Some left over traces of what we were

In the middle of the hills lies Timbuktu collective. Timbuktu, originally is a place in Africa which was considered to be far off from 'civilization'. I guess thats why Bablu and Mary decided to name their organization Timbuktu. They probably wanted to to be far away from the modern civilized world. Timbuktu is 7km from Chennekothapalli, the nearest village. It's in Anantpur district in southern Andhra, known for its scanty rainfall. Due to less rain, the villages are located at quite a distance from each other. The nearest metro is Banglore city, about 160km from Chennekothapalli.

It was lunch time, everyone sat together in the Pakriti Badi (nature school), one of the many schools run by Timbuktu collective. Eating with hands somehow made the food even more tasty. As I ate, I watched Subbureddy, serve sambar. He must have been 7 years old. His one arm did not have a wrist, but he was as efficient as others. The other kids too, took him to be just like everyone else. No one thought that he has some body part missing. And so there was no special treatment given to him in their behavior. This gave me a sense of reassurance. I always felt, we lot of times over do our care specially for those whom we feel have been hard hit by nature or society. I feel its a delicate balance one must maintain between taking care and not over caring. And so I called subbureddy. He served me sambar. Then I requested him to give me some water also. He put his bucket down, took the glass from my hand and went to the earthen pot. He kept the glass on floor, then lifted the lid off the pot, put it against his chest and held it using the other hand (the lid placed in between the little chest and the deformed hand). He then lifted the glass and put it inside the pot to fill it with water. And then again kept the glass on the floor. Then he put the lid back on the pot, took the glass and gave it to me. All this was one smooth action. It didnt require any thought from him. It seemed to be hardwired. I thanked him, and kept watching him while he continued serving sambar.

Kalyani took us to a village called Hariamcheruvu, some 7km from Chennekothapalli. We wanted to meet some weavers there. I saw a handloom for the first time in life, and a weaver weaving. It was an amazingly patient and humble job. The weaver would make the saree thread by thread. He would put one thread, then change the whole settings, then place another thread and then change the settings again. They say its a job of a mind which is calm and peaceful. It seemed so true to me seeing the weaver weave. And to have a mind in peace given all the economic hardships they are facing is simply amazing. I can't think of any other word than courage. And I think this courage comes from an underlying faith that things will be good. The faith in future, the faith in nature (or god). I believe its the same faith which Gandhi thought was India's strength.

We also met a shephard in Hariamcheruvu. A shephard is someone who makes threads from wool of sheep. He was 96 years old. He had quit working about 2 years back. He proudly told us that he can still walk, and read (and of course speak). Only recently he started having trouble with his hearing, but if one would speak coming near to him, he would understand. Kalyani asked him, if he still had some hand made thread left with him. He sure did. He started emptying his bag (made of old cloth). He slowly emptied it completely. Right at the bottom was a bundle of thread, he had made it himself from sheep wool. In every marriage this man is required to tie this thread around wrists of the newly wed.

Indian marriages (and even other festivals) are such that it calls for participation from every caste in the village. Caste is actually a poor word to describe the hindi word 'Jaati', which refers to profession. It is said, that 39 'Jaatis' or professions make a village. It means that on average each village would have 39 different kinds of professions in it (some may have more and some less). And so marriage is one such occasion, where each profession would contribute. The contribution of this man was the thread he makes from sheep wool. When he decided to quit working, he made sure he keeps stock of the thread with him. He keeps a list of people in the village who are of marriageable age. He is living for them to get married so that he can perform his duty.

The concept of giving, giving till the last breath is still strong in Indian society. To me it looks like one of the fundamental concept on which a society can be founded. This man was living to give. If someone tells him not to worry about his duty and just relax, Im sure he would die the next day.

Then something happened. I dont know what it was, but this man gave us a small portion of that thread. The thread was the most valuable thing he possessed. He gave a part of it to us. To me it is the most cherished gift I had ever received. I didnt know what to say. There were a few drops that made my eyes wet. We then moved on.

Next we visited a potter family in another village called Polepalli. The old potter was now ill, and so he stopped making pots. So his wife, borrowed some money and bought about 50-100 pots from near by village and stocked them. The reason was same. Just like the shephard, even a potter has a responsibility to perform in marriages (and other festivals). The lady potter wanted to make sure that her husband's retirement does not effect this responsibility adversely. She had borrowed money to make sure the family is able to contribute.

In one of my conversations with Kanwarjit, he had mentioned that its one of the most fundamental needs of humans to share. It's the need to share beyond our family which completes us. And I think this completeness is both as an individual and also as a society. But what we were seeing here was more than sharing. Or shall I say different form of sharing. The usual meaning of sharing is, that one first fulfills ones needs, and then share with others whatever is extra. But here it was different. It came from the concept of first sharing and then consuming whatever is left. This seems to be the foundation of Jajmani, whose trace we were seeing there.

Navjyotiji defines the word Rakshas as, “someone who worries about swayam ki raksha” ( a deamon is the one who is worried about one's welfare). Traditionally the concept has been to leave one's welfare into the hands of others, while accepting the responsibility of a part of others' welfare. The concept has been to give the best product of one's work to others, while keeping the left over for one's consumption. This has also been one of the very few critique of Gandhi I have come across. Gandhi insisted that one must first produce for oneself and then share the rest, while the weavers were of the view that if they take this approach, their profession would die. The profession would die if one starts keeping the best produce for oneself.

I feel there is still so much for me learn (and also un-learn). The prospect of more traveling, or meeting more people excites me more than ever.

The need for a private space

Private space! What does it mean? Why do we need it so much in today's time? Was its need the same even in previous generations? I do not know.

Me and many people i know of my generation feel a need to that space, which is just reserved for oneself. That one little space, that one little moment where one is just with oneself, where one can fully live an emotion or a thought. A space where not even we ask ourselves why are we thinking a thought or why are we feeling an emotion. It's a space where one faces oneself in the mirror truely. That is probably what this private space gives one.

So where do i get this space? I buy my own house away from my parents, to enjoy this space. Or i have my own room in the family house, which gives me this space. If not even a room, i at least have a few private moments in bathroom, which are just for me exclusively. Every one in my house finds whatever little private space available. I guess everyone needs it as badly as i do.

But there is one person in the house who doesn't have this space. She is Pooja, who has come from Bihar state to help us out in our work. She has traveled almost a thousand miles to wash our plates, to clean our floor, to wash our clothes, to make our beds every morning. And she is learning to do all that slowly. She is learning how i like my food being served, how i like to see my room. She is learning the way i like the sheet tucked in the bed, how i like to see the pillow placed on the bed. She is trying to learn the reason behind why eat different rice, while for her its different. She is trying to learn the meaning of what i mean by the word 'hygiene'. She is learning all that with full details and specifications.

And in between all this learning and making mistakes, she misses her family back in Bihar. She misses the open fields in her village. The idea of concrete walls all around is completely new to her. And so while she misses all that, she might also feel the need of that much valued private space. In my house, she finds that space either in one corner of the kitchen, or in the small balcony in my house or on the stairs in the building in afternoon when no one uses them. These are the places where she sits unnoticed, quietly trying to live the emotions and thoughts which she controls all day.

Dasvidaniya-what does it mean?

