Geetanjali Krishna: Why people do what they do

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

Why people do what they do is something I rarely understand. Maybe I'm just plain dense. Maybe I fall prey to the commonest mistake that people-watchers make, and ascribe my own feelings and motivations to others. I don't really know. All I know is that wonder and mystification are my regular companions when I observe people around me.

Take Anita, for instance. An unlettered tribal from a tiny, backward village in Jharkhand, she came to me over six years ago. She proved to be an excellent learner, and I watched with pride as she soon started attending open school. "I don't want to be like this forever," she'd say, as she spent every waking minute of her day working, knitting or studying.

I would nod in approval, happy to source textbooks, skeins of wool and suchlike to egg her on. Our thoughts were in harmony, I thought, and all was well in our world.

Every passing year brought new aspirations. "Do you think I could get driving classes?" she asked once, "I think I could be a good driver!" I was quite impressed, for it showed me she was ambitious enough to want to put her poverty-stricken past behind her.

Every now and then, but not too often, she'd tell me about her village. Its economy still worked on a barter system and most people just lived off their land. "It works well enough until any of us wants to buy land, or needs medical treatment," she said, her face clouding.

Perhaps she was thinking of her father, who had died for the want of prompt medical attention there. "I've always wanted to earn money so that I'm never so helpless again," she said. I agreed, for I'd probably feel exactly the same way if I were in her shoes.

"I now have over Rs 50,000 saved," she confided to me another time, "soon I will double the amount, and will be able to think of many other options...maybe buy a small piece of land in the village."

But I wondered whether she would ever be able to adjust to life in the village again. For she was now a modern young lady, addicted to television and the microwave. I just couldn't see her back in her rural surroundings, where electricity lines were yet to reach.

"How do I get a birth certificate?" she asked me another time. Apparently, she was dreaming of getting a passport (for which the birth certificate was mandatory), so that she could try for domestic jobs abroad. "What are the cheapest fares to America?" she asked another time, after getting my son to locate it on the map. We answered her questions patiently, happy that she was at least aiming high for her future.

Then came the bombshell. "My grandmother and aunt have found a match for me," she announced. Who was the prospective groom, I asked. He didn't work, she said, and lived off the family patch. "Will he come to Delhi with you?" I asked.

She shook her head: "He doesn't want to leave the village...anyway since he's illiterate, he'll only get manual jobs here." I asked her what she would do in the village. She said coyly, "Run my house, what else?"

But she wanted to complete school, learn to drive, go abroad...my head boggled with questions she just wasn't giving satisfactory answers to. "After all, I don't want to work for the rest of my life!" she said airily.

I thought I'd get ulcers that day. Maybe I will, because as I said at the beginning, why people do what they do is something I rarely understand.