- One Amazing Afternoon With The Nomadic Shepherds
It was a lazy afternoon one October when my friends and me had a chance to experience the hospitality of the amazing Kurubas - the nomadic shepherds of North Karnataka. They are a very interesting group of people, we were told and we were not disappointed. The sun shone lazily and the whole atmosphere was languid when we wandered into their camp. Goats and lambs were bleating away, some feeding and some looking at us with drowsy eyes. I tried to step gingerly between piles of droppings trying to avoid them but soon realized with numbers on their side, it was an unwinnable situation for me.
The chief in his bright Pink Kurta and Dhoti with his imposing mustache, paan stained mouth and 'don't mess with me attitude' looked pretty stern and a bit scary. I was just beginning to feel really awkward and a trespasser in his home, almost expecting to be admonished, when he broke into a big grin and instantly put us at ease. He seemed to be both pleased and genuinely amused at how curious we were. An involuntary sigh escaped me as he relaxed, it was a sign for his family to come up to us and they were friendly for sure.
I had just prostrated in front of a goat trying to get a wide angle shot. I was much closer to the droppings I had so desperately tried to avoid earlier. Trying not to inhale too much I fervently prayed the goat would not introduce its horns to me or my lens. I was scarily close. After a few shots, deciding not to take too much risk, I crawled away from the goats when a couple of giggling kids drew my attention. They were the chief's kids and I am pretty sure they were wondering why I was praying to their goats.
The girl was probably just about 10 years of age and her brother maybe a year younger. She in her teal blue skirt and top with pretty light colored eyes, most compelling face and a smile that could light up the world, along with her brother were the lamb in charges. Responsibility had come to them at a tender age and they took it very seriously. She told me her name was Chennamma. Once the initial shyness was conquered Chennamma proved to be quite talkative and a storehouse of information. Trying to hold a couple of squirming lambs from slipping away she sincerely and patiently tried to educate a very ignorant me about caring for the lambs and goats. It was an effort to understand her dialect and accent, but her infectious enthusiasm was overwhelmingly endearing.
Soon she was called to help her mom make tea for us. It was being made with goat's milk in a very different way. We were nervous but our gracious hosts assured us we would like it. Nodding skeptically with agreeable smiles pasted on our faces we waited for the tea. My gaze wandered to their modest tent. It barely looked like a shelter. I wondered how they ever managed in this tiny living space. A cooking area was near the entrance and a small channel ran around it. All their belongings were securely covered and stored in the back. There was nothing that remotely looked like walls in the tent, but I was told not a drop of water would get in even during the heaviest rains. The three poles that held it up did not look very strong either. Regular threats from lurking leopards and wandering bears also played a large part in their lives. I shuddered to think how they managed it all. Yet their cheerful disposition belied their daily difficulties. Their tent was small but their generous hearts more than made up for it.
As the tea was brewing we were educated on the art of tying a turban by the chief. I could have sworn the white cloth in his hands looked longer than a saree, yet with deft hands and a few swift moves he had it all tied up on his head in a neat turban.
Our admiring looks were not lost on him. Fully encouraged, he brought out something wrapped in a bright orange cloth. Proudly unraveling it he displayed a bundle of peacock feathers. The chieftain's pride and family heirloom, used during festivities and other religious functions. A natural and definitely not camera shy, he posed with it proudly. His math skills were equally remarkable as he swiftly calculated the number of goats, cost of each, total amount, income, expenditure, liters of milk etc. Our ability to wrap all this information around our head nowhere matched his turban wrapping skills.
The tea was now ready and each one of us looked at each other, glancing, daring and wondering who was going to take the first sip. After one brave sip the tea went down really fast. It was thick and creamy with interesting flavor and nothing to be scared of. Fully invigorated we got up to take leave, but not before a group photo. Soon grandpa, uncles, cousins and everyone nearby gathered very obligingly so we could have a click that would forever fondly remind us of the one lazy yet eventful October afternoon spent with the Kurubas.
