Moong Over Microchips

by Venkat Iyer

  The main attractions at the fair are the goods that can be bartered and the skewered meat fresh off the chopping block. Here again there are many lanes. The first lane is the dried fish lane with rows of stalls selling varieties of fish. Besides the famous bombil (Bombay duck), there are dozens of other fish that have been salted and dried. We cannot even recognize some of them.

  The next lane is the blacksmith lane where one can buy all sorts of farming equipment like sickles, axes and choppers at a good price. Of course one has to haggle a lot to bring the price down.

  The third lane is the onion and garlic lane. Here you get them at good wholesale rates. The highlight of this lane is the barter system. You can take any seed you have and it can be bartered for a range of items. You can barter seeds for onion, garlic, turmeric, sugar, dates and even salt. The forest department decides the barter rates and puts a board at the start of the jatra. An example would be that for every kilo of cashew seeds you got 12 kilo of onion or 1.5 kilo of garlic.

  I spoke to the official at the government stall and asked him what they did with all the seeds. He said that the cashew seeds were processed into cashew nuts, while the other seeds were taken by the forest department for their various schemes. He also mentioned that some of the seeds have medicinal value and they are sold accordingly. I have a few cashew trees at the farm and each year we barter the cashews for various items. The onions I get from the jatra last almost till Diwali for us.

  At the end of the dried fish lane is the highlight of the jatra, the bhujing section. This is the section where you get fresh mutton or chicken kebabs. Huge stalls are set up with freshly cut goats hanging from hooks. You buy the mutton and it is pounded in front of you on a tree trunk. Attached to the shop is the stall of the kebab maker who barbecues the kebabs on a charcoal fire and serves it. With so many charcoal fires the whole area is smoky and hot.

  Our favourite stall used to be Zulekha Bibi’s stall. The stall was the cleanest that we could spot in the entire lane. She lived in Dapchari, a few kilometres away, and was there at the jatra every year with her entire family. Her sons set up the mutton shop and pounded the meat for you. Her daughters did the task of making the kebabs and putting them on the skewers, while her husband sat at the fire and roasted the kebabs. Zulekha sat in the centre of the stall on a plastic chair and oversaw the entire operation.

  Once the meat was pounded by the boys it was handed over to Zulekha on a huge platter. One of the daughters held up the tray of masala and spices to her. She took pinches of each spice and masala and added it to the meat. There was no measuring spoon or cup. Once she added the spices, she mixed the whole thing till it reached a consistency that she was happy with. The platter then returned to one of the daughters who made the kebabs before their father started slow-roasting them on the fire.

  Meena and Zulekha got along well. She would invite Meena to sit next to her while the kebabs were being made and chat with her. She had already grilled Meena for every bit of information on us. In 2015, when she was told that Meena had quit her job, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I will find you a nice government job. I have lots of contacts.’

  After the kebabs were ready, you could sit on the chairs at the back of the stall and eat. There were pav wallas too on cycles selling hot fresh-off-the-oven pav. We found the place too hot and smoky and usually packed our kebabs and rushed back to the farm for a sumptuous meal.

  In 2017, we went to the jatra and walked up and down the lane looking for Zulekha. We could not find her or her sons. As we walked up and down one stall owner called and asked us what the matter was. I asked, ‘Do you know where is Zulekha Bibi’s stall?’ He replied, ‘I am her nephew. I am sorry but she just passed away last week.’

  The news of her death was too shocking for us. We could not bear to eat kebabs that year and left the place.

  10

  Of Kerosene, Groundnuts and Subsidies

  While it was a charmed life in some ways, apart from the hardships, we also had to deal with the corruption. Corruption was a way of life in the village. Be it the local sarpanch, the talati or the ration shop owner, each one was out to fool the villagers and extract money out of them.

  My first encounter with this was at the local ration shop. Since I did not have a card in the village I asked Baban if I could buy some kerosene using his card. I needed it to light the lamps in the evening when there was no power. He gave his card saying that he was entitled to 10 litres but needed only five so I could buy the balance. At the ration shop in Dhamatne, the next village, the man said I could only get five as the stock was less. When he charged me Rs 60, I was puzzled since I knew that kerosene cost Rs 9 or 10 a litre. When I asked for the bill, he refused saying no one took a bill in these areas. I glanced at what he had written in the register and saw that it was less than Rs 10 per litre. It meant he had charged an extra Rs 2 per litre. When I protested, he told me, ‘It is none of your business. You got kerosene, that is good enough.’

  I was enraged at this retort and told him that if he did not give me the bill I would complain to the officer. His reaction was a short guffaw, followed by a statement that he had been authorized by the officer to get more money for each litre. So the proceeds were being shared right up to the top. I returned to the village with kerosene that cost me Rs 60 while the official cost was Rs 48 odd. I called a few elders and explained to them how the ration shop owner was taking them for a ride and charging extra from each villager. They nodded wisely but told me they could not do anything about this.

  The ration shop owner had a palatial house which he got painted every year. He had two sons who drove around in their jeeps and mostly behaved as if the village and its surrounding areas belonged to them. It was obvious that he had made a lot of money selling ration to the villagers since for every cricket tournament he would donate 50 kilograms of rice to be used for the food made for the players. It was as if he was atoning for the sins he had committed all year round.

