How long will Yamuna weep?

Children wetting their hand in the black, mucky sewer water as if trying to find some hidden treasures; an old muslim man crying in grief; a paagal baba proclaiming that he would cut his dreadlocks if somebody could prove the garden maintained by the Delhi government was better than the one nurtured by him; These are some of the images that come to mind when I recall Yamuna Gently Weeps, which I had the opportunity to see a couple of weeks ago.

The one-hour film, I must say, was quiet thought provoking. Though the last 15 minutes were prolonged and could have been edited, the documentry certainly made its point very clear. The film talks about the eviction of slumdwellers in Delhi’s Yamuna Pushta. But I think the issue is prevalent in every city and therefore urban folks can relate to it (atleast I hope they do). It stresses on how slum rehabilitation is a mere eye-wash and a mass-scale legalized human rights violation takes place during slum clearance. Children loose the security of their make-shift homes, the toiling, grassroot level people have to again build their lives. I am sure it will be quiet frustrating. And what’s more saddening is the fact that the selfish middle-class seems to be oblivious to all this. This does not mean that the better-offs should feel guilty because they are born in financially stable families. But a little empathy and help to the deprived has never harmed anyone.

Yes, slums should be erased; they are ugly spots, acnes on the high-rising, developing cities. But if that’s so, why are they allowed to grow in the first place? Why don’t we ban the poor and the have-nots from entering the cities? This is because the rich and those who can afford the luxuries of life require the poor to do the menial, dirty work. We need the kachrawallas, bais, ayahs, richshaw wallahs and so on.

The politicians won’t do anything about this because ultimately, they get elected thanks to these ignorant, poor people. Soon after the election, though, the same politicians pick them up like flies fallen in a teacup and thrown them in barren outskirts of the cities, where there’s no electricity, transport or any means of earning a livelihood. Even basic necessary like water and toilets are hard to find.

The documentary struck a chord in me. The situation has close resemblence to what happened in Mumbai a couple of years back. However, it was only a headline. I didn’t realise how serious the issue was.
After watching the documentary I cam to two conclusions: one, the government should not destroy the present slum because they don’t have any proper plan to rehabilitate them. If they want to stop the slums from growing, they should throttle new slums in their infancy and give those slum dwellers another area to stay in. Second and I don’t know how viable this option will be, but show such kind of documentaries in schools and colleges. Showing it to middle-aged and old people is not going to help. However, screening it to youngsters will at least sow the seeds of a possible change.

Lage Raho...a bit disappointing

Recently, I saw Lage Raho Munnabhai after my friends, relatives, colleagues and even acquaitences, raved about it. Well, it’s had tremendous impact on people of Mumbai; in fact, there has been a sudden spurt of Gandhigiri.

I am not against Gandhian principle but frankly, I didn’t like it all that much. I was disappointed because I expected it to be light and if not supercede atleast be at par with the first one. The first movie better as it was on a much more lighter note and kept the emotional scenes to the minimal. It was indeed hilarious!

Though Lage Raho…was not bad, it failed to be a light, entertaining movie. The concept was good but I wonder, whether in today’s time, people are so tolerant as to listen to others problems; if they are generous and unselfish. In Mumbai, where builder are know to be cut-throat sharks, I wonder, whether any one of them would be so generous to give up a prime property because his conscience pricks. A highly improbable scenario.

I found the film hypothetical (of course it is!) and highly aspring for a utopian world. I mean, newspapers and tv channels flooding us with news about people taking a cue from the film and observing Gandhigiri, I don’t it will last. People will get emotional after seeing the film, maybe think about it for a day or two, and then its life back to the normal world surrounded by lies.

However, the film definitely did help youngsters brush up their history listens and made Gandhian principles less boring. I am sure, those who struggled to clear history in their school days, must have thought post Lage Raho, “Damn! If only this movie had been made when I was in Class 6”.

The bottomline is that a film can only revive a certain principle or hype it but the film cannot force it on its audience. If some basic principles are inculcated in kids and adults – offer your seat in a bus or train when you see an old man or a woman; don’t spit; don’t use gutters and road sides as your private toilet; don’t think the world is a big garbage bin; and have a little compassion for people who are not as fortunate as you – then I don’t think anyone will need a dose or rather an overdose of Gandhigiri.

Rainy days are here again

With the monsoon, has arrived the season of mosquiotes and houseflies. The dry leaves which looked so dull a few weeks back, now shine with a zest. It looks forward to more such sessions of annual bathing.

Ofcourse, with the scenic beauty, one also has to tolerate the irritating flies that make themselves comfortable with almost any object they find in their way. The repeated attempts to destroy them would only lead to the destroyer going nuts and maybe ending up with a high BP. Not to forget, the muddy puddle filled potholes that decorate the roads, which the municiple department swears to having been repaired and in top condition for the rains. Suddenly, from nowhere hundreds of tiny streams emerge on the path swiftly making its way past the stinking garbage, the urinated corners, touching my foot and then carrying on its journey to finally merge into the dirty, greyish black nullah.

