Neemuch: Of CRPF, Opium and Solar Power

After an adventurous drive from Bandra Kurla Complex to Bandra Terminus in the auto rickshaw of a rogue, I reached the station, exactly 3 minutes before the schedule departure. Running across the platform, I rushed into the train, only to discover that the train was headed to Udaipur while I was booked into an Ajmer-bound train. That sounds like a Bollywood comedy film. ‘Don’t worry; these are two in one trains. One half for Udaipur and the other half for Ajmer passengers’, the ticket collector assured. Sigh.

Neemuch is the westernmost district of Madhya Pradesh, bordering Rajasthan. The district is bereft of water bodies and therefore plant and animal life, except a few species of rattle snakes and wild lizards who can survive for days without water. There are almost no tourist spots in this district. The only attraction in the district is a two-year old 151 MW solar power plant built by Welspun Renewables, located 50 km west of Neemuch city.

4:55 am at Neemuch railway station

The size and low population density of this railway station has a European charm, except the old pre-independence railway buildings and the lady announcer who has been making countrywide railway announcement since the beginning of the existence, makes you feel you’re home.  Why is Neemuch in Madhya Pradesh and not in Rajasthan, I wondered, just as residents of many districts on Indian state borders wonder. ‘Rajasthani is our mother tongue, but we can speak Hindi too that’s why we are in MP and not in Rajasthan. Rajasthanis don’t speak Hindi but we do,’ informed Jagdish, the car driver who drove me through the desolate lanes of Neemuch city towards Bhagwanpura. ‘This is a city of the CRPF. All that you have in Neemuch is CRPF. There are very few non-CRPF people.’ Neemuch is the birthplace of the Central Reserve Police Force. As you drive through the city, you find a large number of CRPF cantonments, trucks, vehicles and uniformed men. But why are they in Neemuch and what purpose do they serve? Well, they have historically been there, but the purpose is really unknown. Neemuch city and district have a strikingly large number of Neem trees, another reason of the mythical nomenclature. Almost every nook of the city as two tea stalls. ‘Sir, chai pee lo,’ said Jagdish. “Main naheen peeta,’ I answered and he glared as if wondering whether I am an extra-terrestrial.

There is almost nothing strikingly attractive to the eyes in Neemuch, just as in the case of many small and big Indian cities including my hometown Mumbai. As it borders Rajasthan, one of the least densely populated states in India (if you do not compare it with Australia), you would see barren land and dry cactus plans for miles at end. No sign of water, agriculture land and animal life. “This is a land full of dry, brown stones. If you dig a half a foot in the ground, you will find only stones, no soil. If you have to build the foundation of a building here then the only option is dynamite to blow the rocks off,” said Manish Pandey, a jovial migrant to Neemuch who now works on a solar power company’s CSR projects. The people of Neemuch are very simple and straight, or at least they appear to be so. They speak Hindi and you almost never find Urdu words when they speak. While the accent of most people sounds Rajasthani, you will not miss the peculiar Bhopali tone if you meet enough people in this small town.

But though a small town, Neemuch is well-known to those who are interested in things other than the basic stuff in life. Neemuch is one of the largest producers of Opium in India which are grown widely by a handful of Neemuch farmers. One has to procure a license to grow Opium. ‘You cannot sell or buy Opium in the open market; if you are caught doing it then be ready to pay a heavy fine! But one could even find god if he is willing, what’s the big deal with Opium?’ a young Neemuch railway official confidently told me. Opium fields are rare to find or identify. Opium is supposedly have many medicinal properties. “If you are troubled with Diarrhea, just pop a grain-sized pill of Opium and you will be alright within seconds. It constricts and intestinal muscles instantaneously and almost violently, and makes everything into the alimentary canal tough, though temporarily,’ informed the young officer who claimed that he has a license to grow Opium. ‘I pop Opium periodically. It is very good for health if consumed is small quantities. It is good for digestion and opens up your taste buds. If you have dinner after having little Opium, then you would love your food more than ever before,’ he said with a chuckle.

As we crossed the city border, a large hoarding reads – ‘Thank you for visiting the eye-donors’ city. Visit Again, Thank you.’ Neemuch has large posthumously eye-donation centres. “People from very far off places in Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh come to Neemuch for donating their eyes,’ says Jagdish proudly.  

