Poetically the City Dwells
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A Work by Charmi Mehta / Devanshi Thakkar / Dhanvi Shah / Gauri Sonar / Jahnavi Naik / Khushboo Tejwani / Maitri Shah / Mohini Surve / Sharvri Raut / Nikieta Saraf / Preet Waghware / Prishita Kulkarni / Ria Shah / Rishabh Chhajer / Shubh Sankhla / Harshita Patel / Sneha Rathod
in conversation with Rupali Gupte
Fishermen of Powai
Bard
Prishita Kulkarni
“Koi machli mili kya”
I asked a group of fishermen who sat on an inclined surface, which supported the mouth of the storm water gutter that opened into the lake of Powai. It was around 5 PM. The lake promenade was filled with a pleasant light. A fisherman stepped forward to show me his net filled with fishes, who were jumping to hold onto their lives. “Itne mein hoga kya? Pure family ke liye” I asked, “Madamji, yeh teen machli toh mein khud ek din main khatam kar doon”, he said with a smile, almost sounding surprised by my question.
The lake promenade widened at this very spot, leaving me some space to walk around, stand or to sit and think under the dense foliage of trees.
I asked a group of fishermen who sat on an inclined surface, which supported the mouth of the storm water gutter that opened into the lake of Powai. It was around 5 PM. The lake promenade was filled with a pleasant light. A fisherman stepped forward to show me his net filled with fishes, who were jumping to hold onto their lives. “Itne mein hoga kya? Pure family ke liye” I asked, “Madamji, yeh teen machli toh mein khud ek din main khatam kar doon”, he said with a smile, almost sounding surprised by my question.
The lake promenade widened at this very spot, leaving me some space to walk around, stand or to sit and think under the dense foliage of trees.
I had made my way from the flyover and stepped down to enter the promenade around the lake. The dense vegetation sandwiched between the Jogeshwari-Vikhroli link road and the lake promenade created a buffer from all the noise and traffic. While walking under the tree canopies and branches, I came across multiple couples sitting on the edge of the lake, under the shade of the trees, in tight embraces. I swiftly walked and tried to avoid any awkward eye contact with them.
“Agar aap aise fishing karenge, toh police nahi pakadegi kya?” another woman, who was selling balloons asked ,”Humara toh raaj chalta hai yahan par, humein koi kuch nahi bolega.
“Agar aap aise fishing karenge, toh police nahi pakadegi kya?” another woman, who was selling balloons asked ,”Humara toh raaj chalta hai yahan par, humein koi kuch nahi bolega.
Humse woh BMC wale paise bhi nahi lenge, unko lagta hai hamare paas kuch nahi hai dene ke liye”
Just as I kept looking at the water, a fisherman named Rajiv shouted from the other side “Suresh woh net mat use kar, woh samne, club wale logon ko pata chalega, fishing rope use kar jaldi jaldi”. I turned towards Rajiv to ask him about the club “Kaunsi club ke baare mein baat kar rahe hai? Kahan hai yeh club?”
“Woh toh samne, sab jhad ke piche, ek club hai, wahan pe sab BMC ke members fishing karte hai”
“Woh club, BMC walon se membership ke paise lete hai, fir yeh log apna net lekar machlii pakadte hai aur bazaar mein bechte hai.” Rajiv said as he wrapped the fish he caught in his bag.
“Bhaiya mujhe yeh nahi samajhta, ki aap carpenter hai, toh shauk ke liey machli kyun pakdte hai, aapka aur koi shauk nahi hai kya ?” I asked
“Aisi baat hai, ki hum yeh 10 saal se kar rahe hai, abhi lat lag gayi hai toh yahi karte hai”
The fishes had made their homes in the garbage thrown in the lake. “Gutter se zyada kachra toh log yaha pe faik kar jaate hai''. The fishermen would gather in large groups the moment they closed the mouth of the storm water gutter because it would give them large quantities of fish. “Yahan paani mein itna kachra hai, toh aap yehi se kyun lete hai?”, I asked as I saw one man throw a plastic wrapper in the water. Rajiv intervened “Ganda pani har jagah pe hota hai, iska ye matlab nahi ki machli pakadna hi chhod de”.
“Aap yahan pura din baith te hai?” I asked Mahesh, one of the fishermen,”Nahi, hum sab contractor logon ka kaam karte hai, agar kuch kaam nahi ho toh hum yahi par aate hai”. Mahesh paused for a bit, then he rolled up his wet sleeves and sat on the platform with one knee reaching his chest, he turned towards me while I was trying to look at the fishes,“Hum wahan kabhi kabhi andar tak jaate hai, beech mein, machli pakadne ke liye”. Astonished by his reply I asked “Beech mein toh bohot saare magar hote hai, aap wahan pe kyun jaate ho, bohot khatra hoga”, “Uss mein hi maza hai, khatra toh har jagah hai”.A man, wearing an off-white shirt and khaki pants asked. He placed his plastic container filled with hot tea on a platform and started pouring it into small plastic cups. It was a daily ritual for all the fishermen to have their cup of tea in the evening. “Tum logi thodasa chai?” Mahesh offered, but I declined politely.
Gonda Uttar Pradesh 1996
It was a warm Sunday evening in the middle of August, where the winds kept blowing slightly. The sky had turned light blue and it’s reflection filled the pond, making it look like an infinite sky.
The children had just finished their homework, and got out to go for a swim in the cool pond.
“Rajiv aur Suresh, jaldi chalo, machli pakadni hai warna raatko bhindi ki sabzi khani padegi”, Mahesh yelled from the doorway of their house. Running towards the pond near their house,
the three brothers unbuttoned their shirts, tossed their slippers and dived in. The cold water filled their skin with goosebumps but they quickly adapted to it. Moving swiftly through the bluish green water, they grabbed their fishing nets and started diving deeper into the pond.