Small Town Chronicles; My Little Potter friend

We shifted from Kolkata to Rourkela in September and by October 1, 2012 all my possessions from the Kolkata house had arrived. Then began the arduous task of opening the cartons and putting my house in shape. It was tough with a three year old and no support at home. Every night before going to bed I would flip through the master list, strike off the ones that I had opened and mark in red the ones I would open the next morning. Mornings would begin early with a cup of chai and cookies followed by a light breakfast of cornflakes and milk. Lunch would be a simple affair of Maggi and fruit juice. Well that’s the most I managed with all the unopened cartons looming around me.

I started with the cartons for one room, opened them, set the room in a shape and then moved to the next. After having finished setting up the kitchen, it was now the turn for the master bedroom. I set to task immediately after breakfast with the boy busy with his Thomas, the engine. But repeated wails from him prevented further progress. The reason - a fly bothering him! Okay, so I shooed it off but it came back again and again pestering him. So I moved the child to another corner. Well, seems it was my turn then! The fly was back with full vengeance, circling around me, flying low, just above my head and it was getting quite irksome. I gave it up for a lunch break.  After the meal the boy went off to sleep while I decided to make the most of it. But, no! The fly was back again. This time it managed to bother the sleeping child and me as well. Thoroughly exasperated with the fly, the humidity taking its toll and fatigue setting in I bunched up some loose papers to strike the little pest. 

The wasp at work

It fell flat on my bed motionless. It was then that I had a long look at it. Ahh, it’s not what I thought…I mean not a fly! More like a wasp. You know the ones we call ‘bolta’ in Bengali. Longish and thin, they are red in color, they are ferocious little creatures and they sting very hard. Bolta took me back to one of the quips by my brother-in-law. I was 13 years old then. My newly married brother-in-law had asked me ‘tum bolta ko kya bolta hai?’(What do you call a bolta?) I had no reply and I did not know what to say. Well he had served me the answer,‘Hum bolta ko bolta bolta hai’. (I call a Bolta a bolta). It’s the multiple use of the word ‘bolta’ and the way Bengalis pronounce it that we find it funny! 

Another shot of my friend

Coming back to my little friend…it was lying motionless on the bed making me feel very guilty. After all it had become my companion on all these lonely, dreary afternoons. It spared me further guilt by suddenly fluttering its wings and flying out. No sting nothing! It came after a few minutes again and did not sting me but just hovered around my head, revolved around my son and then went on to sit on the window sill. I got busy with my work but I did count the number of times the little thing flew in.

The next morning while opening the window I noticed a clump of mud stuck firmly on the window sill. By the time I came back with the broom my friend had already made an entry. And I found it sitting on that very clump of mud. Now that was interesting. Stealthily I moved closer. The little wasp was holding between its legs a clump of mud which was wet and which it deposited on the older, hardened clump.

Done with the deposit it flew out, came back again with some more which it deposited again. This went on throughout the day while I kept a vigil on the progress. I managed to keep myself and the child out of its way lest it gets disturbed and decides to stop further activity.

By the end of the day, my little friend had created a round heap of mud which resembled an earthen pot. The round heap narrowed down into a tiny, circular opening at the top. The next morning I found that my friend was early, had sealed the opening and was busy building another storey on its top. Evening saw the completion of this layer and a hole left at the top.  Next morning I found my friend flying in. It seemed a bit off-balanced and had lost its sense of direction. It kept on hitting the curtains which hung around the windows or the window ledge. Closer inspection left me astounded. It was holding on to a green caterpillar which was twice its size and weight. After many an attempt the wasp managed to squeeze the caterpillar inside the unsealed hole that it had left on the second layer. She returned with some more mud and sealed off the layer. The next day saw her building another layer to the whole structure and then sealing it off with some more worms. 

The green caterpillar brought by the wasp

This whole affair was new to me. I had never seen such a wasp before and she took most of my time in those early days showing me her creative side. Perfectly built and symmetrical the nests were a wonder.