When I walk on the footpath lined with trees, the leaves shed the raindrops and hit my head like bullets. I can hear the sound ‘tick’, ‘tick’ on my skull and grudgingly looking at the tree. To top it all, the wind that accompanies the rains, makes it impossible to hold the umbrella and avoid being wet.

Even if I don’t hate the rains, I don’t have a particular liking for it. I enjoy watching it under the shelter of my home with a piping, hot cup of tea in an earthern cup to sip at, a nice song (perferably Carpenters) playing at the background and an interesting mystrey novel to read. Now, wouldn’t that be lovely.

I imagine this and sigh at my desk every time I see the rain sway this way and that through the huge french window at my office. If only I had time…

What a paradox…just a month back I was complaining of too much time and now I wearily admit to lack of it. The rains don’t help much either. The cold gust and raindrops brush past my face and I yearns for freedom…to get wet, to stand at the tip of rocks jutting out to the sea, to watch the turbulent grey waters trying to reach the dark sky unleashing lightning at the edge of a hill…

I know I am dreamer, but what’s the harm of dreaming these things even if they remain a fiction…or will they?

Revived hope

I am FINALLY employed. After worrying non-stop for a month, I have got a job. Funny, how your emotions play trick on you. A friend asked me whether I was happy and I told her I did not feel anything. Now, isn’t that weird. I am supposed to feel ecstatic, out of d world. But, I do not feel any such thing. I wonder why?

I told my friend, all I wanted right now, was to gain some experience and move on…move on to do the job, I think I am best cut out for – reporting. I think this is reason for why I feel neutral about this whole affair.

I am not cribbing. Just apprehensive of whether I would get an opportunity to pursue my passion for reporting. I do not know that but what I know is that I have got a start and I have to manipulate the situation to my advantage. Atleat, I have taken the first step in reaching my goal.

I have to improve myself… take one-step at a time to alleviate myself from being moderate to one of the best. I must endeavour to become somebody and not anybody and hope that better things are in store for me…

Though, I must say I am relieved and happy to get a job, to get a chance to prove myself.

Jinxed

Its brutal. Hunting for work, when all your friends are getting themselves comfortable in their respective work places.

It is futile to cry and despair over my luck but when you have enough time at your disposal, where finish counting every leaf in the mango tree, you cannot help but brood over your fate.

Family, relatives, friends keep telling me to hang on, not to loose hope, that perhaps a better job is in store for me. But I think its an optimistic approach. What if there is no job in store for me? Of course that’s silly of me think in those lines and is practically impossible. But, what if I have to leave the profession I dearly love and for which I had to fight with my family because I could not find the any vacancy? Now, that can happen.

You always think of being successful in the path you have chosen as your career. And when you see that the industry is not even giving you a chance to showcase your talent, to let you inside, it breaks your heart.

The next symptom that quickly follows is self-doubt. You start doubting your own abilities. You start wondering whether you are really cut out for this profession…maybe you made a mistake by taking it. Maybe you did not have an aptitude for it. Your head begins to whirl with these thought till you think your head would burst out any moment, as it cannot take the load anymore.

Somebody once told me – A man without hope is as good as dead. I do not want to lose my enthusiasm for life but I do not find any reason to go on with it either. I am losing hope.

Maybe I am exaggerating the situation. Maybe I am not. Maybe…

An idea of FUN

They looked at me in suspicion. Sniffed me to check who I was and where I came from. Aterall, it was the likes of me –Humans, who were responsible for their present state of condition. And who could blame them, when Humans don’t treat their own kind well, will animals be spared.

My friend and I had gone to meet the head of PfA (People for Animals) yesterday. After a tiring journey to Red Hills, which is at the outskirts of Chennai. We reached there at 5.30 pm. Reaching there, we were told that the owner would shortly be with us. We didn’t mind as this gave us time to look around the big shelter cum veterinary hospital. The shelter had huge walls and gates but in between the grills one could see the inmates widely roaming about. As we were let in by the workers in the shelter, we found ourselves instantly surrounded by who else but dogs. They were in various breeds, sizes and ages. All having one thing in common – they were orphans. Once pampered and domesticated, these dogs are abondoned by their owners.

Now finding some solance in PfA, they do not have to worry about getting nabbed by the Municipal van or to find meal. I was afraid with them roaming around me, ashamed at facing them. As dusk drawn at the shelter, the dogs began howling. Perhaps telling each other that another day had ended.

As soon as the owner came in, the dogs rushed towards her, hungry for her attention and affection. I could see that by rescusing these dogs she had won their loyality and faithfulness. Though, there was one particular dog which was oblivious to all this commotion. The black mongrel was curled inside in one corner. It had shed it’s fur (i assume out of depression). As a result, it’s spinal and rib bones were distinctly visible. I instantly felt sad for the dog. What was the future of this dog, how long would it survive...

Suddenly, I notice a white mongrel looking at him and barking. It looked sideway to it’s other colleagues and barked at them too. A thought was it telling it’s friends, “Look everybody, a human has come to visit our abode. She is one of them, those cruel humans who have treated us horribly and betrayed our love and affection. And now, she has come to steal our master (the owner of PfA) from us. Lets attack her, lets not leave her. Let’s show her how it feels to be beaten, to be inflicted with physical injury.”

