Where Angels Prey by Ramesh S Arunachalam Page A
Authors: Ramesh S Arunachalam
Tags: Reference
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VILLAGE, ANDHRA PRADESH,
24 SEPTEMBER 2010
“It is even being said that some MFI bosses have hired private security guards to protect them from the ire of their clientele. The incident at the offices of SAMMAAN and the subsequent threat by the Maoists has the sector truly shaken up. Once regarded as a gold mine, it is now a hornet’s nest that the recent spate of suicides has stirred up. This is Bhagyaraj S. reporting for Zion TV from Warangal.”
Chandresh Rajan stubs his cigarette into the chipped coffee cup being used as an ashtray. He picks up the remote lying on the table and cuts the anchor short as she launches into a story on factional fighting in the ruling party. It will be another couple of hours before his escort arrives; for now, the dingy walls of his hotel room seem to be closing in on him. He remembers spotting a small tea shop down the
road. The idea of a cup of tea is appealing to him.
As he steps out of the spartan building, he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the pristine air of the hills. It feels good to be inhaling something other than diesel fumes and the stench of rotting garbage or human waste. There are hardly half a dozen people on the road, four of them on foot and two on cycles. They eye him suspiciously. Despite his inconspicuous personality, they clearly identify him as an outsider. Strangers are not greeted warmly in these parts. One can hardly blame the locals, though, for such has been their experience.
Paderu, a remote village in the hills of Vizag, a district of coastal Andhra, is Maoist heartland, after all. A part of the Dandakaranya region spreads across Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Orissa, and Paderu has a significant tribal population. A significant raison d’être for the Maoist movement is the exploitation of tribal resources by the political class. It is to speak to one of the Maoist leaders that Chandresh is here in Paderu. After years of working for a leading publication in the country, he is now a syndicated columnist focusing on development and grassroots issues.
As Chandresh walks towards the tea shop, his mind goes back to the news report that he just caught on TV. Clearly the issue is erupting and in a big way. What is surprising is that it has taken so long for the can of worms to open. He had written an article almost a year ago indicating that the growth of the sector was more a matter of concern than celebration, since it was happening at the cost of the very clientele it had sworn to serve. In fact, infamy and the sector were no strangers to each other. Less than five years ago, a tussle between two competing MFIs had thrown up a stench so strong that a magisterial enquiry had been ordered. What was happening today was the same in many ways and yet had a whole new dimension to it, in the form of commercial and foreign capital.
Chandresh is so caught up in his thoughts that he ends up walking past the tea shop before realization strikes. He retraces his steps and slumps on a bench outside the tea shop.
“One
chai
please...and make it double strong!”
The shop owner nods as he pumps the kerosene stove hard, to get it to burn better. He does not appear inclined to chat, quite uncommon given that tea shop owners are quite often a great source of village gossip. Like before, Chandresh recognizes this as a peculiarity of the territory they are in. The tea shop owner makes a froth on top that would put a barista from Starbucks to shame, by pouring one cup of tea into another—the further apart he spreads his arms, the better the froth.
The tea arrives, piping hot and with a lovely aroma. Chandresh sighs in appreciation after the first sip. It is so different from the tea you find in tea shops in the city, so much better than the weak tea that he is forced to sip at fancy five-star hotels, while attending seminars and the like.
Chandresh’s gaze wanders around, looking for interesting sights the details of which he could incorporate in his
24 SEPTEMBER 2010
“It is even being said that some MFI bosses have hired private security guards to protect them from the ire of their clientele. The incident at the offices of SAMMAAN and the subsequent threat by the Maoists has the sector truly shaken up. Once regarded as a gold mine, it is now a hornet’s nest that the recent spate of suicides has stirred up. This is Bhagyaraj S. reporting for Zion TV from Warangal.”
Chandresh Rajan stubs his cigarette into the chipped coffee cup being used as an ashtray. He picks up the remote lying on the table and cuts the anchor short as she launches into a story on factional fighting in the ruling party. It will be another couple of hours before his escort arrives; for now, the dingy walls of his hotel room seem to be closing in on him. He remembers spotting a small tea shop down the
road. The idea of a cup of tea is appealing to him.
As he steps out of the spartan building, he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the pristine air of the hills. It feels good to be inhaling something other than diesel fumes and the stench of rotting garbage or human waste. There are hardly half a dozen people on the road, four of them on foot and two on cycles. They eye him suspiciously. Despite his inconspicuous personality, they clearly identify him as an outsider. Strangers are not greeted warmly in these parts. One can hardly blame the locals, though, for such has been their experience.
Paderu, a remote village in the hills of Vizag, a district of coastal Andhra, is Maoist heartland, after all. A part of the Dandakaranya region spreads across Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Orissa, and Paderu has a significant tribal population. A significant raison d’être for the Maoist movement is the exploitation of tribal resources by the political class. It is to speak to one of the Maoist leaders that Chandresh is here in Paderu. After years of working for a leading publication in the country, he is now a syndicated columnist focusing on development and grassroots issues.
As Chandresh walks towards the tea shop, his mind goes back to the news report that he just caught on TV. Clearly the issue is erupting and in a big way. What is surprising is that it has taken so long for the can of worms to open. He had written an article almost a year ago indicating that the growth of the sector was more a matter of concern than celebration, since it was happening at the cost of the very clientele it had sworn to serve. In fact, infamy and the sector were no strangers to each other. Less than five years ago, a tussle between two competing MFIs had thrown up a stench so strong that a magisterial enquiry had been ordered. What was happening today was the same in many ways and yet had a whole new dimension to it, in the form of commercial and foreign capital.
Chandresh is so caught up in his thoughts that he ends up walking past the tea shop before realization strikes. He retraces his steps and slumps on a bench outside the tea shop.
“One
chai
please...and make it double strong!”
The shop owner nods as he pumps the kerosene stove hard, to get it to burn better. He does not appear inclined to chat, quite uncommon given that tea shop owners are quite often a great source of village gossip. Like before, Chandresh recognizes this as a peculiarity of the territory they are in. The tea shop owner makes a froth on top that would put a barista from Starbucks to shame, by pouring one cup of tea into another—the further apart he spreads his arms, the better the froth.
The tea arrives, piping hot and with a lovely aroma. Chandresh sighs in appreciation after the first sip. It is so different from the tea you find in tea shops in the city, so much better than the weak tea that he is forced to sip at fancy five-star hotels, while attending seminars and the like.
Chandresh’s gaze wanders around, looking for interesting sights the details of which he could incorporate in his
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