Ode to a home imagined
Seema’s story puzzled me. I couldn’t understand why they were all so hellbent on travelling together. Wasn’t it more practical for everyone to go when it was convenient to them? Perhaps, there was a certain safety in numbers when travelling through the Maoist areas, I surmised. Or perhaps the women did not feel comfortable travelling alone or in smaller groups. Or maybe for them, travelling in such a large group was a picnic in itself? It turned out that all my conjectures were far from the truth — the group liked to travel together because otherwise, the village from where almost all able-bodied adults had migrated, was a lonely place indeed.
“When we were children, our village was crowded and bustling with activity,” Seema said. “Our family and others around us all worked in the fields, bartered goods and were content living so far from the city and the mainstream life.” A succession of droughts led to a vicious cycle of penury and debt. Soon, people started migrating to the city in search of better livelihoods. “My three sisters and I were also packed off to Delhi to work as domestic helps,” she said. Her mother died soon after, and her father was left alone in the family home.
The sisters would go back to visit him on Christmas or in the summer. “All our cousins and friends also returned home at that time, and there would be a carnival-like atmosphere all around,” said Seema. “Perhaps some of the festivities were also to celebrate the fact that so many of us brought back a year’s savings to give our families back home,” she mused, “but whatever it was, we had a great time.” It was only when their father unexpectedly took ill and Seema’s elder sister went back in what they called the “off season” to look after him that they realised that the reality of their home was quite different.
“The village was a sad, lonely place with sad, old people,” she said. Instead of the feasting or dancing that happened especially around Christmas, there was a deafening silence of the few who remained in the village. Seema’s sister couldn’t reconcile this village with the place she dreamed of when she was homesick in Delhi. “We all realised that in the ‘off season’ the home we missed whilst in Delhi, didn’t exist at all,” she said. “I sometimes wonder what it must be like for my father who continues to live there.” From then on, they all decided to travel together so that none of them would have to be lonely in their lonely little village. There was something poignant in the idea of a migrant dreaming of a home that didn’t really exist, but Seema seemed oblivious to it. “I’m so excited to be going home this summer.”