  The next incident was at the panchayat office where the entire village including me had gone to buy groundnut seeds from the government. The government was giving us a 50 per cent subsidy on each sack. It was my first time at the panchayat office and I just followed the villagers. We all stood in a long queue waiting for our turn to pay the money and collect the receipt. The receipt had to be shown at the godown next door where we could collect our groundnut seed sacks. When my turn came, a rude officer pushed a register towards me and asked for my thumb impression. I said I wished to sign. He looked up in astonishment and thrust a pen towards my nose. I signed and paid Rs 600 for a 30 kilo sack. I bought two such sacks. He did not give me a receipt but just a piece of paper on which was scribbled ‘two sacks’. I noticed that the register where I had signed had nothing written on it except my name and the figure two.

  We all went to the godown and collected our sacks. I was seeing them for the first time and examined them closely. I noticed that there was a small tag attached to it signed by an officer of the government of Maharashtra, which listed the name, date of manufacture, quantity and price of each sack. The price was listed as Rs 990 per sack. Considering that the government offered 50 per cent subsidy, the price we should have paid was Rs 495 per sack, but we were charged Rs 600. I went back to the officer who had taken the money and asked him about the higher rate.

  Mr Y, the officer, looked up from his register and said, ‘Can’t you see so many people are taking it without questioning? If you don’t want it, we can refund the money to you.’ I just walked out of his cabin and went to the Block Development Officer (BDO) who was the final authority in these matters. At first, the sepoy outside tried to persuade me to not meet him, saying sahib was busy and suggested I return the next day. I was about to leave when I noticed a board with the timings when the BDO would meet the public and it happened to be the very day I was there. The timings also matched and there was no way he could refuse to meet me. I pointed out the notice to the sepoy and told him that if the BDO was busy
in a meeting, then I was willing to wait till it got over. I had learnt a bitter lesson earlier at the pranth office and knew the ways and means of the people working in these offices. Had I left and returned the next day he would have shown me the very same notice.

  The sepoy reluctantly went in with my card and within a few minutes, ushered me into the cabin. A young BDO was staring at a presentation on his computer screen. I narrated the entire story to him and asked for his intervention in finding out the right price for the groundnuts. He claimed complete ignorance of the whole episode and summoned Mr Y. He arrived within a few minutes and glared at me for a good minute or two before asking his boss what the matter was. The BDO questioned him about the price. He asked Mr Y how he had arrived at the figure of Rs 600 per sack. His explanation was stranger than the one Mr Z at the revenue department had offered his boss.

  Mr Y claimed he had never seen a sack of groundnut seeds before and was not aware that the price was written on it. He claimed he had received a circular from Thane, which was the district headquarters, stating the price as Rs 1200 and so he was charging Rs 600. I quickly went out of the cabin and summoned one of our village boys to bring a sack of groundnuts into the cabin. I told the BDO that I wanted Mr Y to now examine the sack in detail. Both the BDO and Mr Y gathered around the sack and examined it as if they were seeing it for the first time. They declared I was right and the price was indeed Rs 990.

  The next request from the BDO was to see the circular which had come from the head office stating the price as Rs 1200. Mr Y calmly told him that the file in which he had kept the circular had been sent to the collector for some other work and he did not have it with him right now. He left saying that he had a lot of work and there was a long line of villagers waiting outside his cabin for the groundnuts.

  An embarrassed BDO offered me tea and tried to cover up for his subordinate’s rudeness. He went on to explain how they were doing exemplary work in the taluk and invited me to see his presentation on the computer. I gently turned the topic back to the question of the price when he grandly declared that he would take it up with the head office since obviously the goof-up had happened there. He promised to keep me posted and in case there was a refund on the seeds, he would arrange to have it sent to the village directly. I invited him to our village and left.

  Outside Mr Y had called a few guys he knew from the village and asked who I was and where I came from. He told them that I was raking up unnecessary issues and if this went on, the government would have to rethink the subsidy policy and may be forced to withdraw subsidy on groundnut seeds. A frantic group was waiting outside to ask me to slow down and let it be. After all it was only Rs 100 extra per sack that he was charging. I tried to explain to them that Mr Y had no control over the subsidy and these matters were decided at the highest levels. It was of no use since the entire village looked at Mr Y as the messiah who gave subsidies to them.

  I realized the futility of fighting the system alone and returned to the village. The system had ingrained corruption into the villagers so much that they felt it was okay if the government officials charged a bit extra. After all, they were only taking a bit, not all of it.

  The next day, while chatting with Moru Dada, I casually asked him how much he had paid for the groundnut seeds. It transpired that they had been charged Rs 630 per sack the very next day after we had picked up our quota. I wondered what could have happened in one night to increase the rate by another Rs 30. Probably, another circular from the head office that could not be traced!

