Geetanjali Krishna: Satoli's real estate rush

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Walking around in Satoli one crisp autumn morning, I met an old lady collecting firewood. We were getting along swimmingly talking about the weather until she suddenly decided to change the topic. "So do you like it here?" she asked. "I've always loved the hills," said I, nodding in assent. "Then why don't you rent my house and live here?" she demanded. "It's got a bathroom, windows and pucca walls "" perfect for a modern lady like yourself!"

I was perplexed at the sudden proposition, not knowing quite how to react. "You're staying in a resort, paying a packet for one room "" here I'm offering you my entire house and you hesitate?" she said.

Since I had no immediate plans of settling down in Uttaranchal, I explained to her that renting a house in Satoli, however cheap, was out of the question. Why, I asked, had she decided to let out her house anyway? She said that she and her family lived in a smaller house down the hill, and had recently constructed another house in the hope of renting it out for some extra income. "Everybody in our village with extra land is trying to get tenants or buyers," she explained, "ever since a road has been constructed all the way up to our village, we are all hopeful we'll be able to let out our homes and make some extra money!"

I saw evidence of a real estate boom wherever I went in Uttaranchal. New resorts were mushrooming everywhere, inelegant billboards advertising a large housing estate popped up every hundred metres as we drove up to Satoli from Kathgodam. Even on the bridle path leading up to the village, there was construction going on at a frenetic pace. Another day, when we hiked down to a neighbouring village, Kafura, we saw the same story.

"I've lived here all my life and seen brothers and cousins move to the city to work," said Bahadur Singh who lives there, "but it is only in the past few years that I've seen so many of my kindred actually sell their land to outsiders!"

He and a dwindling number of other villagers still believe they were better off before the road came up and brought the real estate rush along with it. "We lived as our ancestors did, walking long distances in sickness and health. I for one didn't miss not having a road at all!" said he.

"Suddenly we are seeing more and more new people living on these hills. People from as far as Delhi and Mumbai, who are paying much higher rates for land than locals, are making second homes and resorts here," said he. The temptation for cash-strapped villagers to sell their land is immense. "There aren't many other opportunities here to earn money," he commented.

It was close to lunch time, and Bahadur Singh invited us to eat with his family. The delicious lunch "" greens, mixed dal and a mustardish cucumber relish "" was totally home grown, said he.

"We've all traditionally eaten only what we have grown," said he. The 60-year-old said he often wondered how his brethren who had sold their land, fared afterwards. "Could the rajma from a shop ever taste as good as what they grew on their land? Did the money make up for the privilege of living on the land their ancestors tilled?" said he.

The afternoon sun dappled the red chillies drying in Bahadur Singh's yard and I caught sight of his teenage son through a dark window. Will he feel as strongly about his land as his father does when he grows up? I wondered.