monsoons

Saturday morning, I rose at 6, to a gentle rain pit patting on the fields. Finding the gazebo empty and the farm more or less quiet, I did some gentle yoga to wake myself up, ease out the kinks from the days of travel and adjustment, and pull myself together. The day was simple, as I found time and spaces to chat with many of the volunteers and interns individually and learned how to make soap – so simple...distilled water + NaOH + coconut oil (or other) + essential oil. Of course, proportions are important, as well as conditions (temperature, timings, etc), but it is the easiest of processes, and I am tempted to replicate it since we still have all of the necessary ingredients. The volunteer that walked me through the process is a chemist from ottawa, learning agriculture so as to be able to start his own farm perhaps in the guelph area someday.

From Bija Vidyapeeth, it is possible to hear the call to prayer coming from nearby, as well as regular explosions to frighten the crows out of the mango trees. The first couple of times this happened, I nearly jumped out of my skin! For quite a while, I wondered where all the mangos were being taken, as there is a giant orchard on the farm with ripening fruit and yet mango is rarely served at mealtimes here. I understand now that you need to make friends with a mango picker, who is taking fruit for Navdanya’s fair trade coop, in order to be offered a juicy and delicious mango every now and then. They are amazing...hardly the stringy things of North American grocery stores, but soft green-skinned, sunshine-fleshed treasures that are eaten here by biting off the top and squeezing the insides up and out into your mouth. Fourteen varieties exist at Navdanya’s farm...!

I’m gradually becoming acquainted with customs here, and have learned which rooms require the removal of shoes before entry (like a temple): seed bank and kitchen. I accidentally made the mistake of entering the kitchen with my sandals still on and was quickly shoed out (no pun intended!). In the way of customs, I’ve been trying to eat without the use of utensils; however, the very liquidy dahl (bean or lentil dish) served at every meal is difficult to scoop unless mixed with the perfect proportion of rice. I enjoy my food much more when I eat with my hands, I think, and am reminded of intimate ethiopian custom of feeding others, which also changes the experience of eating entirely. Not to mention, eating food that you had some part in preparing (either growing or cooking) is incredibly rewarding.

Despite the morning rains, the evening was clear and all the stars (and even the city lights from Moussourie) were visible.

On Sunday morning, I awoke with a burst of energy and took a walk into the mango orchard. Finding myself heating up rapidly, I came back to the dorms for breakfast (very sweet porridge made from wheat and cloves I believe) and then headed out on a second farm tour with one of the interns that has been here the longest. She is in a magical position in the world of interns/volunteers here, as she is an American of Indian heritage. Being able to speak both Hindi and English, she can communicate with everyone on the property with ease, and seems to be incredibly sensitive to the community dynamics going on as well. After her farm tour, I felt like I had gained a much better grasp of Navdanya’s activities, including education projects (she just finished organizing a kids camp at the farm), farmer trainings for member farmers across the country, and a fair trade cooperative supplying two schools, the Navdanya cafe in Delhi, as well as several other small stalls. And this is just the tip of this iceberg!

We spent the morning in the soil, weeding grass out of the corn and peanut fields, and as we worked and chatted, we could hear a storm approaching (the sound of the rain in the forest was phenomenal). When it finally showered down on us, we all ran barefoot through the mud to shelter, and waited an hour or so until the sun returned, and we were able to do a bit more weeding before the chai break (kettle and tin cups brought out to the field by one of the volunteers). [I should say here that chai is not what I expected it to be before arriving...rather it is milky black tea with a sweetness of enormous intensity! ] As we returned to the kitchen to wash the cups, the dark sky to the north was illuminated by the sun from the south, creating a beautiful spectrum of blues and greys above the paddies awaiting their rice seedlings.

The big news of the day was the arrival of Dr. Vandana Shiva, in whose honour, a feast was served at lunch: Jackfruit, rice, roti, dahl, yoghurt (called curd here), mango, and a sweet semolina dessert with raisins. And samosas. I think I have never had a real samosa before yesterday...I worried a bit for the health of my stomach afterward, but thought, no matter what happened, I wouldn’t regret eating that samosa. It was a pastry both crispy and flaky, melting in your mouth, and filled with potato and only a gentle spice that left a lingering tingling on the tongue and lips. What a treat! They arrived in packages of Hindi newspaper, and were set out as the centrepiece of the meal.

At this lunch, I chatted with an Italian student about her program in Peace Studies in Pisa, and later I talked with an American student about her research of water and dams in India. Another fellow here for the farmers training is attending an agricultural sciences program, and yet another volunteer here is studying agribusiness (his colleages are all taking jobs with chemical companies he says). One longterm volunteer is drawing illustrations for the republication of a Navdanya book (they are amazing), and another is conducting experiments using Neem. It is a fascinating crowd.

