Two Birds

Night had begun to envelop Dholavira, as we trudged back from the site of an ancient settlement, weary from a day's worth of travel and exploration. An interesting question loomed before us - one we had been staving off for later. Find a place to stay. There was no way we were heading back the dilapidated bridge we had come by in the dead of the night. So, we asked our guide. And his face brightened. He had a solution it seemed. He asked us to wait and sprinting off into the distance. He was back a few minutes later with a young lad in his mid 20s, donned in a faded Gujarat tourism T-shirt and grey trousers that seemed as ancient as the ruins we had just explored. "1500 with dinner and breakfast for 4", he quoted. Too tired to haggle, we promptly agreed. He guided us to a modest hut crammed from end to end with beds. "How did he manage to get these beds inside in the first place?", I thought as I shivered at the prospect of bed bugs and the unknown perils that plagued that mud plastered hut.

"Perfect!", I grumbled "No network as well. Talk about the perfect storm." Suddenly the door opened and a boy - perhaps 15 years old burst in. He asked if we had any preferences for dinner listing a few things that could be served. We responded and he dashed out as quickly as he had come echoing our choices into the distance. A little while later he returned stating that the dinner would be served in another hut and we could follow him there.

This hut mirrored the first, with its circular shape and a single oil lamp casting a soft glow on walls adorned with pastoral frescoes and mirror inlays. The rough brush strokes and the patchy paintwork was rustic and yet oddly comforting. To pass the time, we began a card game, soon attracting the curious gaze of the young server. Inviting him to join, we selected a simple game, familiar enough for him to grasp.

As he gradually warmed up to us, we discussed about our lives and asked him about his. He talked about how he'd just left school a year back. Their village it seemed had a school only upto the 8th grade. After that students were expected to travel across the ramshackle bridge to the city for higher education. He talked about how he'd joined his elder brother at the farm and how he planned on working a trade in the evening to make some extra cash. He'd already talked to the local cobbler about an apprenticeship in order to learn the craft. "He'll never have a life beyond this village", I sighed as I dealt the cards for our third game.

Meanwhile, he turned to us and asked whether we had attended the last storytelling event - the katha. My brother and I looked at each other quizzically as we wondered what he meant by that. "Villages here have a tradition of hosting wandering storytellers. They serve as their window to the world and a means of entertainment", my mom explained. I nodded silently as I felt pity for him welling from deep within my subconscious. The boy on the other hand, unaware of his audience's commiseration continued as he talked about how he had heard about how people had built towering fans across the bridge to keep the land cool. "Wind turbines", I said quickly not even bothering to explain why they served a different purpose as the boy continued animatedly recounting some of the other tales he'd heard.

A while later, we asked if he wanted to play a different game - "Joker". He promptly agreed although he said he didn't know the rules. My brother and I took turns explaining the game dynamics. Midway through however, he interjected with an outlandish word. We all looked at him confused. This time he caught the hint. Explaining, he said he'd already played this with his school friends. "Our games are the same!", he remarked excitedly "just the names are different."

Perhaps it was the simplicity of the sentence that set me thinking. My sentiments of pity slowly turned into introspection. Why would I place myself on a higher pedestal just because I had a different education or a white-collar job? He felt at peace with what he envisaged for his life just as I did in mine. Thats all that mattered. Indeed, both of us played the same game just with different titles attached to us. We each had our own cages in which we were content.

As we settled for dinner, I felt elated with this realization. Our worlds could be the same and different. And this wasn't paradoxical. Rather, it just opened my eyes to the nuances of human experience. That one-size-fits-all model had vanished once and for all.