My
experience of staying without gadgets, telecommunication, and the World Wide
Web after having gotten acquainted with all of them happened first when out on
my field trip to the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. The tribal dominated
district of Gadchiroli which falls on the eastern corner of the state is a
densely forested tribal district often known infamously as being the western
end of the Red Corridor.
When
we started off at first, everything looked like fun. Me and five of my other
friends felt like we were backpacking through the jungles of central India only
until the moment when one of us picked up our mobile phones to call her parents.
NO NETWORK.
We
were to do a home stay in a tribal household and on the evening we reached, we were
provided dinner at 7 p.m. Open-defecation was the norm of the hamlet and we
were up before dawn with our cans of water to attend to nature’s call. None of
the houses had electricity and except for the one solar run street light that
existed at the centre-point of the village, everyone depended on torches or
kerosene lamps. The home we stayed in had an old battery run transistor which
worked only when out in the field. Once our batteries were exhausted, neither
our phones nor our laptops were functional.
While
all this sounds gross and unfit for living, they were in many ways a lot better
off than us urban people.
Instead
of watching an IPL or the new ISL, like we do to keep ourselves entertained (supporting
teams we often have little to identify with) people in the village actively conduct
and participate in inter-village sporting events (kabaddi, khokho etc.) which
are held regularly. I was given the pleasure of being a part of one of
their matches too. This, we observed, encouraged bonding of villagers across
villages. But sadly, we never have inter-‘Society’ or inter-colony matches in
the cities.
There
of course was the famous gilli-danda. But that along with Card games were reserved
for the afternoon after lunch sessions.
They
lived in small communities and stayed in cohesion with each other. Although
people were concerned (like in every place else) about their individual
interests, they saw their well being in the welfare of the village at large.
Mindless daily soap dramas were instead substituted by community gatherings by
the village women at the village centre every night. They talked, danced to
music and made merry.
While
we saw them as poor, they always seemed content. Even a few households who had
their children working in the cities were happy to speak to them once in a few
days. And to think that my parents, when in hostel, monitor my every move at
least thrice everyday over the mobile phone. Technology has increased the pace of
our lives and has made us anxious and fearful. Privacy seems extinct and the
need to know things as and when they happen has made us restless. My mom sheds
tears when she’s unable to contact me for a few days due to lack of network. Skype
has only worsened things.
I am in no way denying the worthiness of technology in our lives. In many ways the lack
of technology has proven detrimental to their lives. Despite everyone possessing
a mobile phone, the lack of good mobile connectivity makes it difficult for them
to contact an ambulance at the block town 40 kms away during an emergency. They
remained oblivious to many developments in the country at large.
Personally,
I think we need to find a balance between the two. The benefits of technology
are unquestionable. But an excess of technology is in some ways building distances between us, and is in some other ways making us anxious beings. Also, we cannot allow our children to become couch
potatoes who sit on their Playstations and Xboxs 24/7, or who otherwise stay
fixated to FaceBook on their smart phones chatting and playing Candy Crush with their
friends living two blocks away.