Where we met them -Somewhere between Kamalapur and Daroji :
It was a lazy afternoon one October when my friends and me had a chance to experience the hospitality of the amazing Kurubas - the nomadic shepherds of North Karnataka. They are a very interesting group of people, we were told and we were not disappointed. The sun shone lazily and the whole atmosphere was languid when we wandered into their camp. Goats and lambs were bleating away, some feeding and some looking at us with drowsy eyes. I tried to step gingerly between piles of droppings trying to avoid them but soon realized with numbers on their side, it was an unwinnable situation for me.
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The chief in his bright Pink Kurta and Dhoti with his imposing mustache, paan stained mouth and 'don't mess with me attitude' looked pretty stern and a bit scary. I was just beginning to feel really awkward and a trespasser in his home, almost expecting to be admonished, when he broke into a big grin and instantly put us at ease. He seemed to be both pleased and genuinely amused at how curious we were. An involuntary sigh escaped me as he relaxed, it was a sign for his family to come up to us and they were friendly for sure.
I had just prostrated in front of a goat trying to get a wide angle shot. I was much closer to the droppings I had so desperately tried to avoid earlier. Trying not to inhale too much I fervently prayed the goat would not introduce its horns to me or my lens. I was scarily close. After a few shots, deciding not to take too much risk, I crawled away from the goats when a couple of giggling kids drew my attention. They were the chief's kids and I am pretty sure they were wondering why I was praying to their goats.
The girl was probably just about 10 years of age and her brother maybe a year younger. She in her teal blue skirt and top with pretty light colored eyes, most compelling face and a smile that could light up the world, along with her brother were the lamb in charges. Responsibility had come to them at a tender age and they took it very seriously. She told me her name was Chennamma. Once the initial shyness was conquered Chennamma proved to be quite talkative and a storehouse of information. Trying to hold a couple of squirming lambs from slipping away she sincerely and patiently tried to educate a very ignorant me about caring for the lambs and goats. It was an effort to understand her dialect and accent, but her infectious enthusiasm was overwhelmingly endearing.
Soon she was called to help her mom make tea for us. It was being made with goat's milk in a very different way. We were nervous but our gracious hosts assured us we would like it. Nodding skeptically with agreeable smiles pasted on our faces we waited for the tea. My gaze wandered to their modest tent. It barely looked like a shelter. I wondered how they ever managed in this tiny living space. A cooking area was near the entrance and a small channel ran around it. All their belongings were securely covered and stored in the back. There was nothing that remotely looked like walls in the tent, but I was told not a drop of water would get in even during the heaviest rains. The three poles that held it up did not look very strong either. Regular threats from lurking leopards and wandering bears also played a large part in their lives. I shuddered to think how they managed it all. Yet their cheerful disposition belied their daily difficulties. Their tent was small but their generous hearts more than made up for it.
As the tea was brewing we were educated on the art of tying a turban by the chief. I could have sworn the white cloth in his hands looked longer than a saree, yet with deft hands and a few swift moves he had it all tied up on his head in a neat turban.
Our admiring looks were not lost on him. Fully encouraged, he brought out something wrapped in a bright orange cloth. Proudly unraveling it he displayed a bundle of peacock feathers. The chieftain's pride and family heirloom, used during festivities and other religious functions. A natural and definitely not camera shy, he posed with it proudly. His math skills were equally remarkable as he swiftly calculated the number of goats, cost of each, total amount, income, expenditure, liters of milk etc. Our ability to wrap all this information around our head nowhere matched his turban wrapping skills.
The tea was now ready and each one of us looked at each other, glancing, daring and wondering who was going to take the first sip. After one brave sip the tea went down really fast. It was thick and creamy with interesting flavor and nothing to be scared of. Fully invigorated we got up to take leave, but not before a group photo. Soon grandpa, uncles, cousins and everyone nearby gathered very obligingly so we could have a click that would forever fondly remind us of the one lazy yet eventful October afternoon spent with the Kurubas.
Where we met them -Somewhere between Kamalapur and Daroji :
Nice one, was never aware of them, keep going
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DeleteNice and informative!
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