Though, the dog was not sucessful in its plan of attacking me (and thank god! for that), it made me think how could humans be so barbaric. I think this behaviour came to them naturally. Children were no better. For their sadistic pleasure, they hurled stones at the dogs, pulled their whiskers, poked them with a stick and what not. In respone what the parents did, instead of stopping and scolding their child, they acted as silent spectators to the whole tamashaa.

What pleasure does one find in causing pain to other living things? When does one’s sensitivity gets numb and killing an animal becomes fun, where one enjoy seeing the animal whither with pain.What kind of fun is this? What kind of joy is this?

The lost traveller?

What should I identify myself with? Should I call myself a malayalee, a Mumbaikar or better still a “Bombay malayalee” as my politics prof. calls me.

I was born and brought up outside Kerala; even my parents were. Hence, there there is nothing wrong in me associating myself as Mumbaikar. Yet, I am called a “madrasi” (even though I am not a tamilian) in Mumbai and a “Bombaykari” in Kerala. It is very frustrating as I find it hard to associate myself with any one of these categories.

I have no ties with my home land, Kerala; have little knowledge of the customs and traditions and though I speak reasonably good Malayalam, am illiterate (I cannot read and write the language). With no relatives left in Kerala, I visit the place as a tourist rather than as a person coming back to his/her ancestral home or village. I am just a ‘namesake’ Malayalee. It doesn’t hurt but it does not alleviate me either. The feeling is neutral.

Even if we observe the customs and rituals though adulterated due to our influence with other communities, they are forced upon me. My parents and relatives in Mumbai do this to desperately hold on to our roots. But when a person does not feel connected to a certain culture, he/she cannot believe in it even if forced. I correlate with Ganesh chaturti and gudi padva more than onam and vishu.

There are also several malayalee youngsters, just like me, in Mumbai who feel ashamed at calling themselves malayalee. They speak Hindi or English at home and of course there are parents who proudly claim that their children do not speak or have no knowledge of Malayalam. This is sad because in an attempt to be a part of their surrounding community they desperately are trying to cut off from their roots. In the name of fashion, they are getting more entangled in the identity crisis.

This is not to say that one should adapt to their surroundings in another land so much that they forget there individuality. Rather, be in touch with their roots by atleast learning the language and perhaps reading the literature of our community. Belief and knowing from where one has come from is more important than displaying to the world that “we staunchly practise the customs even though we are not close to our community or state”. In a weird way, I feel my condition is similar to my cousin’s and several other young people who live abroad.

In the end, I still am clueless about my identify…

Hunting season has begun!

So, the course is coming to an end and recruiters are all ready to "pick" us up. Sounds like a pet owner visiting a kennel and picking a dog that suits their fancy. Dear god! i don't mind imagning myself as a dog provided i get a job of my choice.

Parrot thoughts

The first time I noticed the parrots was when I was hurriedly going towards the bench to join rest of my classmates for lunch. We had come to the hilly region of Yelagiri as part of our deprivation trip in search of stories. On our way back to Vellore, we had stopped in this hotel which had outdoor dining area. Thrilled and starved, I rushed towards the dining area to eat lunch under the trees.

The two parrots were walking on the stone embedded path oblivious to the visitors. Their rusty cage was placed on a wooden platform supported by three wooden stands. A strip of green palm leaf covered the stands like creepers would when they found a host. To keep the visitors from harassing the parrots bush fencing surrounded the cage. I found it odd and amazing when I found the cage door was open and the parrots sad there…lost in their parrot world. It didn’t strike me then as hunger had overwhelmed me and I was in a hurry to order lunch. But after my tummy full, I strolled near the cage and saw the parrots walking on the path. I though ‘what brave parrots. They don’t fear humans at all; walking around fearlessly without thinking that maybe somebody would touch them or harm them.’ I thought that unlike other caged birds, they got the freedom to move out of their cage as they pleased. Like a municipal tube light which takes tremendous amount of time to emit light, the thought struck me late; the wings of both the parrots were clipped. I was appalled.

I knew these things happened all the time but never had impact on me until I saw it with my own eyes. Suddenly I was engulfed by a lot of emotions…I felt pity, sadness and then anger. I enquired with the hotel official on who was responsible for crippling the parrots and he replied it was they had done it so that the parrots would not fly away. I felt like shouting and screaming at them, for telling them what they had reduced the poor creatures to. I again went to look at the parrots now. I wished I could help them somehow. Then I saw one of the parrots proceeding to the cage by slowly climbing the palm strip with the help of their claws and beak. The parrots had learnt to overcome their disability.

The parrots occupied my thoughts even after we left the place. For selfish reasons what had man reduced the birds too. The parrots were supposed to fly in the sky; they were the ariel residents who could not be troubled with the earthly matters. They could fly anywhere they wanted, without any traffic or red light stopping them from their journey. And now all this had ended because some human thought that they would be better as a showpiece. Now all they could do was walk on their small feet and if some one came near run for their lives. The humans had stripped them of their only way of survival; they could not even fly away if a predator came after them.

As the sun went to sleep, I saw the parrots going inside the cage with a lot of hard work and looking at the world without any emotions.