As I waited for the bus with Liam this morning, I asked if I could take his picture. He begrudgingly acquiesced and I took the picture. He asked why I took it. I told him it was because of what was behind him. Behind him is what we have started to call "the Untouchable camp".
At the end of our street there is a small plot of land inhabited by a group of people that apparently work in the neighborhood. I am not sure if they are truly Untouchables, the lowest caste of the caste system (Untouchables are actually not even a caste). But they certainly look like they're very lowly. I don't mean that in an unkind way, but this is a very humble dwelling place for about three or four families. They range in age from the very old to tiny babies. An observation, babies in India are far smaller than big, plump American babies.
What is really curious is that this plot of land is right next to Mr. Agarwal's house. He has, without a doubt, the most styling crib on all of Road 23. He and his wife look out onto this camp.
We think the folks are involved in building one of the homes on the street.
Tara and I were talking about it last night. Each member of the family has a different approach to this small camp.
Jonah: Jonah is at the age where everything is pretty even in his eyes. He does not say much about the camp, but when he saw one of the babies squatting on the street pooping and peeing (yes, on the street), he made a huge deal about it. Talked about it for days.
Aidan: He has a warm spot in his heart for the people. As they walk in and out of their camp in the morning bringing in water jug after water jug from some mysterious source down the street, he watches them closely. He does not say much about them.
Liam: He thinks it's kind of odd and a bit gross. When I asked if he had compassion on those people for the hard life they lead, he quickly said, "no". When I pushed him on that, he said plainly, "Dad, I'm not like one of those kind and compassionate people. I don't feel compassion for them." Hopefully that was just 13 talking.
Tara: She observes them a great deal in the afternoon when she is waiting for the kids to come to the bus stop. First, when she comes to the end of the street, it is nap time. Three of the women from the camp come out on the sidewalk and lay down to take a nap (yes, on the street). They have about 4 babies around them. They sprinkle the babies around the sidewalk and proceed to sleep. The kids crawl around and toddle around as the mothers sleep.
She once witnessed that one child pushed another child backwards, which caused him to fall back over his mother's sleeping body. He clocked his head on the concrete and started to wail. The mother woke up, comforted the hurt baby, smacked the villain across the head, and then proceeded to resume her nap. The kids returned to their games.
The babies never wander far enough to get into the road or away from their mother. Survival lessons start early in India.
She also took note of the fact that one of the toddlers was not wearing pants and had a small string around his waist, from which hung a metallic disk. The flat disk was over his private parts. It was to prevent his pee from shooting everywhere. Easily washed. Ingenous. Obviously, diapers are not an option for these folks.
Me: I am authentically interested in the people in the camp. They are so incongruous in a place that is incongruous to everything that I have ever know. They are a riddle wrapped in an enigma to me.
Why are they here, on Road 23? Why am I here?
Beyond the fascination I feel, there is also an appreciation that they are burning a fire every morning. That is such a raw aspect of life, there's something magical about starting a fire. For these folks it is a routine and a survival tactic. It smells great. I enjoy smelling their fire from over the wall. India has a way of invading your senses, and I assure you that smell is the top sense that gets assaulted/indulged. A fire is a cleansing proposition for a nose that just smelled "whatever that was".
I don't think these people need my pity or my charity, they simply need me to remember that they are my equals in all the ways that truly matter in this world. They have stopped gathering in groups and staring at us in the mornings. We have started to feel that their presence and daily rhythms are not gross, or threatening, or whatever else we first felt. We simply inhabit the same space for a period of time during an unprecedented period of human coalescence.
I doubt they'd phrase it that way, but they have the same sentiments, I believe.