Dasvidaniya! Dasvidaniya. Wondered what it meant. Someone told me its a russian word. I heard this when the movie of this name released. In the film the character while going away from a friend waves and says Dasvidaniya. So i thought means saying bye. The word Alvida came to mind. Then when the movie ends, it says 'Dasvidaniya-The best goodbye ever!'

The best goodbye ever. The best goodbye ever.

I wonder what does the word ever signify here? Will there be no better goodbyes now? or will there be no goodbyes now? Is this goodbye the last goodbye, never to meet again? I still don't know.

Did I scare you?

It was a winter afternoon in Delhi. The winter sun is really pleasant in Delhi. Most people prefer sitting out in the sun on off days. We were all gathering in our Pitampura house. This is where my grandparents (nana-nani) lived. It was some family occasion, and we were all reaching there from where ever we had been. I was coming from Agra, where my college was.

Just as I entered the building, with my bag on the shoulders I felt as if the elevator had opened and someone just got in. I ran towards it, and just as the door could close, I stuck my arm inside. The door opened again. There was a school girl inside. I walked in.

I kept my bag down, and pressed number 5 for the fifth floor. Since I was coming straight from hostel, I did not get the opportunity to shave for the function. It had been more than a month since I shaved last. And so I had a good healthy beard on me (some people I know, might object to the word healthy here).

I started feeling that my look was making this girl a little uncomfortable. It seemed for her, the elevator was shrinking in size, and she wished for more space. It was also taking its sweet time to climb up to fifth floor. And it seemed unlikely anyone else would join us in it, as we climb up. I looked at this girl (being careful to not stare at her, just look). She seemed to be coming directly from her school, as she still had the uniform on and a little bag on her shoulders. She definetly seemed uncomfortable with me in the elevator. And was probably cursing the elevator for moving too slow. The distance between us would be not have been more than a feet, with only my bag lying in between us.

For some reason I kept looking at her. And she was looking everywhere but me. She looked at the door, then looked up the electronic display to see which floor we had reached. It was still the second floor. Then she looked at her wrist watch. It was a small cute wrist watch, much like those which girls wear. And then again she looked at the electronic display. Maybe she thought of getting down on the next floor itself, and then walk up the stairs. She wanted to take a decision, but she could not. It was one of those moments, where one senses trouble but isn't sure if it is actually trouble. Waiting for the trouble seems suicidal, while the fear of embarrassing oneself when there is actually nothing to fear of is also there. My friend tells me, how often girls face this dilemma in their lives. This girl seemed to be in a similar situation.

I realized me and my beard were making her uncomfortable. And the fact that I was looking right at her were making things worse. But I was still looking at her. To me, it seemed I know her. It seemed that I have seen this girl before, somewhere. It seemed I know this girl. But where? I just couldn't recollect. And while I was trying to recollect, I kept looking at her (which by now would have been staring at her).

"Nancy", I said loudly. She looked at me with a sense of amaze. "Nancy?" (this time it was more of a question. "Jhummu Bhaiya", she said loudly, with a sense of relief and excitement and happiness. It was a mixture of all that. She was my cousin Aditi (fondly called as Nancy in the family, as I was called Jhummu). "Kaisi hai yaar? Did I scare you?". She hugged me. We were meeting after many many years though we lived in the same city. Our mothers were sisters, and we were cousins.

Long time back, our mothers had some difference of opinion as a result we never visited each others' house. As we grew up, we started demanding seeing our cousins, meeting them, but somehow the opportunity never came. This occasion at my grandparents' house was the first such occasion in many years, where the whole family was gathering. And it so happened I met Nancy in the elevator.

The door opened, and we were on the 5th floor. The elevator which was moving too slow just a while back, seemed to have broken the sound barrier and got to the floor in a flash. As we entered the house, the whole family was there. All my uncles, aunts, elder cousins and even the younger ones. My grandparents were having a blast with so many people in there. In all, I think we were 4 generations in that house that day.

Mumbai day II -- Visiting Giriraj, Afghan Church and Hanging Garden

Day II begins from II Grenadiers mess. I get up early and go for a walk outside. The santri at the gate salutes, saying " Ram Ram saab". Each battalion in army has its own way of wishing each other. I guess for the Grenadiers it is 'Ram Ram'. 'Ram Ram' happens to be a very common form of wishing and greeting each other in western U.P. Once as a kid while I was going to my village along with dad, I remember a muslim man sitting on the way wishing us that way " Ram Ram ji" and my father responded back by saying "Ram Ram ji". I then asked dad, as to why a mussalmaan would also wish taking Ram's name. I don't quite remember his exact answer, but that incident left a mark on me. It just showed the character of our country, our society. We intellectuals can interpret this incident in anyway we wish, but that will not change anything.

Anyways, back to Mumbai Artee had to buy something from Tanishq which was located near Churchgate. I had plans to visit Giriraj who lives near Bombay Hospital, walking distance from Churchgate. So I decided to accompany Artee and Mausiji to Tanishq. It was 10am, and the shop had just opened. As we entered it, I already started feeling out of the place. What was I doing there? As we reached the counter a lady was already sitting there attended by a sales girl. The first sentence I heard in the shop was that of this lady, complaining why the air conditioner was not working. The day had just started, it was hot at all, but this lady wanted an a/c. It simply put me off. I told mausiji that I was leaving and would meet them in afternoon. I just walked out. Walked to Marine lines and sat on the platform facing the sea. Nice breeze blew across my face, and at that time of the day not many people were there. The traffic on the road too was minimal. Sitting there and watching the sea was really good. It was one of the few moments this time when I felt the sense of belonging to the city.

It was 10.30 am by now, and I called Giriraj. We were suppose to meet at 11am. When I had called him yesterday for an appointment, I made sure to use Kanwarjit's name. That made him grant me 30 min on sunday morning. I was to reach at 11 sharp. I walked to Bombay hospital from Marine lines. On reaching the gate of his apartment building, the guard stopped me. I told where I intended to go. On carefully seeing my twice from top to bottom he said ,"Chautha mala" (fourth floor) pointing towards the lift. The word 'mala' is used in Mumbai meaning floor level. In Delhi the for commonly used word is 'manzil'.

I rang the bell at exactly 11am. Giriraj was waiting for me. And we started talking. I spent first 5 min telling about myself, my research area and how Kanwarjit told me about him. After listening to me, he asked me a direct question (not wasting much time) "How can I be of any help?". "oh no no. I dont require any help. I just thought of meeting you. I heard that you had spent some time with Dharampal ji when he was in Wardha. And I thought you would be able to give me some guidance regarding my research area." He looked a little surprised to me. I think he had assumed, I was there for some work. Being a senior IAS officer, many people must be visiting him through some reference for some work or the other. And he thought I was one such person. It took some time for him to realize that I was just visiting him 'Bas Aise Hi'. The concept that someone would visit without an agenda at all seemed so difficult to believe. In modern time, I would be called a 'vella person'.

