Dhingakhedi
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2018: village of centenarians
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From: Amarjeet Singh1, Doodh-roti & laughter in village of centenarians, October 1, 2018: The Times of India
From: Amarjeet Singh1, Doodh-roti & laughter in village of centenarians, October 1, 2018: The Times of India
Shankar Singh looks at you with amused eyes. “Ek sau do (102),” he replies — and the twinkle in his eyes says he got the reaction he wanted. Then, as you try some mental calculations, he helps out with the maths: “I was 31 at Independence and voted in the very first election. I’m sure the next one won’t be the last.”
As you gape at him, he continues, “I have friends from back then. Have you met them?” Then he gets up from the charpoy rather breezily for a man of 102 summers.
Shankar isn’t the only centenarian in Dhingakhedi, and certainly not the oldest. This small forest hamlet in MP’s Sehore district has at least seven centenarian voters, and five others who say they have crossed 100 but can’t be bothered to prove it.
They aren’t bothered about much, anyway. And that’s perhaps one of the secrets of their longevity.
So, how did living beyond 100 years become something of a tradition in this village of less than 500? Quite out of curiosity, what do they eat? “Plain dal-roti, or doodh-roti. That’s all they ever have. They have simple wants, really,” says Jitendra, grandson of 102-year-old Kanchan Bai.
Ask Hamir Singh — 107 and going strong — the secret of his longevity and he simply shrugs. “If you want to talk, come with me,” he says.
TOI followed Hamir through the day — as he toured his fields (on sturdy legs and a stout stick), sipped chai, had his daily gupshup with friends… and went back to his wife, Paari Bai — a sprightly 102. Husband and wife then sat on their porch and discussed how their day went.
“When I get tired of sitting, I go around the village, talk with my friends and come back,” says Paari. And how is it like to be married for nearly a hundred years? “Don’t count,” laughs Hamir. Haven’t they ever quarreled?
“No,” they say, together. “When one of us says something hurtful, the other just walks away. We don’t react. After a while, it’s forgotten.”
Put me on a bike, I will go to vote, says a 102-year-old
The centenarians of Dhingakhedi are not only a happy lot, but generous hosts as well. After asking this correspondent to have a cup of tea, Hamir Singh flashes his stainless steel tobacco box and offers, “Tambaku toh kha lew (take a pinch of tobacco, at least).”
The village is surrounded by lush-green mountains and forests. There are limited means of communication and entertainment. And everyone in the village knows one another. Mobile phones? “Yes, a few have it, but why would we need it,” asks Hamir.
Dhingakhedi is in the heart of a centenarian zone of roughly 100 sq km between Tarana in Ujjain and Icchawar in Sehore. This region is home to the largest number of centenarians in Madhya Pradesh.
As per EC records, MP has 4,117 centenarian voters. This belt is only 0.03% of MP’s land mass (308,252 sq km) but is home to over 12% of the centenarians. Tarana has the highest
(117), followed by Astha (112), Icchawar (101), Sonkatch and Sehore (68 each) and Ghatiya (64). Dhingakhedi’s Ram Singh, a youngster at 75, says his father lived for more than 130 years and died only a few years ago.
And voting is a religious duty for them. Sampat Bai, 102, of Dhingakhedi, says: “In the early days, we walked 17-18km to Bawadia to cast our vote.” Her son Sarang Ram says, “Now she is not able to walk, so we are not sure if she can vote this time.” Sampat cuts in and insists: “I can go on motorcycle. Just put me on the seat.”
Bondi Bai, 104, of Govindpura village in Astha tehsil, says, “I’d like to vote, but now I cannot see properly.” Her wrinkles crease into a smile as her grandchildren and great grandchildren burst into the room. Even the blurred sight of them is enough to make her smile, and smile. Through the entire conversation, she kisses the hands of her grandson Balwan Singh, 25.