  A few months later I happened to visit the panchayat office to check if they had any other items on subsidy which I could buy. I met a most cordial Mr Y who saw me and said, ‘Where did you disappear? You should visit us more often.’ He then went on to offer me various items on subsidy like the sickle, the sprayer and many varieties of seeds. He even offered to enrol me in certain schemes where I could allegedly make money. He was kind enough to recommend a vendor close by who would provide me with a bill for a nominal fee of Rs 100. I just smiled at each suggestion of his and left the office in disgust. To ensure that I kept quiet he was trying to drag me into dishonest schemes in the guise of subsidy. Till date I have not received any reply from the BDO on the available subsidies and he makes it a point to avoid me each time he comes to the village.

  The modus operandi of the government officers was very simple. Target the most influential person in the village and offer him some sop or scheme. Once he was bought over, he could not object when they went about looting villagers who were either too scared to raise questions or just did not have the time or money to follow up on these matters. A single visit to Dahanu would set back a villager by Rs 40 in 2004. Who would want to travel to Dahanu every once in a while to chase these officers? Everyone in the government knew this and used the simple tactic of procrastination to deter any villager who showed even a semblance of revolt.

  Mr Y has been transferred and replaced by Mr K. When I went to buy the grass cutter in 2015, as usual, I was not given a receipt for the money I paid. My request for the same was met with a stony silence. Since the amount was big, Rs 15,000, I suggested to Mr K that I will pay by cheque or Demand Draft (DD). He replied, ‘We do not accept cheques and the DD has to be from a particular bank. Besides you can collect the grass cutter only a week after you give the DD.’ I tried to convince Mr K that a DD is as good as cash and there is no need to wait for a week. He said, ‘It may be but we wait for a week.’ I finally paid in cash. In this age where the government is trying to move towards a cashless economy, here was one department that insisted on cash payment for all purchases.

  My village also got its share of the famous Employment Guarantee Scheme (EGS) launched by the Maharashtra government. Under this, one person from the village was awarded funds for building roads or farm ponds. The government paid the money and the works were carried out by employing local people who earned daily wages as per the government norms. It was an excellent scheme on paper since most of the villagers had spare time after sowing and before their harvest and were on the lookout for work. One of the villagers built a pond in our village where fish were to be bred. The total amount given for the scheme was around Rs 40,000. He used machines to dig the pond and fudged the documents to show that people had worked for it. The question is, who benefited from the scheme?

  Our village has eighty houses but the road to the village is still untarred and has gravel, which gets washed away every monsoon. The women in the village often complain that the stones cut their feet when they go to get water from the community well. In the next village there are only two houses but they have a tarred road right up to their doorsteps. I was confused at this anomaly and once asked the group sarpanch when I met him. He explained that these had to be taken up by a local person and usually the village has to contribute 10 per cent of the cost upfront while the government puts in the rest. Every road that is built results in a profit of nearly Rs 1 lakh as kickbacks to the contractor. He proposed that I take this up and put the initial amount and he would organize the rest. I shuddered at the thought of perpetrating another scam and decided that I would just buy better soled shoes to come to the village.

  It was a shock that even basic amenities were not available to the villagers. Sitting in the city we read about the grandiose plans of the government to provide electricity and proper roads to every village by the end of the year. It was only when we reached the village and actually saw what was happening that we realized that these were just plans and none of it ever materialized. I thought of all the complaints that one had heard in the city of slow Internet connections and bad roads when here in this small village there was no road and telephone at all.

  Anyway, two years after I bought the farm, it was a private telephone operator who bailed us out. Along with a few other villagers, we too got a phone, a wireless landline, though it worked erratically! A few years later the mobile revolution reached the village and soon there were multiple private operators who e
rected towers around the area. We now actually have a decent network and on some lucky days even 3G for data.

  Scams Here Too

  In the village there is no money in surplus. But for scamsters even schemes involving tiny sums are a good source to tap. One such was the Maharashtra State Electricity Board (MSEB) scam.

  The MSEB distributed monthly electricity bills and they reached the villagers usually a few days before the due date. The nearest centre which collected money on behalf of MSEB is the Thane Co-op Bank in Kasa. The other option is to travel to Dahanu to the MSEB office and pay. Dahanu being far away, most of the villagers opted for the bank. As the due date approached, one can see serpentine queues outside the bank. Sometimes people spent the entire day there.

  In 2016, a new centre opened in Kasa. There were hoardings everywhere saying that one could pay their power bills at this new centre. I went to check out the place. It was a neatly done-up shop where I met Amit Jadhav from Nanivali. He had installed two computers with a printer in between. Two young girls punched away in the computers while Amit collected the money. There was no crowd and the work was getting done very fast. I inquired about how he managed to start the centre. It was a franchisee for some businessman from Malad, Mumbai, who had received the licence to collect money on behalf of MSEB. He paid 1 per cent of the collection money to the franchisee. The firm sent their own people to pick up the collected money, besides providing the computers and printer.

  It was not long before the centre became popular and the queues outside the bank started dwindling. Amit was happy for his collections were crossing approximately Rs 20 lakh each month which meant he earned Rs 20,000 a month. There was a lot of excitement and soon we heard of new centres opening in and around the village. Nanivali had its own centre opened by Amit and all the way to Boisar one saw boards announcing the bill payment centres.