In early March, I was at a corner of Assam, at a small eco-camp alongside the Dibru river. In the three mornings that I spent there, there was a regular boat that would come up the river to the roadhead, which was just across from where I stayed. Sack after sack would then be offloaded onto a waiting truck. The work was back-breaking.
On the third day, I summoned up courage to have a chat with the boat’s pilot, who looked to be an easy going sort of fellow. “Ginger,” he pointed at the sacks being loaded onto the truck, “we grow it across the river in Arunachal and bring it here.”
“How far away is the village where this is grown?”
“About five hours by boat…”
“…and you do this journey everyday?”
“Of course. How else will I make money?”
The truck driver, a Sardarji, was reticent, even forbidding. He sat on his high horse, in a manner of speaking, as I stood below, reading the morning Hindi paper.
“Where do you take this ginger?” I asked
“To Delhi.” was the terse reply.
“… and how long does it take to reach Delhi from here?”
“About five days.”
“After which, do you get rest before you return?”
He replied with a sound that was the mixture of a snort and a laugh, short and sarcastic. But, not giving up, I repeated the question.
“I get a day’s rest, without pay.” he muttered. Sensing that I had overstayed my welcome (if that is an appropriate word in the context), I wandered off to look at the Hollock Gibbons in the nearby forest.
So, if you live in New Delhi, remember the farmer in Arunachal who grows your ginger. It truly has become an incredibly connected world.
