Lost in Suburban Bangalore, Part 2: Channapatna

I spent the day in a Karnataka slum, Channapatna, the toy capital of India. This trip involved disembarking a bus at a stop somewhat akin to the Prairie Stop, running across four lanes of highway traffic, riding around a slum on the back of a two-wheeler, and eating food I probably shouldn’t have.

Sanju had the bright idea to send me to Channapatna alone while she got other work done. So she dropped me off at a bus station, made sure I got on board, and I was off on an hour-and-a-half bus ride to rural Karnataka. The scenery was beautiful, even through the smudgy bus windows. Huge bluffs, palm trees everywhere, occasional Coke signs at roadside dives. Great stuff.

The problems began, though, when Sanju’s directions fell apart. She told me it was about 15-20 minutes after a really busy bus station. Unfortunately, the only really busy bus station we pulled into was Channapatna itself. Making things worse, she had told the bus driver to announce Channapatna, which he didn’t. So I missed the stop, only realizing it when I saw signs saying “Thanks for visiting Chanapatna, come back soon.” (“Rod R. Blagojevich, Governor.”) Which raised serious red flags. I asked the conductor, and he motioned backwards, then walked to the front. I was prepared to just hike the kilometer or so back to town, but the conductor instead motioned for me to cross the street to catch a bus that was heading the other way and waiting for me. People are constantly running across traffic here, so I figured “when in Karnataka.” After a 3 Rupee fare, I was on my way back to Channapatna, only moderately late.

I called “Mr. Kumar” and he arrived on his 2-wheeler. I hopped on the back. Two people on a motorcycle is nothing here, though. I’ve already seen a 5-person family on one bike. If you’re a guy, you sit on the back perpendicular to the road, like the driver. If you’re a woman, though, you sit with both legs hanging off one side, parallel to the road. This is done, I think, because this country is much more uptight about opposite-sex contact in public than with same-sex. I’ve honestly seen guys on the back seats hugging the drivers to stay on, something which is actually common in the US when it’s a woman on the back. I elected not to hug Mr. Kumar, though, and instead just held onto the back handle.

We stopped off at Ujjivan’s office, then went out on the first call of the day, a meeting with about 20 Muslim women, all in black, but in various degrees of cover-up. Some looked about my age, all the way up to quite old. They laid out a tarp in front of one of their shacks, and we sat down facing them. Ujjivan lends to individuals, but in groups. Everyone’s loan in separate, but with co-signers, and the meetings are conducted to groups. I found out later that if you miss a meeting, the group is assessed an Rs.5 fine, which I guess they collect from you later. Money seemed to be handed over in one large wad for everyone, though, suggesting they were really functioning as a group.

The next meeting was in a different slum, and this time was inside a clay house. The entry room had been cleared out for the meeting, with some rugs laid out. It was painted pink, and there was molded into the clay walls, but if there was any furniture, it had been moved. This was the same deal–about 20 Muslim women of varying ages and in varying cover-up. Again, a big wad of money being paid, and again, it was all in Kanada, so I understood only as much as I did during Endhiran.

As for the slums themselves, they were pretty ugly. No paving, drinking from plastic jugs and suspicious taps, and all shanties were slanty. There did not appear to be plumbing, aside from the large public taps, so I don’t know what they did about sewage. But this wasn’t some Sally Struthers infomercial either. Nobody was starving, nobody was looking around with big doe-eyes on the verge of crying. The meetings were upbeat, with people joking. Nobody stared at me, suggesting that white people aren’t unheard of there (I thought I saw one white guy on a bike, but it turned out he just had a raging case of vitiligo). There was a real community in Channapatna, even if it’s one that would appal by American standards. The one thing that did jar me was that none of the children were in school, and that’s a real problem. That isn’t a matter of local standards or moral relevance–that’s a severe handicap for those kids, and results in them going nowhere near their potential. Of all of India’s issues, schooling is the most pressing, in my opinion. You can’t have children spending their days running around a slum.

When we were done with the second meeting, Mr. Kumar drove me to the shack of a “third year customer,” which was still kinda iffy, but was a real, private shack with one family and a small yard. They’d clearly done well for themselves through the loans. Before I left for the bus station, the Ujjivan office forced food on me, and chapati roulette worked out in my favor, as I didn’t throw up. Everybody uses bottled water here, and I sure hope they used it in that chutney.