Almost an hour’s drive and we are in Bhagwanpura village where close to 5 lakh giant, blue solar panels are shining under the Sun, lighting the villages of Madhya Pradesh. It is one of the biggest solar power plants in India and in the world which is operating at a high capacity and performance for the last two years. If you stand at one end of the plant, you do not see the other end. The power plant is silently generating thousands of units of energy, without releasing carbon or consuming water or other natural resources. “The Sun god is incessantly shining and we are converting him into electricity, silently. It is magical,” says a passionate engineer who is both amused and afraid at the pin-drop silence across the 600-acre of massive, dry land surrounded by more barren land. Solar is perhaps the simplest technology of converting the naturally available sunlight into energy. The model is extremely simple – solar modules – DC current – inverter – AC current – transformer – feeder – state grid. But the cost of production is quite high, precisely the reason for why fewer governments and power producers are opting solar energy. Solar PV panels are almost always north-south aligned so they do not ever miss the sunshine. In the last decade, from being a BIMARU state, MP has metamorphosed into a power surplus state, a significant accomplishment for a state as large as this. People of Neemuch, despite mild resistance initially, now are reverential to the power plant. “Since this plant has been commissioned, our houses are lit continuously,’ said a labourer from the local nomadic tribe – the Banjaras. Amused and bewildered at the sight of the half-a-million solar modules, I could not grasp them enough. Two hours at the plant and then Manish drove me on his motorbike to the nearby villages. Though I was keen to have lunch with the ex-Sarpanch (village head), supposedly an elegant and dynamic man, he was too busy to host me. The villages and its people display extraordinary signs of inner silence. The villagers, especially the women, almost never speak unless probed relentlessly. We visited a community stitching centre for women, a self help group and then off to a family function in a nearby temple.

This was probably the only spot of hustle-bustle in the village. Manish took me, almost casually, to the thread ceremony of a local infant. At the feast, Paani (minus the Puri) arrived first, followed by sweet, pink rice loaded with dry fruits and dipped in vegetable oil, Moong Dal and life-size Pooris. A few villagers had gathered at this small but beautiful temple of Hanuman or the monkey god. Drums and trumpets started and the ceremony came to a close, the infant still weeping profusely and holding Rs 100 and Rs 50 notes tightly in his right palm, his head shaved partially and smeared with a dense paste of raw turmeric.

Then the inevitable search for the local delicacy Doodh Pak (sweet condensed milk) began and we soon discovered that the most popular sweets shop in the village was shut. We had to compromise with a glass of chilled mango milk shake and a chat with a local Banjara (of the local nomadic tribe) who was in a perpetual search of employment, but appeared utterly joyful. After a long drive through the back lane of the gigantic solar panels, we reentered the inhabitation of Bhagwanpura to click a few pictures of the stitching centre and its women at work. ‘When I say Ha-Ha, you say Hee-Hee,’ I instructed. ‘Ha Ha’, I screamed; ‘Hee-He’ and they burst into laughter until I disappeared.

Caste and gender hierarchies are extremely sharp in Neemuch, as in most of Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. The villages are largely dominated by the Gurjars. Bheels (nomadic tribes) and Banjaras (tribals) are small minorities. The district also houses small numbers of Muslims, Christians and Jains. ‘The girl is married at the age of 5 or sometimes just after she is born. This is the result of Gurjar Buddhi (the Gurjar mindset), says Sharada, the assistant trainer at the stitching centre. They however move in with their partners only at the onset of puberty. “But I will marry my daughters only after 18. I want them to study and become independent,” she said. Inter-caste marriages are rare and are socially unacceptable. “Unless you really convince your parents, relatives and society about your love affair, it is very hard to stay with your family. You will be an outcaste,” said the railway official who is strongly opposed to love before marriage and believes it is a humiliation of the parents and social values.

The only excitement then left was to explore the city a little before boarding the Mumbai-bound train. The city inherits its salty snack culture from neighboring Rajasthan and sells some good fries, snacks and salty nuts. If the time is right you may even find fresh Kachoris and milk cakes. I was unlucky to have arrived at around 10:30 in the night.

Jagdish was sure that I had the most recent Bollywood songs in my smartphone and laptop but he was disappointed. “I don’t have any sing in my phone or computer,’ I told him. ‘Oh, Sir that’s alright. You must be listening to English songs only,’ he replied. We reached the station and learnt that Jagdish had lost a plastic water container and I had to testify to his boss that he did not steal but had actually misplaced it. All this out-of-court settlement at midnight! Jagdish, the last man I met before departing Neemuch, was upset and worried about the container, but he did flash a smile to say good bye with folded hands. I wish he was happier as almost everybody I met was in these two days, away from the modernity of city-life, very content, straight, peaceful and satisfied. It left me wondering who, really, is bearing the true plight of life – the modern city dwellers or this sea of humanity.