La Factorización Como Objeto Matemático

Just as I was trying to discover who are the Bhil adivasi people, the oustees, particularly those in Kandewal, were trying to establish who my interpreter and I were and what we were doing in their vasahat. I am sure the reason most people initially engaged with my interpreter and I was that they felt they had to do so. A

government official first took me to Kandewal to meet Raahibhai, the (unofficial)

vasahat leader. He probably felt obliged to receive and talk to us. In due course I came to learn that a number o f other people with influence had also asked the oustees to cooperate, explaining that 1 would do them no harm.

It was more difficult gaining the trust o f oustees in Kandewal than in Vadaj. Oustees in Vadaj were familiar with the concept o f an independent researcher doing empirical work for educational purposes. They frequently spoke o f Roxaben (Roxanne Hakim), a PhD student from the University o f Cambridge who lived for two years in their original village in Makadkhada. They knew she was there to learn about adivasi

culture. In the limited time available I could not establish the same kind o f rapport with oustees as Roxanne, but clearly had one thing in common with her: being there for research purposes. In Kandewal I did not have this advantage. People were unsure what research involved or what it was for and so I was not able simply to dive in with pens and tape recorders for surveys and interviews.

At the start the only way people in Kandewal could ‘place’ me was by association. I was introduced by the extension officer, a government employee who is the interface between them and the SSPA. Naturally people assumed I was on the government payroll. It perhaps did not help that I appeared to have easy access to the SSPA and offered to take up issues such as their broken hand-pump, which were more likely to attract a speedy response if I made the complaint on their behalf. On another occasion in an attempt to be helpful I asked the SSPA to send a medical vehicle to take an injured oustee to hospital in Vadodara. I am unsure about my motivation for these actions. Perhaps I was trying to use my influence to minimise my own guilt as a western researcher seeking to extract information from people without being able to bring them any direct gain; on the other hand it would have seemed callous not to help if I could. Whatever my motivation, my actions probably perpetuated the impression that I was working for the government. As time passed and oustees gained a more realistic understanding o f what I was doing, however, a few lost interest but many seemed as keen as ever to continue helping me. I came to realise that there was a whole range o f reasons for people wishing to talk to us (as suggested by Baviskar 1995, Varley 1996). The village leader perhaps saw it as preparation for becoming an elected representative o f both the vasahat and Kandewal village, an ambition he revealed during a discussion on local government in rural India. The ability to engage with ‘outsiders’ is regarded by oustees as a measure o f personal development (Chapter 8). It seemed that Sumantbhai, an oustee originally from Charbara, was always eager to speak to us for such reasons. He saw him self as a spokesperson for his people. One woman liked the fact that we were interested in hearing what women had to say, unlike government officials who only speak to men. Others enjoyed

teaching us about their customs and found it entertaining, for example, to see me trying to learn their dance steps and executing them appallingly badly.

In a culture where social interactions are so highly regulated by the caste hierarchy (even with and amongst adivasis for whom in theory the caste system is not applicable) small gestures could mean a lot. Eating the food people had prepared or sitting on the floor before they had a chance to bring out chairs or beds, as they invariably did when visitors came to see them, eventually dispelled any notion that we were government employees.^ For a number o f oustees, however, the belief that our work could benefit them in some way still remained the prime reason for speaking to us (see section 4.3.5).

Over time we seemed to gain oustees’ confidence. Gaining confidence was about loosing the fear o f being judged as much as anything, and this was a two-way process. Oustees did not want to be judged for their enjoyment o f alcohol or other activities they thought I might perceive as unsophisticated. I also feared their judgement. During the first week I was consumed by dilemmas over how to present myself: to emphasise my Indian origins rather than my western upbringing? Divert attention from my wealth, for example, by leaving the hired jeep on the main road outside the village and walking in? At the end o f the day the power relations could not be avoided. I was a western researcher conducting fieldwork with one o f the most marginalised communities in Indian society. My interpreter and I were university educated, middle-class, city dwellers. If oustees had any doubt about my socio­ economic status, my response to their questions about the cost o f my airfare inevitably confirmed that in their eyes I was rich.

4.3 .4 L a n g u a g e and th e use o f in terp reters

There were two options for deciding the medium through which the empirical work should be carried out. It had to be conducted either in the Bhil mother tongue, a tribal dialect called Bhili, or in Gujarati, the state language. Some oustees were well versed in Gujarati before resettlement and others had picked it up since. M y own (lack of) language skills influenced the choice. Language courses enabled me to understand basic Gujarati, although not speak it sufficiently well, so I needed an interpreter. Ideally my fieldwork would have been conducted in Bhili. Very few people, however, can understand the Bhil dialect as well as speaking fluently in English and/or Gujarati. Those who could do so, and particularly people fluent in English and Bhili, would probably have too little time to be able to work with me or would already have been involved in the Narmada issue in some capacity, compromising their neutrality. The research would therefore have to be in Gujarati and it would be better to employ an assistant with a good command o f English, given that I was not confident in communicating entirely in Gujarati.

I arrived in India in September 1999 and took just over five weeks to find the right interpreter. Adverts in the Times o f India and noticeboards at MS University o f Baroda did not attract a suitable candidate. Subsequently, I came to know o f a recent graduate called Deepa who was prepared to live with me in the village. She was reliable and committed to the work and we quickly developed an excellent working relationship. Deepa appeared to have an instinctive awareness o f when I would require a translation o f the things people said and when translation was unnecessary. This meant conversations with oustees flowed remarkably well. She was also a great companion. So, although ideally there would be no need for an interpreter when conducting empirical research, I was in some way glad that m y limited language skills meant I needed an assistant. Using an interpreter, however, does bring some difficulties to the process. I learnt, for example, that Deepa had refrained from translating any swear words as she was uncomfortable repeating them and so (perhaps knowing that I would be interested in knowing more about the context in which they were used) did not tell me that people had been swearing.

Asking oustees to speak in their second language obviously has serious drawbacks, mainly because some may feel less able to express themselves as they would in their mother tongue. Language was certainly an obstacle in Kandewal, particularly for women from Dhumna and Charbara. Before my fieldwork m any people said that Bhil

adivasis, especially the women, are the least expressive o f all communities in the Narmada hills. In practice this may simply apply to their expressiveness with outsiders. The women were either too busy or seemed too shy to speak to us. We learnt, however, that women who avoided speaking to us were embarrassed to speak Gujarati in front o f their male relatives in case their husbands or brother-in laws ridiculed them for getting the words wrong. To overcome this we had to speak to women when they were on their own, which was not easy.