DECEMBER DIARY PAGE 4 – Migration is an expression

I love the way, 
2019 shaped my life; 
in absolutely golden and 
immensely memorable ways. 

It was not an unusual message to be delivered on WhatsApp this morning. But I loved the composition. A white mug of freshly brewed coffee was placed in front of a laptop. The activity on the laptop screen was partly visible. An uncluttered view that it appeared to be; the message seemed like the right expression to wrap up 2019. The message read – Last coffee of 2019. 

So, it was the caption; ‘Last coffee of 2019’, which intrigued the mind. Struck by sudden realization, I said to myself - The year ends today. All those 365 days in our credit, will be debited today. And, as the year ends, I am left to wonder, if there is anything to look back to! On that account, I would like to quote Ginger Rogers, an American artist – Looking back at my life’s voyage, I can only say that it has been a golden trip. Seeking inspiration from the same quote, I would say – I love the way, life was in 2019; absolutely golden and immensely memorable. 

Thus, during lunch hour, I stepped out and I got to know about the various migratory plans. Yes, there is a migration that shall take place, right in the middle of the night. We shall flock together, hug strangers, kiss lovers, make love, raise a toast, smoke a cigar, drain champagne, scare people; only to say a goodbye to the year, which would gain the status of ‘past’. In this case, it would be 2019. Some of us will choose to go beyond extremes. 

We will build effigies; these effigies will be that of 2019. We will dress it up with a set of oldest pair of clothes. To give it a personality, we will put up a mask of Santa Claus on the round tip of the effigy. We will call this masked part, the face of the effigy. This will make the effigy look more human. We shall also source an old Christmas cap or maybe, we shall buy a new one and place it on the head of this effigy. We will stuff this effigy with hay, used newspapers, wasted papers and some other material. When the night grows a little sexier and wiser, during midnight, we will commence with our annual sporting event of burning these effigies. Trust me, year after year, this ghastly sight saddens me. The way we treat the year bygone is horrendous. We show no mercy. We treat it like an old man, whom we don’t wish to see again. Is a year’s time old enough to be treated so badly? Such is the behavior because we are fascinated with the violent art of burning effigies; the reason to do so, never matters. 

But this burning and this destruction is a part and parcel of the process called migration. The idea of migration is never a good idea. Most of us carry within us the frustration of perils, we faced; the failures, which broke us; the heartbreaks, we couldn’t handle. Thus, when we are ready to migrate to a New Year, we wish to put up a show. This show has been going on; year after year, consistently. And there has been no greater show than the extravagance of migration on the face of this earth. 

Ban Ki-Moon, a South Korean politician had put it in the most appropriate words. He had said and I quote – Migration is an expression of the human aspiration for dignity, safety and a better future. It is part of the social fabric, part of our very make-up as a human family. So, now it becomes easier for us to understand the euphoria behind this migration; from 2019 to 2020. We are happy. If we aren’t happy, we are SUPPOSED to be happy. 

Happiness also helps us bring out the stranger within us. Some of us aren’t satisfied with the simplistic structure of celebrating this migration. Years of observation have brought into focus, the art of some geniuses. These geniuses have been seen pouring alcohol on the effigies of an old man (the so called old or departing year); some have been caught urinating; the highest numbers have always rested with the one who has been spotted dragging an effigy from one corner of a city, to the farthest corner of a nation caught in a frenzy.

And, here we are; eight more hours for the migration to kick off. I hope you’ve got the stock ready to burn down 2019 and kick off 2020! So, before I say my personal goodbye to 2019, I wish to hug it; kiss it; applaud for it, for being the best year for me. If you wish to know WHY? Then we may need another migration or a new season of migration; 365 days down the line; from 2020-2021. Till then, it is a goodbye from Virtuous Vociferous. And I bid a goodbye with the words below.

Every year is a phenomenon
To celebrate their arrivals
Is a human experience 
Of intense nature.

- Virtuous Vociferous | December 31 | December Blog-4 | Never Settle | 2019

LIFE DIVIDED

Keep your voice down dear. 
Even if they hear us, they will start barking. 
I hope they haven’t smelt us. 
Bloody bastards.