Well soon he became pretty comfortable and we began talking. I could sense his comfort by his body language. He became a lot more informal now. Folded his legs and sat on the cot. Spread his arms. While he spoke, his hands moved more freely now. I too became a lot relaxed. I bent backwards and used the back rest of the sofa. Soon his wife came and served me Poha. Aaah, lovely. Poha and vada paav were two things I was missing desperately. Soon the 30 min were over, but we were just talking. He was talking about his experience in Yavatmal distt when he was posted there as a collector. His interactions with the farmers and artisans. His interactions with Dharampal ji. His understanding of the Indian culture, and it being a possible solution to all modern day problems. He also talked about the critique of Indian tradition, esp the dalit question. And the major challenge was to mould Indian tradition in todays times. Soon it was over an hour. I was wondering when to ask for leave. He then asked me, "how busy are you today?". "Not much I said". " Good, then lets have lunch together and continue this conversation"....

What to say, I was glad. This man too was enjoying this meeting, just like me. He then went inside and got some old photographs. Then he got a dhoti, which was hand made by some tribals living in Andhra-Orissa border. He showed me the quality of the cloth, and the work which was put in to make that dhoti. We then talked about weavers and other artisans. I told him about this book which Kanwarjit gave me recently 'Art and Swadeshi'. We then had lovely south Indian lunch. And after lunch again we talked. Our 30 min meeting lasted for 2 and half hours. It included a nice yummy poha and a lovely lunch. I was really happy to meet him, and Im sure he too was. He then directed me to the bus stand, and told me which bus to take for Colaba.

I reached back at the mess. In the evening we went to visit Mausaji. Artee also took me to Afgan church, one of the land mark in the cantt area. It was built by the British after the Afghan war. Later in the evening, Artee took me to a drive. We landed at the Hanging garden in Malabar hills. An old Gujju lady guided us to it. It seemed a nice place. A green patch in the middle of concrete jungle. People had come out in the evening for walks. All kinds of them, old couple, kids playing, old parsi women, fat men and women trying to burn body fat. So we decided to walk round the park too. It was too tempting for me, and so I took out my sandals and walked bare feet. I was also trying to see how Artee would react to it. I also wanted to encourage her to walk like that. But she didnt. Then she said, lets walk on the grass. The grass was wet, and I could feel it. It was more fun walking on grass bare feet. I then told her what Abey George told me some months back. I told her, we hardly get a chance to touch soil in our lives. Most of the time we touch concrete or plastic or rubber, but no soil. After this, she too took off her shoes and socks and walked bare feet. I don't know how she felt, but I was really happy to see her 'break free' (in my terms).

We reached back at the hospital by 8pm. Then I had dinner. And then by 9.30pm I decided to leave for Vashi. My mausaji and mausiji there were getting worried. They didnt think much of the idea of me traveling late in the night. I took a bus from R.C church for CST. And then a local train at 10.20pm for Vashi. I reached home at Vashi by 11.30pm. I was glad to see Mausiji and Mausaji. I kind of felt free also. Took off my clothes, with just my chaddi on. I was at home now, kaisi sharam.

Just aise hi.....

I wrote this letter to a friend, which came out well in the end. And so I thought to post it on the blog too.

Heylos,
Im sitting here wondering what to do. and so i decided to do what i like most, write. just aise hi.....no agenda at all.

let me tell u in detail about my mumbai trip.

day1
i got up at 4.30am. the train was standing at dadar station. it looked so much familiar to me. probably the 4th time i had taken this train to get to dadar at this time of the day. but this time, i was going further. i was to get down at cst (or vt, as most people still call it). reached cst at 5 sharp. got out of the station and asked a person which bus would go to afgan church. he showed me the bus stop from where i will get the bus. there were no buses at that time of the day, but there were taxis. shared taxis calling for navy nagar. they would take just Rs.10 to drop me at afgan church. But then i thought this is too early to go. People wud be sleeping and i wud unnecessarily wake them up. I decided to just wait at the bus stop till day break.

there was another person standing at the bus stop. just the two of us. at first the person looked a guy. short hair, dressed like men, sport shoes. But a more closer look told me she was infact a gal. I love gals who wear sport shoes, and so that brought me a smile on my face. I dont know why, but she resembled artee to me. I had not seen her for some years now. Didnt really know how she looked. and this gal was in some way resembling her. But then if she was artee, she would have recognized me for sure. or is it that I too have changed? The latest pic she saw of me was with beard. This time I had no beard. I kept thinking all this while standing there. she too just stood there at the bus stop. so what was this gal doing so early in the morning? did she come this early to avoid the crowd in local train, or does she like me enjoy the early morning? and why is she waiting at the bus stop? take a cab and go where ever she wants to. maybe she too likes to just sit and watch people come and go.

then from nowhere a little cat came. meow meow!! stood next to me and more of meow meow!! then came two sweepers, who started cleaning the pathway. and then came out the sun. it was day break. good enough time to wake people up even if they are sleeping. and then came my bus. It was route number 125. It was headed to navy nagar, and afgan church was to fall en route. the bus was was Rs.5.

I reached afgan church in less than 10 min. it was the cantonment area. I had never seen Mumbai so green. And i could smell fish. The sea must be really close, I wondered. I called up artee from there. As expected, the lazy bum was sleeping. Good i waited for an hour, I thought. She directed me to walk back on the road, and then take a left before a big tree. I saw the big tree and started walking towards it. For some reason, I saw this army guard standing and I asked him for directions to II granadiers mess. This guy was from Haryana. Just listening to our style of Hindi made me feel so happy. It has been sometime since I heard that accent. And to hear it in a completely unexpected place is so much more fun. Anyways, this chap asked me to just walk straight and not turn anywhere (unlike artee's direction, where I had to turn left). so I just walked straight. And I walked out of the cantt area. I realized, my sis was more intelligent than this chap, and I should have listened to her. So I turned back. I started walking back to that big tree I had left behind. I saw this car coming towards me, really slowly. And just as it approached me, "BEEP! BEEP!", full blast horn. "Arre maine kya kiya, main to side mein hi chal raha tha. the whole road is empty". Must be a lady on the wheel I thought. And I was right. It was Artee. she had come to pick me up. I got in the car. It had been years since we last met. Before I could start yelling on the loud horn thing, she started " I asked u to turn left from big tree....seedha kyun gaya....boom boom!! dhishum dhishum!! rat tat tat!!.....non stop machine gun fire.....ufff!! yeh ladkiya subah subah bhi kitna bol leti hai....

we got back into the mess. and there was mausi ji waiting for us. I touched her feet, and she blessed me with her best wishes. for the next few hours (and then later for next 4 days), Artee's machine gun never stopped. And my ammunition never took off. soon, along with words, she also started throwing things at me. at first the pillow, then deodrant bottles, then whatever she could her hand onto. She had changed. As a kid, she was suppose to be this quiet little gal, who wud never speak, just nod in yes or no or just give a short and quick smile. "kya pagal ho gayi hai kya yeh?", I asked mausiji.

next we went to the naval hospital where mausaji had been admitted. its called the ashvini hospital. its suppose to be one of the two major military hospital in India, the other being R&R hospital in Delhi. It was right at the sea. I have never seen such a clean sea in Mumbai. Its how a sea is suppose to be. There were ships anchored at a distance. The morning sun was beaming down on the waters. This part of the sea, lies of the eastern side of Mumbai. So the reflection of the morning sun was something most Mumbaikars dont get a chance to see. The reflection from the water was so intense, it seemed like driving in front of a high beam truck on the highway, where one doesnt see anything but light. Later I realized there was a light house in the see, which I couldn't see due to this glare.

