Changing Face Of Rural India

I am from Rajasthan, from a place called Nagaur near Ajmer. A decade ago, when I was 14, my family and I visited Jaisalmer, during Diwali. After spending a few days, we decided to visit the Tanot Mata Temple, near the India – Pakistan border. As our car sped through the desert, sand stretched endlessly on both sides and only sparse vegetation was in sight. We came across a small settlement a little off the road, and our curiosity got the better of us. We decided to take a detour to see what life in the middle of the desert looked like.

We drove closer and arrived at a traditional kutcha mud house with thatched roof. As we approached, a woman emerged from the doorway and greeted us warmly. It felt like she was accustomed to tourists like us. She invited us in without any hesitation and offered us some chai. She then told us to feel free to look around her home. I stepped inside the modest-looking house. I was struck by the sight of a TV and posters of Bollywood movies decorating the walls of the single-room space. Everything about the house seemed picture-perfect, just like how I had always imagined a rural village home to be—except for the unimagined sprinkle of Bollywood masala.

A Different Experience

Cut to present, for a couple of weeks in August, I was in Udaipur, attending the induction training sessions with the India Fellow program. One of our modules involves village immersion, where we visit nearby villages to understand life in rural India. Our group of five fellows was assigned to visit Paladi Katara, a village about 4 kilometres from our training venue. We were instructed to spend time in the village, meet as many people as we could without intruding in their space or disturbing them. By the end of the day, we had to create a map of the village. This map was to include all the landmarks we found important, as well as those highlighted by the people we met.

Since there was no direct bus, we decided to walk to Katara. The route took us through Tiger Hills, a rapidly developing area on the outskirts of Udaipur. It is dotted with large, luxurious bungalows owned by the who’s who of the city. As we walked through the hilly, scenic beauty of Aravali hills, adorned by the lush greenery brought by the monsoon, I was eager to spend time in the village. I was looking forward to seeing more thatch-roofed mud houses, much like the one I had visited years ago in Jaisalmer, wondering what surprises might await me this time.

Stepping Into Katara

When we finally reached, what I saw was perhaps the least climactic scene of all—a stark contrast to the dramatic expectations of rural India in my head. As we entered Katara, we met a lady who kindly directed us to the nearest place of common interest—the Tarkeshwar Mahadev Mandir. Inside the temple, we saw that several women from the village had gathered there. They were waiting for a bus to take them to a larger temple somewhere in the city.

Unlike the humble Rajasthani poshakh I had seen the woman wearing in Jaisalmer years ago, this group of women were dressed in sarees.

Curious, I approached one of them, introduced myself, and explained the reason for our group’s visit. She heard attentively, then suggested I speak to Vidushi, who was sitting in the temple’s Garbhagriha and could help us with the map. Before we parted, she warmly invited us to join her for a cup of chai in the evening.

Vidushi

We sat in the temple Mandapa, patiently waiting for Vidushi to finish her prayers. When she was done, we requested her to sit with us, and she politely obliged. Vidushi must be in her twenties. She had big eyes and thick black braided hair and similarly thick eyebrows. She spoke confidently in a blend of Hindi and English, with a faint Mewari accent. In a lot of ways she exemplified the changing faces of rural India.

Vidushi had completed her post-graduation, which immediately set the tone for the conversation. It felt like talking with a peer, like I had found a familiar person in what I assumed was an unfamiliar place. Unlike the textbook image of rural financial struggles and distress I might have anticipated, she explained that most of the people in the village were financially prosperous. Many of them held teaching jobs in government schools, while some were lecturers, and a significant number were involved in the marble business. Almost all the young people pursue higher studies and eventually move out of the village. 

She also mentioned, quite casually, that there were occasional panther attacks on their cattle at night. The village also lacks medical facilities, so people have to go to the nearest town for treatment. However, road connectivity is good and almost everyone in the village owns a car. So it’s more a routine challenge they tackle than an unusual problem.

Prosperity And Change In Katara

Vidushi then drew a map for us, marking the key landmarks in the village. As she explained the layout, it became clear that the architecture itself told a story. As people became more prosperous and aspirations rose, they started abandoning modest homes in the older part of the village for larger bungalows on the outskirts. Vidushi now lives in one of these new houses with her parents. But she often visits her grandmother’s home in the older part of the village. On the map she drew, Vidushi marked her grandmother’s house as a key landmark. Interestingly, her own new home didn’t make the cut. Most of the landmarks she described were in relation to her grandmother’s house, further emphasizing its role as an anchor in her memory of the village and its and identity.

We spent the rest of the day in the village talking to more people. Every story we heard was distinct and exciting. Each conversation confirmed what Vidushi had told us about financial prosperity. The houses were nearly bungalows—though not as posh as the ones in Tiger Hills.

We returned to our training venue in the evening and charted out the map on paper. But as I closed my eyes to sleep, all I could think about was the stark contrast between the brown hues of the mud house I had seen in Jaisalmer and the professionally painted, colourful murals of the Rana (a term used to address king in the Mewar region of Rajasthan) with his procession on the houses in Katara.

The Shattering Of A Single Story

Finally, my single story of how a house in rural Rajasthan looks had been upended. The thatched roofs, which I had imagined would still be atop every rural home, were actually just for the cattle in Katara. This was an amusing twist to my long-held perceptions. This experience made me realise that rural India, like the houses in Katara, is evolving over time. While some traditions, like murals on the walls, remain, deeper changes are happening beneath the surface. I realised that it’s time we let go of our preconceived notions and look beyond the single story. Because no single story can ever tell the complete tale.