Later I got to know from my mother that they are known as ‘Kumirey poka’ in Bengali, ‘Kumhar’ In Hindi and Oriya and Potter Wasps in English. No wonder their skills are comparable to a human potter. They secrete a liquid which wets the mud lying around and moulds them into the kind of dough that they want. And they paralyze the caterpillars by stinging them. Otherwise how can a tiny wasp manage a caterpillar double/triple its size? To add on to this, they are harmless. They do not sting. I disturbed mine so many times but she never stung me or my child. Such interesting and magnificent creatures they are.

My mother also mentioned to me that visits of a ‘kumirey poka’ are considered auspicious amongst the Bengalis. It’s usually a harbinger of good luck. Households with no child consider it to be a signal of the arrival of a little one. And it’s sacrilegious to break/destroy such a nest. It’s bound to bring bad luck to the destroyer.

The three-storeyed nest about to be sealed

To add a note as an epilogue my friend had built two more nests in my house. They all remained intact for the next three months. One fine day I found tiny holes on each of those layers. The eggs that she had laid had all hatched, the larva had fed on the worms and caterpillars its mother had stocked for it, grown its wings and had then flown away. I have removed those nests and kept them carefully as display in my living room. No not for the fear of bad luck! Interesting and magnificent, such great works of art they are! I have kept their nests in a nicely decorated plate and show it off to people who visit me. Not a day goes by that guests do not appreciate my friend’s skills! This year I am still eagerly awaiting her arrival. Will let you know when she comes in!

Small Town Chronicles; Du chaakar goppo

The alarm goes off sharp at 4.30am. It rings on for another five minutes till Bhaiya shouts from the next room to shut it. Eyes tightly shut; she swings her hand towards the bed rest above her head, gropes for her cell phone and resets the alarm. It’s become a habit. Days of resetting the alarm has ensured that she no longer needs her eyes to guide her.

The alarm goes off again after twenty minutes and before Bhaabi storms in with her angry outburst Rama shuts it off. Studying till late in the night, waking up the next morning is a tough ordeal for her. This time she has her eyes open. No, she cannot rest the alarm anymore! She is already late by fifteen minutes which means she would have to skip breakfast today.

In twenty minutes she is ready and out of the house, catches the first ‘shared’ auto that plies on the road and is off to the TVS showroom in Old Rourkela.

Thus begins another tedious day in Rama’s life!

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My instructor with her Scooty

Atypical of most small towns, two wheelers rule the city. Convenient to ride around, enough mileage and easy on the pocket they are the best means of travel here.

There are autos and they are expensive. An auto solely ‘reserved’ for a passenger costs a minimum of Rs 50 while an auto in a ‘share’ mode (sharing it with other passengers) costs a minimum of Rs 5 per head. A small auto accommodates three at the back and two at the front excluding the driver while a bigger one accommodates six-seven at the back and three at the front. Well not all routes are covered by ‘share’ autos. Rickshaws are a rare sight while buses are so full that it renders impossible for people like us to board.  

Shops scattered far and wide, long stretches of desolate roads, groups of boys lurking about in dark corners, men gawking at a young mother and her child, extreme weather conditions and I decide ‘ No I just can’t walk around! I need a Scooty.’ The last time I had ridden a Scooty was some fifteen years ago when I was much younger. I would leave the house in a helmet and the moment Ma would be out of sight, I would stop, remove it, dangle it from the handle and off I would go at high speed, turning sharp corners at an impossible speed. Such was my spirit then! Well, not every day this would go as planned. Baba would often catch me in a race with my college mates, riding at a high speed without helmet. The punishment was unavoidable. No two-wheeler for a week! Instead I had to cycle to college.  What a blow to my zealously guarded prestige!

Well coming back to the present, age and years of lack of practice has robbed me off the confidence of riding a two-wheeler. And now I am no longer a young girl out to impress the world around. But a mature woman, who is also a mother and has a steadfast companion in her four-year old boy. That adventurous streak, the zeal and the fervor I was so proud of has now been replaced with fear, worry and anxiety. 

It was at this juncture when I was vacillating between the need to buy a two-wheeler and the fear of riding one that my landlord introduced me to the ‘Scooty School’. The Scooty school, an initiative by the TVS Company organizes training classes for all those who wish to learn two-wheelers.  And that’s how I met Rama, the Scooty instructor. We chatted over the phone and with some difficulty I got myself fitted into the 6am slot. Well on an average she has some six-seven students every day. 