I met mausaji and Tuhina bhabhi. Mausaji had gone really weak. Had never seen him like this before. He was on bed rest for over a month now. Tuhina bhabhi probably didnt recognize me. The only time we had met earlier was some years back in Meerut. At that time there were too many people, and she could have easily missed me there. This was in a sense our first one on one meeting.

The whole day I spent at the hospital. I was all quiet, and just observing things, people, buildings. The army, had always attracted me as a kid. I was fascinated but almost everything about the forces, their uniform, their hair cut, the way they walked, the way they talked, they stood. All those things had moved me, inspired me for many years. But not this time. It all looked so alien to me this time. It was the first strong indication I got in some years, that I have changed as a person. Something which I was passionate about, something which moved me even in dreams, seemed so ordinary this time. I just could not relate to it anymore. I was surprised to notice this in me. I kept thinking about this thing in the whole of trip.

At the end of day 1, I decided to stay back there for the night. We ordered an extra mattress from the mess and I slept there only.

Trip to Mumbai- Looking West!

I just returned back from a week long trip to Mumbai. This trip was in a sense completely different from all my previous trips to the city. Either the city had changed, or I was seeing things this time which I missed earlier. Mumbai this time looked more of Bombay. It seemed, everyone there was trying to 'look' like west, trying to 'pretend' like west, trying to 'become' like them.

The man at the ticket window didnt understand which place is CST. When I told him VT, he understood. In the whole of Cantonment region, I didnt find a vada paav seller or a tea stall. Vada paav and tea were something I found every 100 mts in the city. The street market at Colaba, for some reason named cause way. The common term for it has always been 'pattri bazaar'. It took me sometime to figure out what cause way meant. Every second person in the train seemed to be plugged into some music device.

One hoarding near Kurla station station read "learn Hi-Fi English in 30 days". I wondered what the term Hi-Fi meant. And why would this term be so attractive. Isn't learning English attractive enough. I guess not anymore. I'm not sure what exactly they meant by it, but I assume 'Hi-Fi' meant learning all the slangs and also the accent to speak with. The language to me seems to be less important than showing off through it.

I visited a senior IAS officer who lives near Churchgate. My idea was to just go and see him. He took some time to actually believe that someone had come to visit him just like that, no agenda at all. He asked me twice in what way he could help me. And I had to tell him, I was not there for any help. I just happened to be in the area, so I visited him. The good part is, that soon he became comfortable and our planned 30 min meeting went over 2 hours which included a nice lunch too. I guess he too was glad to meet someone who just dropped in "bilkul aise hi".

One morning, I walked in this Tanishq store at Churchgate with my cousin and aunt. A lady who was already there, was complaining about the air conditioner not working. It really pissed me off. Why would one need an a/c in morning. It wasn't hot at all.

So am I judging all these people? What am I complaining about? After all everyone has a right to choose the way they want to. Thats how freedom is defined. well yes ! I guess I'm only saying that this time I felt so much out of place. Mumbai always seemed great to me. I always felt at home in the crowded local. But this time I felt lost. And I guess it showed all over my face. I was more the usual quiet this time.

The part of the trip which I really enjoyed was the sea. I was visiting my uncle at the naval hospital in south Mumbai. This hospital is next to the sea. I loved the time i spent sitting in the hospital grounds, looking at the sea and the ships anchored. This part of the sea, lies of east of Mumbai. So I had the opportunity to see the sun rising from the sea. The reflection of the rays from water was so much, that one could not see the ships anchored.

On my way back, in the train there was this blind man singing and begging. His was the sweetest voice I had ever heard in my life. He was singing some old hindi film song, a sad song. And the way he sang, made it all the more sad. When he approached our column of seats, people stopped talking, and listened to him. The good thing about him was he was walking very slow. So he would spent a good amount of time at each column and then move to the next one. I somehow felt, he had faith in his ability to sing. And he did really sing well. Not only me, but others also felt compelled to give him something. It was something I had not witnessed ever in my life. Such a sweet voice and lovely singing. It seemed I was getting back into my world. My world of ordinary men, of ordinary moments of happiness, of appreciating small incidents happening in my life. I missed them so much in Mumbai this time.

What is India- part II

This is my second post on the same question, What is India? Who is an Indian? What do I mean when I say "Im proud to be an Indian"?

Today in the Gandhi course, Pranav raised this issue and we had some discussion on it. Though in the end the discussion became a bit aggressive (mainly because of me, dont know what I get aggressive), but the question is still unresolved in my mind. Who am I? What is being Indian?

Prior to 1947, everyone on this part of the world was Indian (or hindustani). Then there was a power struggle and some bad politics was placed, which resulted in modern India and modern Pakistan. Does that change the identity of the people living in it? All of a sudden people in a village became Pakistanis, while half a mile towards east, their friends and relatives continued to be Indians. And in this decision, they had no role to play. If tomorrow say India was to get divided again into India 1 and India 2, then what will I be? Will I still be an Indian? What identity will I give to my children.

This is difficult for me to imagine, but I'm sure it's a real question to the people two generations back who faced partition. This question is also relevant to those living on either side of LOC in Kashmir.

Does our identity come from the 'name' of the land we live in, we were born in, our ancestors belong to? Do we identify ourselves with the land or the 'name' of the land? Do we identify ourselves to land or the people? Am I born in the land called India or am I born in a family, in a society which consists of people. Will I still relate to India the land, if the people change (say we go to Europe and Europeans come here)?

These questions are still unanswered in my mind, and the more I think on it the more aggressive I get. I dont know why.

But if someone was to ask me how to identify Indians, or what is distinct about Indians, then the closest answer I can think of is, Indianess is a way one relates to land. In this region of the world, I feel there is a distinct way of relating to land, of the way one sees land (matr bhoomi). This definition of course does not hold true for those of us who live in cities. But I feel, one who is born in a village, who lives in a village, who does farming, for him there is a distinct relation with land. And this relation is the same in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Srilanka, Nepal, Bhutan etc. But as I said this is the closest answer I could think of, and its not fully accurate. Im still looking for a better definition of what an Indian is.

Movie wish list

Im thinking of organizing a film festival in college, and for that I have a few movies in mind. I have managed to get some, but still looking for a few more. Below is the list of movies I'm trying to get, so if anyone has them, please let me know.

Movie wish list
1. Children of Heaven - It's a persian movie. I want one with subtitles.
2. Power of community
3. The constant Gardener
4. Ek Ruka Hua Faisla - It's a hindi remake of 12 angry men
5. Prahaar

First attempt at writing a poem

I walked down the road
to realize after a while,I was alone
I had walked out of the city
when others were trying to get in

I walked out bcoz I wanted
to be in the wild
the wild wild
and not the cultured wild

The city got too sophisticated for me
there were just too many rules
too much of pretentions
and too many judgments being formed

I wanted to experience the wild
wanted to see the harmony
wanted a breath of fresh air
and so I decided to walk out

The wild is all quiet
and the wild is vast
for the first time I see no walls, no advertisements
I hear no music, no news

But now as I have walked
I find myself alone
no one came with me
I asked no one to come

This loneliness is new to me
it is something I have never experienced
Im too used to people around me
Im used to sound around me

Why am I scared of being alone?
I never thought I would
I was suppose to be strong
but I find myself weak now

I look back at the path I took
I think of going back
but I cant
I cant go back

Why cant I go back
I have developed a disliking to all that
the never ending advertisements
the need to always pretend

but there is another reason which stops me
I fear what will people say
those people whom I had ridiculed
I can't face them

I have stopped now
Im not going forward
neither am I turning back
I stand there and just look around

While I stand wondering
I miss you
I wish you were here with me
Why did you not come along?

