say hello, wave goodbye!

Say hello, wave goodbye

The news came this morning- my friend from Narmada valley, ‘Moyla’ passed away last night…it was quite a shock of course-like any news of death is! The small difference however was that it took me no time to start writing an obituary - almost as if, I was anticipating his death! What kind of urge was this?…I think rather than urge, it was just a spontaneous reaction of my unconscious mind in acknowledgement of the spontaneity and urgency that Moyla lived with and impressed me with- all throughout the years of our friendship! Tens of incidences started making rounds in my mind and I had no strength to control the writing hand…

Moyla was a dear friend from one of the ‘rehabilitation sites’ in Shahada. He had shifted to the rehabilitation site with his wife and three children around four years back. Large part of his life before this was shadowed by the struggle against the massive dam and all other hardships… he had witnessed his fields and house succumbing to the ruinous reservoir of Sardar Sarovar Project more than thrice… I control the temptation to write something stupid like “despite the hardships Moyla maintained a smile on his face”, for he did not! Moyla had developed this sharp cynicism instead. He knew what had he lost and what had he got in return and this made him a disturbingly sarcastic person… I have come across a very few people who can handle so much of sarcasm without a tinge of negativity.

Moyla spoke Bhili, a language in which Moyla means ‘dead’. He once told me over a round of Gudgudi, that when he was born, he neither made a movement nor he cried for about five minutes. People around him thought the child is stillborn and just when they were to take him away from his mother he started crying. They decided to name him Moyla, due to this confusion. Moyla repeatedly made all possible puns making connections between his name and death!

Moyla’s was the only house in the rehabilitation site where one could find Gudgudi, a local Hokkah, made from a dry bottle gourd-like fruit. A mix of crushed Mahua flowers and tobacco made the flavour for this unique intoxicant. Each time I visited the rehabilitation site, I spent hours at his house sharing rounds of Gudgudi with Moyla and his wife. This routine continued till about two weeks back when I last saw him.

Moyla was fond of having his photos clicked and asked me to click one of his family during my last visit. When I went to his home with camera, his wife quickly changed her Sari and got ready for the photo while Moyla took off the shirt that he was wearing. When asked about the reason for taking his shirt off he said, “When your friends see a photo of a well-dressed man, they would not believe that I am a tribesman. I know what they like to believe and I do not want to disturb their faith!”

As a part of my work in the valley, I conducted meetings of the villagers in Moyla’s rehabilitation site. Moyla rarely missed these meetings. However, he rarely spoke a single word during the meetings. No matter whether he is sitting in the corner or right in front, he chose to keep quiet. I never really understood the reason and whenever I asked him the reason, he said “what to speak? I don’t know what to speak?” He always heard out everyone and remained a part of the meeting till the end. He would only walk away if the discussion seemed wayward to him. Moyla walking out from the meeting always worked as an alarm for me to come to the point and start making sense again!

Moyla loved to gossip in person, he loved to smoke bidis and he loved to observe and think! He kept his life limited to these activities when he was not in the field toiling under the sun! Moyla indeed inspired me in more ways than one!

There are many more incidences and many more memories and I am certainly going to miss his presence when I visit the rehabilitation site next. Moyla’s house is right at the beginning of his village. Every time I enter inside the village I am going to see the same tall berry tree that Moyla had planted outside his house. I will never forget to say hello to the tree, light up a Bidi, smoke a puff and wave a goodbye, for if I enter the house, I may just not be able to take the silence he has left behind!