Some time back I did a story on Banjaras. It was my maiden attempt at reporting and I was very excited about being a proper-proper correspondent. So I didn’t know a thing about camera angles or P2Cs, but who cares? So there we were, Cameraman Tarak,Assistant Raja and wannabe reporter Me.

Around seven in the evening we swooped down on a group of banjaras who had set up camp at KR Puram. They were thrilled with all the attention they were drawing and our crew had to enter every other tent, sit on upturned jerry cans or crates and listen to their stories. All of us had a great time, singing and laughing. But the minute the camera was switched on, to a person they turned hostile. They had had enough of seemingly friendly reporters making trouble for them.

Around 8:30 the lady of the house started preparing dinner and soon the whole area was filled with the fragrance of a simple meal cooked in mustard oil. In no time at all she had chapattis ready and was pushing a loaded plate into my hands. I had a strong feeling that had I accepted it as I so badly wanted to, somebody in that tent would have had to go to bed hungry. So we said a hurried goodbye and left, leaving behind an affronted Gangadevi.

The report came out beautifully. It was about the millions of pavement dwellers who wring out a life of dignity from adverse circumstances…about homes that do not offer the kind of sanctuary that we take for granted. But it did not do justice to the generosity and sincere hospitality of this much maligned tribe.