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 6

Entering Kerala-Hindi songs, meeting Kavitha ji and the best compliment i ever got!

I woke up at Mangalore station. Mangalore was to be the last station in state of Karnataka. After this Kerala would start. Thrissur was to come by 12.30pm.

The beggar in the train, was singing an old hindi song. That was totally unexpected and the only reason I could think of was that this beggar was not from Kerala, but from north. I wanted to ask them, but did not. I was conscious, of what people will think of me. I still have the feeling conscious thing left in me. Sometimes I gather courage and do things without bothering much, but sometime like here, I dont take that step.

Around 11.30 I got a call from Abey. He asked me to get down at Shoranur Jn, which was one station before Thrissur. He told me to take a bus from there for Thrissur. His home falls on the Shoranur-Thrissur road. The train had entered Shoranur city and was about to reach the station. I just had a few minutes to pack my stuff and get down.

When I got down, I remembered Kavitha ji was suppose to be here too. She had been coming from Hyderabad, get down at Shoranur and then change trains for her hometown Kannur. And if her train was running on time, she should be at Shoranur now. I called her up, and yes she was there. She told me to come to platform 2. It was so good to meet someone totally unexpectedly, in an unexpected territory. We just kept smiling and laughing again and again. I gave her a book of puzzles for her 5 year old son Anand. I had bought this book in the train.

I got the Thrissur bus, just outside the station. Language was to be a problem here. I had to explain the conductor that I need to get down at Vellapaya before Thrissur. I decided to right the key words on a chit of paper and show it to him.
I wrote: Shoranur Station---> Thrissur bus---> vellapaya

He read that and understood. He said something in Malayalam, which I had no clue of, but I understood what he meant. He was assuring me not to worry. He would let me know, when my stop comes.

This was my first bus ride in Kerala. Here they dont have glass windows. They have kind of a shutter on windows. When it rains, the shutter is pulled down, and otherwise the whole thing is open. The reason for this is, that Kerala can be very humid. Glass would be a very bad material to use to humid climate, especially when you have 50 people sitting in the bus and perspiring. You need a lot of breeze, wind.

I got down at Vellapaya, and took an auto to KILA (Kerala Institute of Local Administration). This is where Abey George works. The guard at the gate, without me saying anything asked me if I was Harsha? yes I am, I said smiling. He said something, which meant follow me. He took me straight into the mess for lunch. He told the lady there, that Im guest of Abey saar, and that Im a vegetarian. The lady served me lunch. It had rice, along with 5-6 other items. All seemed familiar except one. I asked, what that was. Fish, she said. In this part of India, Fish is considered vegetarian. When I asked for water, she served me warm water. In Kerala, they serve warm water with food. All this was new for me.

Then came Abey. I was so happy to see him. He asked me to finish the food fast and then accompany him to a meeting with the local Panchayat. In the car were Jyothi and Arunima. I had met jyothi just once earlier about 10 years back. She had come to her house, and my mom was very happy to know that Abey found his partner. My mom was always worried about him. For me Abey had always been my hero. He was a student of my mom and so would visit our house almost everyday. There he would have long discussions with my father on issues of development, modernity,culture,environment,gandhi and all that. And I would just sit with them and listen. He then one day left for Narmada Bachao Andolan. He returned after a few months, to complete his Phd. He had been my hero since then. We were meeting after 10 years now. I was meeting Arunima, their daughter for the first time. She was 3 years old, and had probably for the first time seen a guy from north.

We all went to the Panchayat office for the meeting. In Kerala, 33% of the state budget is directly distributed to the village panchayat. And so as a result, the panchayats are very strong here. Though most Panchayats either waste the money or spend on the usual things like making roads and all, but for some one who is looking to do good work, alternative work, there is scope. Abey, with this panchayat was working to revive the traditional water harvesting model. Over the years, as a result of concretization, the water table in entire Kerala has gone down. To recover that, water harvesting can prove vital. And so in this regard was this meeting.

I was also happy to know, that his son Adityan who is 6 years old, studies in the village school in Malayalam medium. Which other professor would send his child to a village school? No one does. English medium is what everyone looks for. To see Adityan, was again a sense of reassuring.

The whole evening I spent playing with Adityan and Arunima. Adityan could manage a few english words, while Arunima just talked straight to me in Malayalam. I would not understand a word she would say, but she would still continue to talk. And the only response I had was "..uhh, ha". Sometimes it would be really funny too. Arunima asked me (in Malayalam of course) if I would want to have bath in hot water or cold water? My response was the same, "....uhh, ha". she then ran to her mom in the kitchen and said what kind of answer is that. When Jyothi told me all this, we all laughed loud, with Arunima wondering what is so funny.

Abey was to leave by 11.30 train for Thiruanandpuram. He was to spend a day there and then return the day after. So I had only a couple of hours to talk to him, before he returns. Our conversation started on an unexpected note. He wasn't too happy for the fact that I was taking up Phd. He didnt think much of doing Phds and academicians and also thought that Im taking a big jump from Electronics Engg to Humanities, Indian culture and all that. We had a serious, sometimes heated discussion. In the end we had to stop it, as it was getting late, and he was to get ready. Just as our discussion ended, he said to Jyothi "you know what, he reminds me of Satya ji (my father). The way he speaks, what he speaks, the way he stands everything". I was moved, speechless. We were all quiet for a few seconds. I guess no one knew what to say. It was the best compliment I had ever received in my life. I thought of my mom.

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 5

I had a train for Thrissur in the night today. The train was from Madgaon. I had planned to spend the day in Panjim, and then take a bus to Madgoan in the evening. The train was at 11.30 in the night.
In the morning, Kanwarjit's uncle and his cousin arrived. Both of them were sikhs. I thought I would ask Kanwarjit, at a suitable time, why he is not a sikh, why he cut his hair? The effects of sikh riots in '84 and then the militancy in Punjab can still be seen. I never found that right moment, where I could have asked this to Kanwarjit. I guess, our friendship still need to build more, before I could ask this.
The whole morning we sat in the kitchen and talked, while it drizzled outside. I must have told Yashoda and Kanwarjit, how happy and inspired I was to see them,their lifestyle. I just felt like telling this to them. Their's was life, I had always thought of living. They slept on the floor, ate on the floor, ate with hands, cooked for themselves, cleaned their house themselves, had no TV. Seeing them, I felt reassured. I felt, yes I wasn't dreaming something unreal. Such a life is possible, and can be lived. There are people living like this. And they are proud of themselves. I was proud of them too.
I asked Kanwarjit, how he managed his finances."Money has always been an issue", he said. But there was no remorse in his voice. It was like saying, although he his struggling for living, but he his happy that he took this life. This was a live example in front of me, where money is a problem, but its not a hindrance to their happiness, to their sense of achievement, to their commitment to nature and society. Its no big deal in the end. I always knew all that in theory, but to see it practically was reassuring.