Mumbai rains are partly poetic, partly poignant. Hiding our heads beneath jumbo, large, medium, small sized umbrellas; we never raise our heads, to witness the stories which are struggling to survive around us. Calling it a selfish virtue would be wrong. But tagging it ignorant won’t go against being not so right. 

So here is that story, which made me feel again; lives stand divided irrespective of caste, creed, status or season. 

Two girls had just stepped out of a banquet hall. Carrying the leftovers from a plush dinner party of last night, these two girls in their worn out attire, kept walking barefooted towards a slum. The rains had grown thicker. The girls didn’t have an umbrella to protect themselves. Neither did they try covering them with the plastic sheets, which they had wrapped their waists around with. As I walked a little closer to them, I realized their clothes were torn. Thus they had peeled off the plastic sheet from the top of an unattended cart, which could have belonged to a vegetable vendor. They must have then tore it into two pieces of same size and tried covering their torn parts of the dress. 

Looking at their faces, I realized they were not much older than ten or twelve years. Yet to hit their teens, they kept walking towards a slum, which stood at the end of a narrow road. Plush housing societies lined this narrow road, which led to their slums. I too was walking into one of the corporate structures of the same locality. Before I could enter the gate, I saw these girls taking an unannounced pause. 

One of them remarked, ‘Wait. They are out for their first feed of the day.’

The other agreed, ‘Oh Yes. This is the life they are lucky to live.’

The girl who spoke first seemed to be slightly elder than the other one.

Thus the elder one spoke again, ‘Do you think, the food they are served is specially cooked for them?’

The younger one said, ‘Looking at the regularity and the time they are served by, I guess the food is cooked every morning.’

The elder one then cautioned the younger one, ‘Hide. Before they see us, just hide.’

Huddling besides each other, they sought cover behind a parked car. It took me some time to realize; not too far from where I stood and the girls sought cover at; around five to six dogs were being fed by few women. Every dog had its mouth deeply sunk in plastic boxes, which looked similar to each other in size; only differentiated by the women they were attended by. Every time, the box seemed to be running out of stock, the women standing alongside would reload them. 

The younger one said, ‘Look how spoiled they are. What’s the difference between them and us? Those dogs live on the same road as us. But they are being fed every day.’

The elder one said, ‘I know. My sister was saying that they are well fed indeed; three times a day.’

The younger one replied amusingly, ‘Three times a day! These rich bastards, living in their plush homes, can throw food out to those dogs. But when we go begging for it during days and nights of our hunger, the building security shoos us off. On many occasions, they have kicked you and me both.’

The elder one then remarked, ‘Keep your voice down dear. These dogs are so sharp. Even if they hear us, they will start barking. Whatever we are holding dear to us, we may have to throw that too to these tailed bastards.’

The younger one spoke up, ‘I hope they haven’t smelt us like they did the last week. One of them barked furiously and almost caught me by my feet. Such sharp are their tooth and claws.’

The elder one then added, ‘With the kind of food they are feeding upon, do you think, they are ever going to grow frail!’

Both concluded their conversation by remarking unanimously, ‘Bloody bastards.’

By the time, the conversation between those two girls ended, the feeding-of-dogs ritual was over too. The women feeding the dogs walked into the gates, they stepped out from. They seemed to me like housemaids who were assigned this task every morning. Perhaps the food fed to dogs were also leftovers of last night. Or if the girls are to be believed, it could be freshly cooked. 

Through this story, I am not trying to make any point. Neither am I targeting dog lovers and their feeders. But I am trying to understand my vision and seek attention to the fact that ours is indeed a life divided. 

The dogs, the two poor girls, the housemaids, the rich people of those plush housing societies are a part of the same civilization. Yet, the way, the treatment differs between humans and dogs, the rich and the poor, the homeless and the settled, the successful and the unsuccessful. 

Life definitely is divided. But this divide is not just limited to this story. This divide could be felt within our offices (this will need an altogether separate story), within social hubs, within communities, within families, within friends. 

In this concluding portion of the post, I would like to add the conversation I had with the girls. 

I asked them both, ‘Aren’t you both scared? The dogs might still bark at you or come for you.’

