Edited copy of this article was published in the OPEN Magazine, February 12-18, 2014 edition.
Read the article here.
Courtesy: Ritesh
Uttamchandani / OPEN
This
is an article written in first person as Pooja Rathod, a performing artist in
the Well of Death, would narrate it
Don’t
try to be too smart.
That’s
the only trick. Just keep your pace, concentrate on the hardwood planks and by
God’s grace, it will be smooth sailing. Once your motorbike has attained the
right momentum, you are free to lie back on the seat. Or take your hands off
the handle. Or salute the audience.
When
you are a girl, even if you complete two rounds vertically suspended, it’s good
enough. All the public does is buy a thirty rupees worth ticket to see you.
After those 10 minutes of performance, you are on your own. Just make sure you maintain the
balance. They don’t call this a Maut ka
Kuan (Well of Death) for nothing.
The
action usually starts in the evening. Around 5 pm, I retire to the tent to put
on the make-up, line my eyes with kaajal
and apply a coat of bright pink lip gloss to go with my pink-rimmed glasses. I
take my place on top of the platform outside the Well that looks like a lit up
fortress. By now, the men have started revving up the bikes, creating a
deafening racket as we have removed the silencers from the engine. It works every
time. A crowd gather around us, asking us when the show begins. There is only
one right answer: “10 minutes.”
I was 15 when I joined the mela, first as a dancer, then as a
stuntwoman performing in the Well of Death, the carnival sideshow where you
have bikers and car drivers running along the walls of a barrel-like structure
specially erected for the purpose. Some people come to work in this well for the kicks. I came just so
that I could get away from my mother and her litany of getting me married, so that all of us could
live in peace with the money I earned.
I
have been providing for my family for about 13 years now. My father passed
away when I was seven years old, leaving behind a wife and her two-year-old
son. Initially, I started as a part-time worker before and after school. I used
to wake up at 7 am, go to work in a steel factory. At times, I moonlighted as service staff in marriage ceremonies. But times were hard and I had
to drop out of school after 5th standard. That’s when I learnt
diamond polishing.
For
five years, I made a decent living earning around Rs. 12,000 per month. But
sitting bent over the machine for 12 hours with a boss who makes sure all you
get up for are bathroom breaks took toll on my back. I was toying with the idea
of quitting when a distant relative came up to me and asked me if I would like
to be in a sing and dance routine in a carnival. By then, my mother’s marriage
appeals were getting increasingly shrill. I am an impatient person by nature. I
like to keep to myself. They offered me a monthly pay of Rs. 15,000. I
grabbed it.
In
a carnival, there is no certainty about anything, not even your next meal. I
have often done days over endless cups of chai.
People have to go without a bath for 10 days straight, which is why I always
carry deodorant. I travelled all over Gujarat and sometimes, around Mumbai,
doing around 30-35 shows like I did last year. After the first one and a half
months of stage shows, Seema didi,
the manager of our troupe, took me to the Well. They were looking for a
girl to liven up the show. When the public sees a girl on stage, they walk
straight in.
It
didn’t take much to impress them. In our meeting, I spotted the bike and asked
if I could ride it. I was already familiar with it, having ridden one on
the highway back home. Earlier, I used to be scared at the very sight of a Well
of Death. Now I was riding in round and round inside one, and was perfectly
comfortable. Those who saw me said, ‘This girl needs to be here. She will pick
up quickly.’
But
there was still plenty of time to go before I met my match in a second-hand
Yamaha. When I joined these artists, they had only trained me to perform as a
co-passenger of a car. Whenever I brought up my desire of being a biker
stuntwoman, they washed their hands off me: ‘What if you fall and die?’ The men
around here have to prove their dedication to learn these skills. Ask Armaan [a
stuntman of her current group] and he will tell you they work as electricians
and sound system handlers to peons and labourers, everything it takes to set up
and get the Well running. Being a girl, I could bypass this ritual. But that
does not mean I could not do any of these things.
In all
the jobs I have worked for, I have seen myself picking up the skills quickly. I
studied only till 5th standard but I taught myself English from the
odd bits I heard from those around me. Today, I can even send an SMS in
English. Just the same way I can ride a bike at a height of two stories without
having ever had a guru. I had cried
and fought but the bikers had refused. If not for Zakirbhai, the owner of the
well who ordered the bikers to allow me to use their motorcycles, I wouldn’t
have been where I am. It took me about six months to learn to climb only the selembo, the steep incline before the
walls get vertical. Once I did, for the first eighteen months, I performed all
the stunts easily. Three years ago, in my first trip
here at the Mahim Dargah Fair, the back tyre of my motorbike got punctured and
I crashed straight down.
Often,
people ask me if what we do is an illusion. I tell them it’s not, but then we
do carry out incredible feats. That December day, there were only 3-4 people
watching the show and I was the only one performing. After the accident, within
seconds, my right side bit the beach sand. The bike landed on top of me. The
audience started cheering. It was the first thing they had seen that they could
believe. But the show wasn’t over yet. So I tried getting up to salute the audience
when a searing pain shot through my right leg. The jeans had tore open where I
had fallen and a large part of my torso was bruised. Nothing strikes home as
the sight of blood and the people, on seeing my condition, started making noise
to get help.
It
was a drop of 20 feet. But I was fine! The riders would hear none of it. They
made asked me not to get up, told me to lie down, called for a doctor. That’s
when I got scared. What if it was as serious as they made it to be? The one
thing I was terrified about was that I might just be rendered incapable of
performing again. The next day, I took the bike, did another two rounds of the
Well and made sure the fall hadn’t made me forget what I had so painstakingly
learnt all those months. Thankfully, it was a minor fracture. I went back home
after everyone insisted I should. After three and a half months, I was back to
performing. My fall has since then become my claim to fame. Yesterday, a
policeman at the chowki adjoining the fair asked
me, “You’re back? Aren’t you the one who fell down here?”
Over
the years, I have only seen two more female biker stuntmen in all of Gujarat.
Girls are not too keen on joining the Well. I would love to train a girl if she
comes up to me but only after I get out of the business. What if the demand for
me comes down if one more performer joins? I might quit this after one or two
years but till then, this is the only way I can provide for my family.
I
am twenty years old. Marriage is nowhere on cards. For now, I want to learn to
ride a car, first on the highway, then in the Well. I will look for a man only
after I see my mother and brother well settled. I have no checklist for an
ideal partner, except that he shouldn’t be from this profession. If he is,
neither of us is going to continue doing this to earn a living. My brother once
asked me if he could join the troupe but I flatly refused. Only I know the
uncertainty in the business. Here, if you survive, you’re lucky. If you die,
it’s inevitable.