In the afternoon I went to Panjim city. Went to the Miramar beach again and sat there. Not many people were there at that time of the day. Sometimes I was all alone. The sea was rough. At a distance there were few boys playing football. This is one of the few places in India, where cricket is not seen. I haven't seen anyone in Goa play cricket. Football yes. I found a cyber cafe near Miramar. I had to write a blog. There was so much in me, I had to write all that.

I found Artee online on gtalk. She told me, she has a friend who works in Panjim and gave me her phone number. I called Sharon, told her my name is Harsh and I got your number from Artee. We decided to meet at 3.30 at some restaurant near the boathouse. All this while she kept calling me 'Hari' or 'Harish'. I wanted to correct her, but just felt shy.

I waited outside the Mandovi restaurant, waiting for Sharon to arrive. I would at every woman passing by and wonder if that was her. I had told Sharon, that I m wearing a Khadi Kurta and blue Jeans, so that it would be easy for her to recognize me. I guess, in Panjim I was the only guy in that outfit. Not many people wear a Kurta in the cities. Well, she came and she recognized me. One just needs to look and smile, and not say anything. We then went to this one of the rare vegetarian restaurants. While I had Paav bhaji, Sharon had tea.

At 5.00 I had to reach Kala Academy, where Kanwarjit would meet me along with his son Anant. Anant takes his flute lessons there. There were a lot of children there coming for music or dance lessons. While Anant went for his classes, Kanwarjit and I sat outside talking. It had finally started raining now, the kind of rain I came looking for. Kanwarjit had brought some old puzzles and books which Anant had used. I was to take them to Thrissur for Abey's kids. The idea of passing on the toys from elders to someone young seemed so sensible to me. I always used, toys of my cousins, cricket bat, hockey stick, carrom board etc. Every child in the city need not buy a toy. But then what will happen to the market, to the shops, to the factories?? I can just smile at that....

I took a 7.00 pm shuttle to Madgaon. Roamed around the markets there and then walked to the station. In Madgaon, I saw my first slum in Goa. It was a cluster of 5 houses in between the Apollo hospital and station. The thought of whole Goa being slum free felt so good, but also seemed impossible. I was at the station at 9.30. While entering it, the guards thoroughly checked me and my stuff. They checked my ticket and asked me all sorts of questions. I felt that little sense of fear in me, although I knew I was clean. Why did they pick me out of many others? I still dont know.

My train, Netravati express came on time at 11.30. It had been a long day and I was tired. I just crashed into my birth.

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 4

At Kudal

In the morning while I woke up I heard the sound of rain. Finally there was some. I have been chasing the rain, but they have been running away from me. I came to Hyderabad from Delhi in the hope that it would rain good,but it did not. Then I took on this trip in the hope of some rain, but it did not. And finally I heard it pouring in the morning. It would be my day today I thought.
When I got up, I realized there was no water. The water did not come and we were careless not to fill a bucket before going to sleep. Bloody hell. I needed to shit badly now that I was off the bed. I could have managed a bath as it was raining outside, but how to manage shitting. I was stuck. The idea of not to shit at all seemed a little too uncomfortable. I thought I could go behind the training centre in the open and use the leaves. But just then I saw an open tank lying in the open. Since it had rained all night, the tank managed to catch hold of some water. And this water would give me liberation.
The breakfast again was that of Vada Paav. Next we went to Konbac office to have a discussion with Sanjeev. As we were to leave today for Goa, we wanted to clear some doubts we had with him before leaving. At his office we saw a familiar face. We seemed familiar too. Hey its the same lady at the resort yesterday. We were so happy to see her again, totally unexpectedly. Her name was Prema, belonged to Delhi and worked with UNDP. Under that she works with many NGOs across the country. One such organization is Pradaan working with tribals of Jhanrkhand and Orissa. Prema was in Konbac to see their bamboo work and see how the tradtional knowledge of the tribals are be made accessible to the market. And so she was here to meet Sanjeev.
Prema too was headed to Goa and she had a cab with her. She offered us a lift and we gladly accepted it.
On our way we stopped at Sawantwadi at a dhaba for lunch. While Prema had a non-veg thali (fish and prawns and mutton, you name it) we had a veg malvani thali. I just tasted a piece of prawn from her thali.
Prema dropped us at Panaji, the capital of Goa. Panaji is on the banks of river Mandovi. We thought to just take a stroll along the river, as it was evening time and then leave for kanwarjit's place. We must have walked for about 40 min, when we reached the sea. It's called the Miramar beach. It is where the river meets the sea, an estuary. I was seeing this for the first time in my life. The slow and quiet meeting of fresh water into the salty water of the sea. We also realized that we had walked across the whole Panaji city.
We then came back to the main bus stand and from there took a bus to Porvorim, where Kanwarjit lives. On the way was a place called Coquirrin, named after a restaurant. Outside the restaurant is a statue of Charles Shobraj seated and handcuffed. I was told be a local that it was here that he was caught for the third time. Charles Shobraj is an infamous murderer and thug, who has number of cases against him in many countries. The India police had caught him twice before and each time he managed to flee from the jail.

Trip to Konkan & Kerela- Day 3

Kudal-Malvan-Tarkarli-Kudal

i found vada paav at a small tea shop for breakfast. I make a point to not miss them whenever Im in Maharashtra.Nothing cant beat vada paav for me. So we had a lovely breakfast.
Bamboo Meeting-
We then spent a few hours seeing the workshop of Konbac. We were basically accompanying Sanjeev, the director of Konbac, George the person who designs all the artifacts and Himnashu Karve who had come from Pune. Himanshu was some kind of an expert from Pune who was here for some expert advice Konbac needed. Himanshu also happened to know Kanwarjit. We mostly listened quietly to their conversation. Based on that i figured that Konbac is facing mainly four problems with bamboo
1.I a bamboo wall (say a row of 100 bamboos) a few of them (3 out of 100) would get the fungal infection randomly. Konbac had no idea why that was happening and what is to be done for that.
2.To align bamboo pillars (which were to be the building blocks of a structure) was a difficult task.
3.Puncturing bamboo to put of bolt can often cause cracks to develop.
4. I dont rememer the fourth problem. Just slipped out of my mind.

