Bob Knott's recollections
Bob Knott's recollections
Bob Knott's recollections
My India 102 work took me to the southern part of the Thanjavur District I.A.D.P. in Tamilnadu. This area had been opened to irrigated farming through extension of the Cauvery River irrigation network in more recent years. It was frequently called the "New Delta" in comparison to the older network in the northern areas of the "Old Delta". There were smaller landholdings - often 2-3 acres - with fewer expensive investments like tractors and electric water pumps. For transport, some older oxcarts (above) were being replaced by newer wagons and trucks.
Bob Knott's recollections
Bob Knott's recollections
I worked with the gram sevaks (village level workers), agricultural extension agents and other officers to "campaign" or make group presentations in villages before the start of most crop seasons. Recommendations for new seeds like IR-8, IR-20, the ADT varieties, et al were made during late afternoon or evening gatherings with 15 - 40 farmers. Other crops like groundnuts (peanuts), animal husbandry, and backyard gardens were addressed intermittently. Much labor was performed by lower caste women (above)
Bob Knott's recollections
Larger landholders like the Village Headman (green scarf above) often had resources to experiment with new crops, but the New Delta also had small, newer property owners who were motivated to make the best of new IADP opportunities.
During the growing season, I monitored and made suggestions concerning crop evaluation, fertilizers, pesticides and bookkeeping. I attempted systematic groundnut trials and episodic school garden, dairy assistance and backyard poultry projects (photo above).
As I departed after two years (and without my instigation), a new youth group was formed in my home village to work on local improvement projects. With photos being relatively new and for special occasions, the villagers maintained serious expressions for a picture near the end of my tour (above)
some peace corps and india links
Friends of India website
The Friends of India brings together all the Peace Corps volunteers who served in India from 1961 - 1976 and has supported charities in India in recent years.
Facebook -- India Peace Corps RPCV site
Peace Corps online - India page
This website is no longer kept up to date but is a useful historical record.
http://peacecorpsonline.org/messages/messages/467/2030754.html
John Biancamano's photos
Arnie Burgemeister's photos
Tim Davis' recollections
Traffic congestion with cars, bullock carts, pedestrians, cattle, bicycles and lots of cycle rickshaws.
School children going to/fro to school with cheerful smiles. “Vellikauder!”
I never wore a dhoti – did not like them – instead had police shorts made. Villagers thought it humorous!
Mahablipuram was a hoot with the shore temple much worn by wind and water, and the incredible bas reliefs.
Potters making lots and lots of clay pots.
Cinema structures and on Sundays western movies frequently portrayed women as always “available.”
Body surfing in the waves of Puri.
Divali in my village. What a time for the villagers to celebrate and shake off their poverty!
Steam engines – the smell and sound, and of course, the cinders that came in the open windows and ruined our shirts. Fighting for a seat in 3 class unreserved. Hiring a boy to jump in the window and get you a seat.
Train stations that were out of another century.
Log fishing boats in villages along the shore. Think of the bravery of those men to go out every day and fish.
Nagaswaram music up and down my street every evening. I lived among many temples.
Family Planning billboards in the cities for Nirrod “Erendu podem!” – Two is enough!
Water buffalos being bathed in rivers and temple tanks. I drank the milk from them every morning. Thick!
Clothes washing in the rivers and on the rock platforms used to beat the clothing. Temple tanks too.
Nandi at Mahablipuram – truly magnificent!
Villagers that made bronze castings using the lost was process. True artists! I have a Gunaputi from them.
Head waggle. I caught on to it after a few months. One could say a great deal with a well- executed head waggle.
Rice grains drying on the roadsides. Of course, that meant you would get to ingest a pebble in your food and chip a tooth.
Temple cart and what an effort it took to move them.
Bullock carts overloaded with straw always going somewhere. Bullocks plowing a rice paddy.
Strong white teeth of the children. “Vellikauder!”
Dump picker people. Barbers along the sidewalk or road. Todd shops – man, fresh toddy was good!
The great banyan tree in a park in Madras. What an awesome sight!
A cobra on my street. Geckoes in my house. Rats and shrews in my house.
What a wild and crazy time we had in India!
Poitavaren!
Tim Davis
Theralandur
India-20A website (awesome)
Railway memories
Rupees 12 ($1.60) bought each of us space in a third-class carriage for around 30 hours and transport across approximately 1000 miles of coastal eastern India. But it bought us so much more than that.
Entering one of India’s great railway stations is entering another world. Whether it is Bombay’s Victoria Terminus, Calcutta’s Howrah Station or Madras Central, it is a 24-hour world of bedlam, cacophony and constantly-scraping steel. Passengers and greeters, luggage carriers and touts vie for space on the platforms, the various lounges, and the railway retiring rooms. Waves of people flow from one platform to another as departure nears for the Howrah Mail or the Coromandel Express or any of the many locals and super-expresses leaving every few minutes.
Clambering onboard an unreserved car was not for the faint of heart. A few inches of board to sit on was the goal and no holds were barred. But once equilibrium had been achieved and the train had set off, the mood shifted. To us it seemed that the social religious and ethnic constraints of village life had been lifted. Packets of food brought from home were shared, introductions were made, intrusive questions were asked, and ways to pass the time were found. That elderly gentleman with limited spoken English pulling out the faded Scrabble board? He beat the pants off us time after time.
There were other diversions during the journey. Every train stop featured hawkers selling the local specialty – peanut brittle, fried dough, fresh water chestnuts, and always hot tea, sometimes served in fresh clay cups which when emptied would be thrown out the window to compost along the train tracks with the clay from which they had come.
There were no discernible safety rules. If we were bored, we could walk between the carriages, hang off the open staircase into the wind and watch the world go by.
At bigger stations, the train stopped long enough for passengers to get off and stretch their legs on the platform. When the train blew its whistle and started its slow path forward, everyone finished their last-minute purchase of a candy bar or Limca, and sauntered back to the train, adjusting their stride to the moving train and pulling themselves up onto the staircase and back into the carriage.