitals, so many educational institutions and so much technology at our disposal that we are unable to identify clearly what our wants are.

We are blinded by an insatiable urge to have everything or at least a little more than what currently exist, even if it is beyond our reach.

So, if we have a two BHK house, we still look for a bigger house in a better locality. If we have an Alto, we strive hard to upgrade to a Honda City. If our CTC is 5 lk per annum, we feel we are not getting our worth. We have enough options for entertainment – we have a nice family, we have friends, we have play stations, smart phones, 3D movies; yet we go in search of some “fake cities” (like we did) to have more fun!

Of course, there is nothing wrong in having higher aspirations and ambitions. Dreams and hopes for things better and brighter are always good. They help us set goals and strive hard to achieve it. But why is that our aspirations, our wants are always limitless? Why can’t we exercise restraint over our wishes?

We didn't stop to click photos, but this is how a typical house in  the two villages look like.
Photo Coutesy: panoramio.com

I think we have a lesson to learn from the villagers of Karenahalli and Shanumangala – a lesson in contentment, a lesson in being happy with what we have.

Remembering the Good Old Hande

A Hande is a bathing container and one of the largest utensils you would find in a traditional south-Indian home. It is a huge cauldron that is placed on an earthen stove in the bathroom and used to heat large quantities of water (up to 100 liters or more) for bath.

Made of copper this simple giant of a utensil was the pride of every hold in the good old days of joint families. Then, the women of the house filled the Hande with water at daybreak and lighted its stove using firewood and dried leaves. Soon a fiery fire would blaze, the water would heat up and a Hande-full of hot water would be ready for the entire household’s bath. In fact, the Hande-stove was always kept burning and the water level always kept to the brim until everyone in the house had finished their bath! The extent of heat was such that the water in the Hande remained warm till late afternoon, even after the fire had long died down!

The Hande fixed on a high platform.
Photo courtesy: Sharmila Vinayak

My association with the Hande goes a long way. Ours was a nuclear family, yet our home had a Hande; albeit an aluminum one and smaller in size. And yes, every morning dad filled it with water drawn from the well and mom went about the process of lighting a fire and heating the water. My grandparents’ house had bigger and more than one Handes. But, my maternal grandma’s home had the biggest Hande.

To be honest, when I was little, I was scared of this Hande. Why? One, because it was so big that it towered over my small body and I couldn’t even reach its mouth! Two, bathrooms were poorly lit and the Hande in itself was jet black with soot which created an eerie darkness around the Hande. Three, my older cousins got me to believe that there are creepy creatures like frogs, scorpions and snakes lurking inside the Hande! So every time I had to put my hands into the Hande, I did it very cautiously, taking care not to dip my hands too deep into the water, lest some horrible creature grab my hand and gobble me up!

In spite of all these irrational fears, bathing from the Hande was always an experience in itself. It was a leisurely activity, always soothing on the nerves and relaxing on the muscles. And this experience only became better during festivals, especially Deepavali.

The day before the festival, the Hande was scrubbed and cleaned with a mixture of ash, rock salt and tamarind paste to get rid of the thick soot and make it look like new. In the evening, it was decorated with marigold garlands and earthen lamp designs were painted on its surface. Then, after a short pooja to the well, would begin the ritual of filling the Hande with water amidst the sounds of the crackers, pooja bells, conch and cymbals. After the pooja to it, both the Hande and the water in it were now considered sacred and no one was allowed to use this water till the next morning.

The next morning, on the day of the Deepavali, mom would add Tulsi, Neem and Saaguvani (Teak tree) leaves to the water in the Hande before heating it. These leaves would release its medicinal properties into the water and soon the entire Hande would be filled with a special aroma. Taking large mug-fulls of this special water and indulging in a leisurely oil bath was the best part of Deepavali.

But alas, times have changed. Today Handes are a rarity and found in only very few houses and most among them don’t even make use of it. There are no wells and no firewood available. In the present days of taps and geysers and scare water supply, the Hande has made way for plastic buckets and tubs. In the morning rush, bathing now is only a 5-7 minutes affair and limited to just a bucket-full of water.

I miss the Hande and the Hande Bath. Sob.