This meeting cum touring happened till 11am when George suddenly suggested us to visit a resort in the village Tarkarli. There a bamboo boat house was being constructed, which we could have a look at. I dont know why, but some how I had assumed that we would be taken to all these constructions sites. But this was a reminder to us that we are now grownups and we need to travel alone. George drew a rough map for us to reach Tarkarli and they dropped us at the Kudal bus station. We were to take a bus from here to Malvan.
The good thing in Maharashtra is the you get state owned buses for every remote village. In fact I m told there is a system of Makaam gadi (makaam means destination and gadi would be bus), where the last bus in the evening would leave for the remotest village in the region, stay there over night and then return the next morning. So we took another of those red ST bus to another town called Malvan. As usual it was another rickety bus, ready to fall apart. Ive started loving them now.
The route from Kudal to Malvan was beeeeuatiful. We were traveling up and down the meadows, plenty of turns and curves and the bus would stop at every village on the way. The villages in this part are beautiful. Right in the middle of forest, one would find some huts and some plane agriculture area. The houses are made in traditional style. They have a slanting roof, where mud tiles are placed on top of another. The slope is such that it is just enough to stops the mud tiles from slipping. The force of friction allows them to hold onto each other. As a result no cement is used in the roof. I was told by an architect that the roof consumes the maximum cement in a house and so this arrangement is not only cheap but a lot more environment friendly. The walls of the houses though was mostly of concrete. That saddened me a bit. Im still looking for a village in India where they have traditional houses,dresses,food etc. I guess i need to go off the road to find one now. The road seemed to have 'modernized' (and concretized) our society.
On the way to Malvan we crossed a river. When i tried to locate it on the map, it showed no river in that region. The water body was definetly too big to be a nullah. Im sure it is a river. We reached Malvan bus stand in about 40 min. From there we took another bus to Tarkarli village, our destination or makaam. Just before reaching Tarkarli the bus with an almost head on collision with a motor cycle. Thankfully there were no major injuries, just a few bruises. We all got down the bus, the two riders were taken to a house next to the road, where an old woman gave something to them to eat. I think it must be something in the kitchen with would prevent infection. As a child my mom used to give me haldi-milk each time I would fall on the road. It is suppose to prevent tetanus. Thankfully in India most of our medicines come from our kitchen and we dont have to depend much on the market for our health. But the sad part is, we dont seem to value this. This knowledge can easily die out with one generation and there may come a time where we would have to rush to a chemist for as small a problem like a cut in the hand. I believe the kitchen has cure for all minor injuries and illness and also for some major illnesses.
Our bus moved forward only when everyone was convinced that the two motor cycle riders are now fine and back in normal senses. In rural India people are still not in too much of hurry and that basic concern for the other is still there.
2 min after that we got down at the MTDC (Maharashtra Tourism Development Corporation) resort in the Tarkarli village. This resort is at the beach where a boat house made of bamboo is being constructed. We had come here to see the construction. At the entrance of the resort there was a sign board saying "entry for only those who are staying". We would not even have been allowed to enter if Konbac had not sent us. I thought its a life time opportunity for me to enjoy a beach resort for free. I dont think I will ever be able to afford a vacation at one ever. And so we made full used of the opportunity. We saw the construction, ate food and then sat on the beach, watching the sea. It was a rough sea as this is the monsoon season. Just as we were sitting there, a woman came and sat next to us. I just turned and said hi to her, to which she also responded with a smile. I guess she must be one of those elites who can afford to stay at a resort like this.

On our way back, we got down half way in a village. We still had time in our hand and so thought to have a closer look at a village. We spent I think an hour, just moving in the village, drinking water from a well, peeping into a school classroom. We then caught another bus back to Kudal.

Trip to Konkan and Kerela- Day 1&2

Hyd-Belgaum

We took the Rayalseema express from Lingampally station in Hyderabad. Before leaving i checked the train schedule. it stopped after every 30 min on average. I was very happy to see that. It meant spending more time in the country side, getting down at all those small stations.
Next day in the morning, after crossing Hubli the forests started. I have not seen a greener India in my life. The train slowly moved right through the jungle area, with light drizzle all along. This was like a meadow area, all up and down. In between there would be small farms. Because of the slopy terrain, people do step farming here, much like in the lower Himalayas. The farmers working in the field were using a jute bag covering their back as a rain coat. I think the crop they were sowing was rice, and so that would mean spend the whole day bending down and sowing seeds. Only the back is then exposed to the sky and hence the rain. And so a jute back on the back acts like a raincoat.
In the train we met Nezar Karam, a Sudanese national. I would have mistaken him for any other south indian had he not said he is from Sudan. He had been in India for a over a month and traveling, traveling alone. He was headed for Goa. He would have got down at a station named Londa and from there taken a bus to Madgaon. He told me about Sudan. They recently found oil, and so the economy is now booming. Even many Indian firms are investing in Sudan. I asked about Darfur, as Sudan is in news only for that here. He said Darfur is like Kashmir in India, at one end of the country. What happens in Darfur is restricted to that area only. He said it takes a 7 day drive by car to reach Darfur from Khartoum, the capital of Sudan.

We reached Belgaum at noon. Beautiful weather, nice quite town, the highest point in this region.We had a nice lunch and then took a Goa state transport bus to Sawantwadi in Maharashtra.

Sanwantwadi-Kudal

We met Kanwarjeet at the Sawantwadi bus station. We thought we would go to his place in Goa, but he had other plans for us. He told us to leave for a small town Kudal right away. We were to stay there for 2 days, see the bamboo constructions in nearby villages and then return to Goa at his place. He quickly made a map for us, and guided us to the bus which was leaving for Kudal. And so off we went to Kudal, totally unplanned, completely new territory. I sure was excited.
We stayed at the training centre of Konbac. Konbac stands for Konkan Bamboo and Cane development centre. I guess its a govt fundede organization working in Bamboo in the Konkan region. They have a training centre where they train the local people to make different artifacts of bamboo.

Whats behind the dustbin??!!

India is a dirty country. There is garbage out everywhere in open. Why don't we have bins everywhere? why don't we throw our waste in the bins?
I met Abhinav in SIDH, Mussorie and we spent some time together. He was one of those NRI kids who had an urge to travel India, to know what India is, to know why India is the way it is, to look for their roots. Both of us had gone to SIDH with the similar objective. Interacting with him, also gave me an insight into the first world. Abhinav lived in Canada, and at that time was visiting India.
So where do you people throw your waste, I asked him. Bin was the answer. All the wasted produced goes in the Bin. The laws are followed strictly there. There are heavy fines for someone caught littering in open. Also the people there value their clean streets. But is that the end of story? Is throwing your waste in the dustbin the end of the problem? Pawanji asked us these questions. He told us to find what happens to the bin when it is full.
The west is consuming at an alarming rate and this consumption is their symbol of development. But with high consumption comes high waste production, and waste disposal is therefore a huge problem. Throwing the waste in the bin is not the end of the story. Every morning the bin is empty. So where did the waste go from there? Evaporated? Buried? Or recycled?
The first world exports its waste to the third world, mainly to nations in Africa. Ship loads of waste, all kinds of waste (plastic, electronic, chemical, biological and perhaps even nuclear) are shipped off to Africa. We are talking in the magnitude of tens of thousands of tonnes of waste. All that shipped to Africa.
So why would an African nation take all that waste? In exchange of the aid given by west. The western donors give a lot of aid in terms of food,medicines, relief materials and in exchange they serve as their bin. Africa is fast becoming a global bin. All that we throw in our neighbourhood bin, lands up in some African village.
To throw one's waste in the bin is not the end of it. We need to talk about consumption and production of waste. Endless consumption leads to production of huge amounts of waste. The neighborhood bin is not big enough to handle our waste.

What about recycling? Why don't we recycle our waste?
I feel thats another strong myth we all have, that recycling is the end of the problem. In nature there is nothing as recycling. The natural process is called 'Avartansheel' process. Interestingly, I have not come across and English word for that. 'Avartansheel is something more that recycling'. Lets take the example of a tree. You sow a seed, it grows into a plant and then a tree. It then gives flowers and fruits and through them we get the seed back. This will be termed as a cyclic process. But in this process, all the units involved are getting enriched. The soil, water, air ,tree, seed all of them are more enriched at the end of the cycle. So, in 'Avartansheel' process not only recycling is taking place but also enrichment is happening simultaneously. Lets now compare it with the recycling of plastic or paper. By the end of recycling plastic, what is get is a degraded quality of plastic (and not enriched). And the other units like water get polluted. The same is the case with paper or any other product which is recycled. The process of recycling not enough, nothing short of 'Avartansheel' process will do. Otherwise it is simply converting one kind of environmental problem to another.