The next day sharp at 6am, I find her outside my house on her Pep-Plus Scooty. I had in my mind a plump woman of my age. Well it was a big surprise! Young and slim, her face concealed by a snuff colored dupatta, she was a mere girl. Too young were my exact thoughts as I sat behind her and went off in search of a nice, big field for some ‘hard’ practice.

It’s a six-day course. Her classes start as early as 6am in summer. Every class is of 45 minutes. The first day is ‘know your Scooty’. It comprises of pedaling and trying to balance the weight of the vehicle. Now not everyone is familiar with the weight of such a vehicle. Many graduate from a cycle to a two-wheeler while there are some who have never cycled in their whole life and have no idea of what ‘balance’ means. For me who had driven a Moped some fifteen years ago, getting used to the weight of the Scooty was quite tedious the first day. Rama advised me before ending the class ‘Didi, raat ko soney ke time ek Paracetamol le lijiye ga. Bahut dard hoga aj’! (Sister have a pain-killer before going to bed at night as you might experience severe body ache. And she was right!!

Once the person gets a hang of the Scooty and its weight, it’s time to introduce her to other mechanics like the accelerator and speed control. 

The third day is all about riding the vehicle. Well, I had trouble in lifting my feet off the ground and keeping them on the Scooty. It was a fear of toppling over which prevented me from doing that. No soothing words from Rama helped. I kept my feet dangling so that I could drop them on the ground as and when the situation demanded. Rama finally sat behind me, held the handle from the back, controlled the accelerator and the brake all the while urging me to lift up my feet. And that’s what I concentrated on. I have no idea when or how but suddenly I had found my long-lost balance and was sitting on the Scooty with my legs firmly implanted on it. By the end of the 45-minute rigorous session Rama had ensured that I was in complete control of the vehicle.

The fourth day was another round of practice on the field involving circular motions and then sharp right turns, U-turns and left turns. The fifth and the sixth day I was on the road with Rama at the back explaining to me the traffic signals, reminding me to use the indicator, overtaking other vehicles and other important tips to be kept in mind while riding it.

The course ended and by then I and Rama were good friends.  The seventh day I had mustered enough courage to visit all the showrooms in Rourkela, opt for a test drive, purchase the favored one and ride it back home which is some 15 km’s from the showroom. 

Having lived in Kolkata for the last few years the sight of a Motor Training school in every locality or training cars in every major road is not an uncommon sight. But the concept of a two-wheeler training programme run by a reputed company is unheard of. The course is perfectly designed and reasonably priced (Rs 750/- for ^days) for a trainee to gather enough confidence. Rama adds on ‘there are many who have never cycled in their whole life. For them six days is not enough. I give them an extension of another six days.’

What really struck me the most was the young girl’s sincerity. Barely in her 20’s, she hails from a decent family where all the members have to strive hard to meet ends. Her father is an employee of the Rourkela Steel Plant and she has a brother and two sisters.  Three daughters is still a burden for a father especially in small towns like Rourkela. No matter how the world around has changed, certain taboos and customs never die away. The eldest daughter was married off early and Rama had to fight against this norm. Financial pressure, societal norms and her ambition has made her take a stance. She has always dreamt of making it big in academics, loaded with degrees and armed with a decent and respectable job. Somehow she has persuaded her father to delay her marriage by few months. Mean while she has joined TVS as an instructor and has also enrolled herself into a correspondence course in MA in Political Science. 

Her mornings in summer begin at 6am and she wraps up her morning classes by 10am before the sun gets fierce. She spends some time at the TVS showroom managing customers, talking to potential students and from 4pm onwards when the sun is on its way out she starts her evening classes which often end up at 8pm.

After dinner Rama retires into her secluded corner in her room. It’s time for her books, her chance at realizing her dreams.

 

While most girls of her age spend time roaming around with friends or watching movies, young Rama has no time for such frivolities. This young girl has a few more months to complete her education and be self-reliant. She has decided to fight back the system and realize her dreams. She is an inspiration to many young women in small towns.