Both replied with a chunk of laughter in their voices, ‘There’s no chance. Look at the way they have eaten up the whole stock. They don’t have the strength to move a step ahead. Leave biting alone, even barking is out of their capacity.’

I then asked, ‘How often do you take this road?’

Without batting an eyelid, both replied, ‘Almost every day. And every day we have to wait till those bastard dogs are done with their ritual of feeding upon.’

As I stepped into the corporate premise, I looked out for those girls. Carrying the stuff on their heads, they were walking merrily again beneath the heavy rains. Paying no attention to the dogs, which were still lurking by the roadside, they mustered the courage to tease each other and made their way home with their survival kit for the day. 

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 10 | July Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019

  

BLEEDING CIVILIZATION

(All the above pictures have been clicked by me at 8.45 pm, February 23)

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. You’re just awake. Perhaps enjoying a hot cup of tea. You might also be in a mood to turn a few pages of the Sunday newspaper. If you’re not interested in current affairs, it doesn’t matter. It’s a Sunday and you will always seek pleasure from the pleasant things of life. Am I any different from you? I too will follow the same. And, I might also feel very displeased, if someone decides to ruin my Sunday by bringing me face to face with something absolutely unpleasant. None of us will be interested in leaving the comfort zone, made freely available by every Sunday of our lives; one after the other. But I am helpless. I am eager to seek your company in something that’s immensely unpleasant in nature. 

For the last five years, the country’s leadership has been trying its level best to ensure a ‘Swachh Bharat’, a so called ‘Clean India’. And, let me remind you, this vision is not of an intolerant political party but a vision once shared by the father of our nation; none other than the ambassador of peace Mahatma Gandhi. He had once said and I quote – CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS. And, this cleanliness is achievable, only when we, the people decide to be civilized. But, we seem to be failing at it every day. Yes, we are!

Ever since rules/duties of ‘Swachh Bharat’ have been implemented, we have been doing our bit to ensure adopting them in our day to day activities. But, there is no dearth of uncivilized minds, who will make sure that India continues to look unclean. I think their minds will continue to remain sick like the self-proclaimed NRIs of our school. Not all of them, but a handful of them from our 1993 batch (specifically 2/3 of them). These minds are so sick that at the sight of anything clean, they will try their best to leave it unclean. The same happened to my car, last evening. I think, a group of tobacco/gutka/pan masala munchers couldn’t digest the cleanliness standards, I maintain for my car. The shade of my car being white, such wrongdoers get easily attracted to it. So this group or individual made sure that they smear the front door, some portion of the window glass and the door handle with their red colored spirit. I had parked my car in a silent lane. Immediately after a span of mere 15 minutes, when I came back to my car, I saw this ghastly site. The first few words, which came to my mind instantly were – OUR CIVILIZATION IS BLEEDING. This is third time in the row, when such a thing has repeated itself.

Honestly speaking we are not yet civilized. I think, at times some of us decide to program an ecosystem of one-sided revenge by simply choosing to act in such uncivilized manner. I’ve no idea as to at what fault, my car was! Or, did any of my action was so hurtful to anyone that they chose to leave the car door painted in red. For a second, it almost felt that a bleeding civilization had left my car to bleed alone. I must actually be saying that the so called modern civilization is bleeding. The bad blood within them is going to take some time to flow out.

This action of the unknown, unseen miscreants have not angered me. But I am concerned about the state of coming days. Are we going to fail the dream, the mission, the vision of ‘Swachh Bharat’ or ‘Clean India’? Are we going to fail the father of our nation, who at one point of time belonged to a tolerant political party? Or we will sit in front of our television sets to be a voiceless participant in the mindless debates, which break out against the current leadership of the country. 

Through this post of mine, I wish to make an appeal; if a little bit of pride of being an Indian is left in you, stop being a part of this bleeding civilization. Stop being a part of a civilization, which bleeds for no reason and makes cleanliness bleed every day, makes clean things bleed every day. At least for once, stop being like those self-proclaimed NRIs, who have fled the country to embrace slavery and cleanliness of foreign nations.

- Virtuous Vociferous | February 24 | February Blog-4 | Never Settle | 2019