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Tales from the Island of Serendip
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8,956 posts in this topic

My friend Juman is on the local village council or Panchayat. He is here with his wife Sahara, being verbally assailed on a Sunday afternoon by a woman with a grievance about land ownership. All too common there I'm afraid, and likely she had a case, but not one the Panchayat could easily fix. Certainly not Juman on a Sunday afternoon.

 

But she refused to calm down.

 

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She didnt see me approach, and when she finally turned to storm off at the clearly unsatisfactory end of her furious tirade, she suddenly noticed me and stopped dead in her tracks. I actually thought she was going to faint dead away. Apparently she had never seen a white person before. When I began speaking to her gently in Bengali, she panicked, and fled at top speed, with Juman and Sahara literally corpsing with helpless laughter beside me.

 

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Her father, Manan, once a relatively well off farmer, bankrupted himself long before I ever met him, buying ineffectual homeopathic medicines for her. Manan had massive, mallet-like hands, which he constantly flexed. His anger and frustration were so close to the surface, that I felt he wanted to lash out at everything and everyone around him. I'm sure I would have done. But he never did.

 

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