In addition to the visit by Dr. Shiva, yesterday was made special because it was the birthday of Jeetpal, one of the friendly staff members who can always be heard singing or cracking jokes around the farm. (Sunil, another staffperson, told me later that Jeetpal has five birthdays a year.) After the evening meal, we had a celebration! It began with unbaked cookies – oats, honey, cocoa, coconut oil – and a box of indian sweets (i didn’t get to try them unfortunately). And then, to my delight, there was music. Jeetpal started things off with a song from Garwhal, his home, and then said, you other side of the circle, you sing! We go back and forth! Well, things didn’t go quite that way, because shortly after this pronouncement, he decided it would be better if everyone sang songs from their home. The Italians led a funny dance, the Americans danced while one sang “Proud Mary” and played guitar, and the Germans couldn’t figure out what to sing and so sang several short things, giggling all the while. one person from Nepal sang while playing a drum, and then it evolved into a series of Hindi songs, finally ending in Bollywood hits.

A word about sugar: there is so much here! It seems as though every intern or volunteer keeps a jar of honey, jam, or nutella to use for morning chapatis and/or dessert chapatis after supper. Large quantities of sugar go into the chai, at all times of day. I can feel my body reacting peculiarly to this, and am torn between tasting things, accepting offers of food from people, and wanting to keep an even keel in terms of my blood sugar (which tends to nosedive between our 1pm and 8pm meals, and is not helped by sugary chai at 5pm). I am reminded of sweet Kenyan chai, and the delicate tightrope walked balancing between accepting an offering and making personal health/nutrition decisions.

Today is a day to write home about...

We woke up to the rain, this time a heavy one, cooling the room so much so that we were able to turn off the fans and curl up in our sheets. It didn’t let up, and after breakfast (spiced rice), everyone seemed to hunker down with books or games or computers. By about 10am, I was beginning to feel stir crazy and put on my raincoat and decided to take a walk, despite the downpour. I made it almost all the way to the seedbank before Sheila met me on the path and redirected me toward the millet (ragi, in Hindi). She showed me, in a beautiful combination of English and Hindi, how to pluck the young plant from the wet soil, how to distinguish it from the grass (difficult for me at first), and how after collecting enough in one fistful it can be tied up using another piece of long grass. We are preparing for the big rice and millet transplanting this week, and the rains make the job easier, and in my opinion, incredibly fun. I have never felt so content: soaked to the skin and squatting in the mud for hours, I began to learn a few words in Hindi, learned about Sheila and Bindu, the two women working (much faster than I) alongside me, and felt honoured to be out there, paying honour through service to the earth. At some halfway point, I went to retrieve chai for the three of us, and we stopped to warm up before moving on to a different variety of millet, and finally coming back to the kitchen for lunch. Food has never tasted so good...

After lunch, I changed into dry things, and was hanging my wet clothing, when MP Singh called for me from the office. Having never had a conversation with him before, except for when he registered me on the first day, I thought this was slightly odd, but went to see why I was needed.

“Dr. Shiva wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Me?” I looked around, to see if he hadn’t confused me with someone else.

“Are you Hannah?” he asked.

“Yes, but...I don’t really know Dr. Shiva,” I stammered, thinking back to Sunday’s lunch, during which she answered my question about mango variety over the buffet table, and searching my brain to remember if I had introduced myself.

Shrugs were exchanged, and I was told to sit still, as the number was dialled, and suddenly, I was being handed a cell phone.

“Hello, Dr. Shiva?”

“Yes, is this Hannah?” I instantly recognized her voice. I don’t want to draw this comparison, but I felt strangely like I was being spoken to by God...

“Hello Hannah. Why didn’t you introduce yourself yesterday?”

I gulped. “You seemed very busy when you were here yesterday, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but it is very nice to speak with you now.” How does she know who I am?

“I am always busy,” she chided, “but you must always feel that you can approach me.”

“Thank you, I will from now on,” I managed to croak.

“So you are beginning your internship with Navdanya now; I am calling to tell you about what you must do,” she went on. I am continuing to feel as though I have entered a biblical story....

“We are doing many urban agriculture projects in Delhi. I understand this is your specialty.” So she has read my CV or internship application? “You will be working on an urban agriculture manual. You must find all the names of all the vegetables grown at Bija Vidyapeeth, and their growing season. Also, you must take a compost orientation, and chart different methods of urban agriculture – containers, rooftop gardening, etc. And Shreya,” – UPeace alumna! – “will help with implementing education and projects in Delhi around Urban agriculture. So you will work on the manual. Alright?”

Was this really happening? I muttered a word of agreement, asked a few clarifying questions, and passed the phone back to the office in a daze. And then couldn’t stop smiling. A project! Something of use to Navdanya, and which I have the capacity to realize from here at the farm. And did I really just have a conversation with a woman who epitomizes the movement I am working in? I told another intern, just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream, and she hugged me and smiled. I met my counterpart intern (a Canadian from Victoria also here for six months) minutes later, freshly arrived from Delhi, and notice as I type now that the sun has finally reappeared, which is a sure sign it’s time to see if that laundry, which has been rained on twice since its hanging, has dried at all, or if it needs a good wringing or maybe just a few words of encouragement.

Namaste,
Hannah