'Extreme Sleepover #16' – the mystery of a damp bed and other tales

As I drive with Parubai to meet the rest of her family in Pune district, I spot in my rear mirror a motorbike following us. I slow down, wondering if it is someone I know. The rider, a man in his mid-30s, signals for me to wait. It’s already close to sunset and Parubai, who is assisting me with my doctoral fieldwork, is a bit nervous as this area is not considered to be the safest, especially for two women on their own.

“Madam, are you looking to buy some land? I can show you a plot road-touch, clear title. Many city people like you have bought land from me,” he assures me in his salesman’s patter. I am amused – till recently, this region was seen as the back of beyond, but now with the real-estate boom, one can see vast stretches of land marked off with barbed wire fences. Through my research with Dr Bhaskar Vira in the Department of Geography, I am trying to understand the impact of this increasing incidence of land sale on a rural society.

When we reach the village, I am surprised to see several expensive cars standing in front of a modern house where one of my other helpers’ hut once stood. I see his wife Alka making rice bhakari – a kind of flatbread – on a traditional wood stove in a small kitchen at the back. She invites me to have a bite.

As I sit with smoke making my eyes water, she gives me updates. Her husband, who belongs to the dominant Maratha caste, has sold large chunks of family land and used the money to buy a car, build this house and organise a lavish marriage ceremony for their daughter. Tonight he is hosting a party for a local politician.

“Money so earned finds a hundred ways to disappear,” says Alka despairingly. During my stay in the villages, I have often heard similar comments. With the escalating land prices, the notion of land as a symbol of status and marker of identity is beginning to change. Disputes over land ownership and increasing disparity among the villagers due to the influx of money through land sale are affecting the social networks adversely.

We retire to Parubai’s house. It’s a total contrast, with its mud walls and tiled roof with gaping holes covered by a plastic sheet. Unlike Alka, she is a landless Katkari, one of the most socio-economically marginalised tribes in India. Her husband herds a few goats to earn a living. It is an open secret that she brews liquor for extra cash.

After a meal of rice and spicy potato curry, I struggle to write my field notes by a small kerosene lamp – there is no electricity in the house – while Manjula, Parubai’s granddaughter, spreads a few sheets on the mud floor for the four of us to sleep on.

Hens kept under a basket in the corner rustle. A drunkard turns up asking for booze. Highly embarrassed, Parubai somehow sends him away. It is getting chilly as the wood stove has died out completely.

A few hours pass, I wake up with a start: the sheets seem wet. I am horrified and hurriedly check the concerned body parts. To my relief all is well. Unable to identify the source, I long for the soft sheets, comfy pillow and cosy duvet back in my Cambridge house. Eventually I creep out. The sky looks like a diamond-studded cloak. It is quiet and peaceful. I go back and wait for the sunrise. 

After the morning tea, I raise the matter of my damp sheet in an attempt to resolve this mystery. “That must be Mini the naughty goat,” says Manjula, as she bursts out laughing. “She enjoys relieving herself on an unsuspecting guest in the middle of the night.” As we embark on a trek to the fields for the morning job, she is still giggling. On the way, we pass a few fenced areas advertising the upcoming holiday home project.

During my fieldwork, I have observed that the physical landscape of a village is beginning to change, with new fences and luxury villas. Money from land sale is opening up new business opportunities such as shops, restaurants, beauty parlours, wedding halls and renting of houses for a few villagers, but at the same time poor people like Parubai are losing the additional income through fodder harvesting as large areas are fenced off. 

When we return, Parubai’s husband is busy getting the goats ready for a grazing trip. I suspect one particular member of the herd giving me a mischievous look. A few metres away, I see the land broker from the previous evening with a man wearing expensive sunglasses. “Very good plot, road-touch, clear title,” I hear him say... 

Girija is a Gates Cambridge Scholar and is also funded through a Fitzwilliam College Environment Studies Fund.