Erukalamma – (basket weaver)

‘Ammagaru’, I heard a voice from outside. I went to see it was the woman who lives a few houses away from mine – with her bent torso, white hair, skinny figure, I keep wondering if she is about to fall. ‘I got you your basket’, she said holding out a mid sized basket – nice, well woven and strong – ‘you said you wanted some baskets for storing your seeds no?’ ‘Yes, but what about a lid?’ ‘in the western country, they used these to store seeds, you have to apply cow-dung paste on the outside to keep away the insects”…she rambled on. I don’t remember her name, though I spoke to her many times. She came once asking for green gram. ‘Can you give me some pesarlu?’ ‘You will have to pay for it, I said, unsure if she could pay or if she was expecting a freebee’. Though mostly I wouldn’t have bothered about giving away, my earlier experiences in the village, with people trying to cheat me at every step thinking I am a richie rich, kind of made me very adamant about certain issues. Not that I would lose much if I give away, but somehow, a bug was inside my head – to not dish out anything for free. ‘Yes, I will pay you’. A bit of bargaining ensued – ‘how much’, ‘I am selling at 90 rupees a kilo in the city’. ‘Oh, then I will take it from the potter’s uncle, he is selling at 60 only, but do give me some black gram’. ‘Okay. At the price I am selling may be you cannot afford, take half a kilo”. She took it and left.

I met her again sometime later at Jangaiah’s tea shop; she was sitting on the floor. ‘Will you have some tea?’ I asked her. ‘Yes’. Later many times she would repeat about my kindness for the offering of that tea. Each time I would pass by she would ask, ‘has your mother come?’ I would reply in the negative. ‘I asked her for an old sari, she said she would give me, I will make a ‘chinna butti’ (small basket) for you in exchange. I was embarrassed – any basket takes up a lot of work – splitting the bamboo sticks and then weaving the stiff strips into a basket is a lot of work – and to do that for an old sari! ‘Oh, that’s okay, not needed’. I told her. The next time, my mother was in the village, she arrived, shivering heavily, with a little basket in her hand. Mother called her in, and gave her the not so old sari. “Here, please keep this basket’. I asked her, “how much would such a basket be?’ ‘Whatever, don’t bother’. She replied. Mother refused to take it. I said, ‘No, keep it, she doesn’t want to beg’. I asked her, “What happened to you?” “I don’t know. I am not well.” she replied. On further probing and a consultation over phone with my doctor friend, a prescription was arrived at. “Can you give me money to buy the medicine?” she asked. I gave her, “have some tea and buy your medicines”. I could not give her tea, as we had no milk. I asked her husband a few days later about her, ‘Don’t know how she is. Soon after she went to her sister’s place’. Today, I saw her after that day, all bright and sparkling as she always was despite her bent torso. “How much should I pay for this one?’ I asked her. “I will say 100, but will you give me? Pay me 70, if you have money now. Or better still; give me some ‘pesarlu’ when you get the crop’. ‘I will bring you another basket, soon. But you must give me two kilos of Korralu (millets). It’s been a long time; we used to cook with milk and jaggery, when we were roaming in the western country”. So saying, she flashed her smile and left. I walked in, wondering about this barter system.