men don´t eat in the house of a friend, because he is a chamaar which belongs to one of the jatis of the dalits. while working in desert, far from the village, they all cook together, eat together, laugh together. borders are changing. the man who is a dalit comes to money and his village of chamaars to a well because the man gives his important deciding voice to the party of political power.
every evening a boy calls a girl by cellphone. they never saw each other, find theirselves per accident and started to talk about their lives. but he wants to impress the girl and tells her lies with his sweetest voice. he would have a good job in the city of jaisalmer, working in the hotel of his parents. he would be a rich guy and not a poor boy living in the desert, always hoping for a good tip from the few tourist which are coming. one eve she calls when he is busy. he doesn´t look who is calling, just picks up the phone and says in his bad mood: i have no time, i have to wash this fucking dishes in this fucking desert sand, to serve this damn tourists their damn food. a sound of surprise and she hangs up. the boy understands who was calling and tries to call back. but she never will pick up again. his first and maybe only friendship to a girl is finished.
they got in an argument with each other because she was dreaming so much. to dream about future is not allowed to him, to dream about future was one thing he couldn´t understand. how should i know what will be in future? why should i think about it? i have to see if we have enough food, enough money for the next week. i have to manage that my boys go to school, that they learn how to read and how to write. without reading, without writing they have to live a life in desert like me, always looking for a job. in this world you just get a job, if you can read and write. the times are changing. so how can i know what will be in two, five, seven years? why should i make plans for a future which i do not know? the times are changing. i try to do the best for my children, but how can i know, if they will think that this is the best. maybe they will leave my way and will choose their own one, or they will go the same way as me. i can not know. and why should i think about it, when i have enough worries even today? don´t ask me again if you will be invited to the wedding of my daughter.
and again and again they ask the same question: where is your big backpack to bring him secretly to germany? next time you also will have to carry his wife. bring him to germany. he is still young and can learn a lot. he still has the opportunity to leave the desert, to have a good life some where else. next time you have to bring a big backpack. it is a joke, but there is always a little bit truth in it. they all are dreaming of leaving the desert, leaving india. but few of them would leave it, if they could.
a man goes to high debt because he has to burry his father. he is the oldest son, has four children, a wife. by tradition the mourning lastet 40 days in which he can not work, he has to open the house and to offer food to everybody who wants to accord the last respect to the decedent. normally he earns his money by working with tourist, making camelsafaris. it´s high season and he can not work. added the fact that few tourists come this year. the costs for the time of the mourning is more then 3 lakh of indian rupies (around 4000 €). what is normaly enough money to live from for 15 month for the whole family.
windmills are growing. big companies get the permission to build there. farmers lose their own land and soon the posibility to do agriculture there. windmills destroy the agriculture which is important for thousand to survive in the desert. windmills destroy the wideness and the silence of the desert. i dont care about it. i don´t like it, but i don´t care about. i don´t care about the rich people which are doing what ever they want. they don´t care about people like me. they don´t care about poor people. so i don´t want to care about them and about what they are doing, so i don´t care about the windmills.