sampuran
August 4th, 2006, 03:12 PM
Dear members this is a thought provoking article I came across. Though most of us have it in our blood and traditions, its still relevant.
Hospitality
A few days ago, I was at a weavers’ colony in Kancheepuram which had more than 800 houses in one locality. As I went around talking to them, I found that all of them had some problem or the other to talk about. Life as a craftsperson is not easy in India, perhaps anywhere in the world; I don’t know. They told me that if they worked one and a half months, they could only weave three saris and what they get for these three saris from a private sari shop is just Rs.1500.
They recounted how difficult life was for them, how impossible it was to educate their children and help them realise their dreams. The daughter of one such weaver, Jayakumar wanted to study Commerce in college, his son wanted to do Chartered Accountancy but Jayakumar did not have the money to give them higher education. And, both the children are very good students too.
As we were about to leave, Jayakumar’s son Sudarshan suddenly appeared with cool drinks from a nearby shop. The man who had been complaining about lack of funds wanted to serve us cool drinks. I protested saying it was not necessary.
But he wouldn’t listen. “You are our guests. You are coming from Chennai and we cannot let you go without having something. We know how hot it is. So, please have the cool drink. And, you are coming to our house for the first time; please let us give you something.”
This episode took me back to another incident that happened a few years ago. I had gone to write about the Narikkuravas in Chennai. Narikkuravas are gypsies who collect garbage from dustbins, and also sell beaded chains, bangles etc. They live in pathetic conditions, and in utter poverty. But they made it a point to bring a chair, dust it and made me sit on it; they made me drink water and eat peanuts. I didn’t have the heart to reject what they offered as I knew that would hurt the sentiments of such lovely people.
The last straw was, as I was about to leave, they offered me a couple of beaded chains as gift. “I can’t accept it as a gift,’ I told them. “You came to our house, spoke to us. You should accept this as a token of our love.’ They insisted. Finally, I made them accept some money for the chains by arguing, ‘You people sell it. So, I can’t accept it free.’ I must say their show of love and hospitality was overwhelming.
Another instance I still remember was at an election rally at the Marina Beach. It was late at night, and the beach was crowded with people to listen to the leaders. Selling hot idlis to the overflowing crowd was a lady. I sat near her and spoke to her about her business and some politics of the area. As I was about to leave, she insisted that I and the photographer had idlis from her. “You are like my guest. Please accept it as a token of my love.” I had to try hard to make her understand that I had to talk to many more people there!
When I make this statement, it may sound like a mushy Hindi film story, or I may sound like a hardcore commie but the truth is, from my experience, I have found that the poor people are the most loving and hospitable. They consider it their duty to entertain a guest even if it meant spending money that they can barely spare.
This kind of love and hospitality, I am sorry to say, I have not encountered at rich households. I have gone to rich sportspersons’ and film stars’ houses but some of them do not even let you go beyond the veranda! My purpose of visit to the houses of the rich and the famous and the Narikuravas and the weavers was the same; to interview them. While some treat you with love, others treat you with contempt and arrogance!
http://notanobserver.rediffiland.com/scripts/xanadu_diary_view.php (http://notanobserver.rediffiland.com/scripts/xanadu_diary_view.php)
Hospitality
A few days ago, I was at a weavers’ colony in Kancheepuram which had more than 800 houses in one locality. As I went around talking to them, I found that all of them had some problem or the other to talk about. Life as a craftsperson is not easy in India, perhaps anywhere in the world; I don’t know. They told me that if they worked one and a half months, they could only weave three saris and what they get for these three saris from a private sari shop is just Rs.1500.
They recounted how difficult life was for them, how impossible it was to educate their children and help them realise their dreams. The daughter of one such weaver, Jayakumar wanted to study Commerce in college, his son wanted to do Chartered Accountancy but Jayakumar did not have the money to give them higher education. And, both the children are very good students too.
As we were about to leave, Jayakumar’s son Sudarshan suddenly appeared with cool drinks from a nearby shop. The man who had been complaining about lack of funds wanted to serve us cool drinks. I protested saying it was not necessary.
But he wouldn’t listen. “You are our guests. You are coming from Chennai and we cannot let you go without having something. We know how hot it is. So, please have the cool drink. And, you are coming to our house for the first time; please let us give you something.”
This episode took me back to another incident that happened a few years ago. I had gone to write about the Narikkuravas in Chennai. Narikkuravas are gypsies who collect garbage from dustbins, and also sell beaded chains, bangles etc. They live in pathetic conditions, and in utter poverty. But they made it a point to bring a chair, dust it and made me sit on it; they made me drink water and eat peanuts. I didn’t have the heart to reject what they offered as I knew that would hurt the sentiments of such lovely people.
The last straw was, as I was about to leave, they offered me a couple of beaded chains as gift. “I can’t accept it as a gift,’ I told them. “You came to our house, spoke to us. You should accept this as a token of our love.’ They insisted. Finally, I made them accept some money for the chains by arguing, ‘You people sell it. So, I can’t accept it free.’ I must say their show of love and hospitality was overwhelming.
Another instance I still remember was at an election rally at the Marina Beach. It was late at night, and the beach was crowded with people to listen to the leaders. Selling hot idlis to the overflowing crowd was a lady. I sat near her and spoke to her about her business and some politics of the area. As I was about to leave, she insisted that I and the photographer had idlis from her. “You are like my guest. Please accept it as a token of my love.” I had to try hard to make her understand that I had to talk to many more people there!
When I make this statement, it may sound like a mushy Hindi film story, or I may sound like a hardcore commie but the truth is, from my experience, I have found that the poor people are the most loving and hospitable. They consider it their duty to entertain a guest even if it meant spending money that they can barely spare.
This kind of love and hospitality, I am sorry to say, I have not encountered at rich households. I have gone to rich sportspersons’ and film stars’ houses but some of them do not even let you go beyond the veranda! My purpose of visit to the houses of the rich and the famous and the Narikuravas and the weavers was the same; to interview them. While some treat you with love, others treat you with contempt and arrogance!
http://notanobserver.rediffiland.com/scripts/xanadu_diary_view.php (http://notanobserver.rediffiland.com/scripts/xanadu_diary_view.php)