The month of phagun is on its way out. A lazy Sunday-morning-sun hangs over the waters of a small canal near Kharaghoda station in Surendranagar district. A little make-shift barrier is holding the water of the canal back, creating a small pond. The water burbling over the barrier is louder than all the meditating children, sitting silently on the banks. Seven boys, like little wild plants in the field after the wind has fallen, are quiet, waiting to catch a fish or two after casting the line. A slight pull at the line, a quick jerk back and the young hands retrieve the line. A fish out of water. Flopping around, tar-fad-fad-fad. The flutter dies in minutes.
A little further from the bank, Akshay Darodara and Mahesh Sipara talk, shout, swear at each other, clean the fish with a hacksaw blade, remove the scales, and cut it. Mahesh is about to touch fifteen. The other six are quite young. The fishing game is over. Now time to play catch, chat, laugh one's heart out. The fish is now clean. Next comes communal cooking. The fun continues. Cooking done. Sharing begins. A meal liberally sprinkled with laughter and more laughter.
After a while the boys dive into the little pool and swim, then sit on the sparse grass on the shore drying themselves. Three boys from a denotified tribe Chumwaliya Koli, two from the Muslim community, and two others have been hanging around this whole afternoon, laughing, talking, cursing each other. I venture near them, smile and ask the first question to break the ice, "hey, which grade are you all in?"
Pavan, still without clothes, giggles, " Aaa mesiyo navamu bhana, an aa vilasiyo chhatthu bhana. bijju koy nath bhanatu. Mu y nath bhanato [This Maheshiyo (Mahesh) is in ninth and Vilasiyo (Vilas) in sixth. No one else studies. Not even I]." He tears open a pouch of crushed supari(areca nut) and mixes tobacco from another as he speaks. Crushing the two together he takes a pinch, stuffs it along his gumlines and shares the rest with others. Spiting the red juices into the water he slowly adds, “ no maja aave. Ben marta’ta [There is no fun in studying. The lady teacher used to beat us up.” A cold silence spreads inside me.
Shahrukh (left) and Sohil focused on fishing
Mahesh and Akshay cleaning the fish
A makeshift stove made with three uncut stones. Krishna places some sticks from acacia trees and adds a little bag of plastic before lighting the fire in the stove
Krishna pours oil in the pan as Akshay and Vishal, Pavan wait eagerly
Fish is now added to the pan one of the boys brought. Oil came from Sohil, chilli powder, haldi, salt from Vishal
Krishna awaits his lunch
The cooking game in progress. The kids are on fire with excitement
The boys enjoy their self-cooked meal with some rotis from home in the shade of a small tarpaulin shed they have put up on their own
Spicy fish curry on one hand and a sizzling afternoon sun on the other
The heat and the sweat call for a swim
'Come on, let's swim' Mahesh says as he jumps inside the canal waters
Five out of the seven boys do not go to school as they get beaten up their teacher there
They swim when they swim but they play all the time and learn what life teaches
This story was originally reported in Gujarati.