So throwing things in the bin or assuming that recycling is the answer will not do. We have to talk about our consumption and waste production. Our generation cannot afford to runaway from this problem. Im not saying lets start throwing our waste in open, but throwing something in the bin is not the end of it. We have to start taking stock of our consumption NOW.

Learning Samskritam

Last week I saw a pamphlet in Navjyoti ji's room. It talked of a 5 day residential Sanskrit learning shivir. To learn Indian languages has been in my plans for a long time, but I never considered Sanskrit among them. I never knew anyone who would speak Sanskrit and would be ready to teach me. So seeing this pamphlet I thought to give it a try. The cost of shivir for just Rs.150 for 5 days, something which I could afford. I also thought, learning Sanskrit could provide me the base to learn more Indian languages as it is the mother of all languages. I asked Navjyoti ji about it and he readily agreed for me to go there.

The shivir was organized in a Sai Dham ashram in a village on outskirts of Hyderabad. The venue was an added incentive for me. I thought it would give me another experience of spending some time in rural Andhra and therefore learn more about the local way of living. While on my way to the venue I thought not more than 5 people would be present. After all who would be interested in learning Sanskrit when better options like French, German and English were available. Maybe a few old people who have retired from jobs would come for such a workshop.

When I reached there I was surprised to see the number of people who had come. There must have been around 60 people, as young as Pranav who studied in class VII and as old a few people of my grandparents' age. I was also happy to see Prashant and Lini there. I knew then already from IIIT. When I reached there, a lecture was being delivered by a swami ji. He was speaking in Sanskrit, and I understood almost nothing of what he said.

Our classes started around 11am on the first day. I was looking forward to their way of teaching a language. To be able to learn a language in just 5 days was something I wanted to see how. The golden rule of the shivir was to speak in Sanskrit. Only in Sanskrit for the next 5 days, whether we are in class or outside. How would I do that when I don't know Sanskrit. Well you speak while enacting the actions. So for example if I'm asking for water, I enact out water and use the word 'Jalam' for it. If I don't know the word 'Jalam', then by the response from the other person I will get to know that water means 'Jalam'. I would also know the use of the word 'Jalam'. Our teacher Devki said, "we teach language the way a mother teaches it to her child, through actions". We all learned our languages not from grammar books but by observing our parents, by them enacting to us what they wanted to communicate. When I see my young nephew who is still learning our language, actions is what he uses to describe things to us. Thats the way you learn a language.

So the next 5 days were very interesting for me. We were speaking,acting,making mistakes and laughing. All that made us think in Sanskrit. Our time-table of the was also well packed. We would get up at 5am and sleep by 10 in the night. The Ashram was 10km from a near by village named Keesara. It was on top of a hill with hills all around. I asked Sanjeev Mahodaya (who was one of the organizers) next day in the morning about arrangements of toilet. He said I could just go anywhere. I just need to pick a bucket and walk in any direction, find a suitable place and then do the needful. When I asked about bathing, same was his answer. I could just fill my bucket and take bath in the open. WOW! thats what I was looking for. I have had not had this experience of going out in the field and bathing in open for some years now. The only place I find this luxury is in my village. I used it to the fullest here. This of course meant regularizing my diet. I could not afford to over-eat or eat at wrong timings. I cannot afford to have pressure at anytime of the day. I could also not afford to not have pressure at 5 in the morning. Luckily it all went well. I ate regularly, and it just went fine. A few steps closer to natural living.

Being there I also got an insight of Andhra way of eating food. The meals are eaten in number of courses. First rice if served along with dry vegetable and chutney. Once you have done with that, more rice would be served, this time with Sambar. Mind you, there are no bowls or spoons. The only utensil they have is a plate and they prefer eating with hands. So rice and Sambar is mixed well and eaten. When done with that, more rice is served with buttermilk. I do not know the local name of buttermilk, but since we were speaking in sanskrit it was referred as 'takram'. Rice was 'annam', dry vegetable was 'vyanjanam' and sambar was 'shakanam'. Water was of couse 'jalam'. This style of eating is quite different from north Indian way of eating. In north chapati (Indian bread) is a must in any meal, which is something not seen in south. Also in north people just eat everything together. So this experience was something new and wonderful for me. The food was more than usual spicy for me.

This shivir was organized by an organization named Sanskrit Bharti. In Sanskrit they see immense potential. A lady told us that the nation of Israel was built around Hebrew language. Few people spent their entire lives simplifying Hebrew and making it the national language and around that they were able to built a whole nation. Using Sanskrit, re-uniting the whole Bharat seemed one of the objectives. There was also a strong belief that chanting of Sanskrit slokas is good for mind, body and environment. And then there are the vedas. A lot of people including myself who believe the vedas have a lot of knowledge in them which needs to be explored. And to do that Sanskrit is the medium. So Sanskrit there was something more than a language. It was a means to save our culture.

For me there was another interesting observation. I got a feel of what traditional Indian way of knowing is and I could compare it with modern way of understanding things. The way I was grown up, I developed a habit of understanding things through logic. It is called the rationale way of thinking. That's how we understand things, and that how we believe things can be understood. But there has been another way of understanding which is seen in Indian tradition and also in Buddist. This is by first completely submitting oneself to what is being said. To completely being the way it is required to understand. And then have faith and patience both that understanding will come. In this method, faith is the most important thing to start with. You can not start by doubting the proposal. Where as in modern style, raising questions becomes an important part of learning.

I found myself devided between these two processes. I could not think of understanding by any other method than reasoning. But I could not neglect the traditional method too as I know people who have understood things using this method. For me, the 5 days were a struggle to decide what method I should adopt when listening to all that was talked about there.

The shivir also gave an opportunity to make new friends. Spending time together and learning a language made us gel together well. We all enjoyed each other's company.

What is a country? What is India?

What is India? How do we define it? Who is an Indian? Amitabh (Mitu) asked me these questions about 2 years back when I was at SIDH. The larger question was how do we define a nation, and more specifically how to define India? India still can be defined to an extent, but how to define Hindustan or Bharat? These questions have been bothering me for sometime now.

I thought of number of possible parameters that can be used to define a nation. The parameters of culture, language, geographical boundaries, religion, the way people look etc. But they all seem to fail when it comes to defining Bharat. The culture at a level changes every 10 miles in any direction one travels. Yet at the same point the deeper culture remains same here, in Pakistan, Bangladesh or any country in this region. The same is the case with language. Geographical boundaries are also no barriers. Be it the mountains or the seas, Bharat extends beyond them. Religion is again that changes from neighbors to regions. So how do we define our country? Where do we draw the borders on the map. Interestingly the borders of present day India were not drawn by any Indian. Our borders were drawn by British officers. The validity of parameters based on which they drew the line is for us to decide individually.

I read a blog recently which was written on the Tibet issue. The writer of the blog wondered why India is failing to take a stand on Tibet? What stand should India take, I thought. The Chinese have reasons of their own to believe Tibet to be part of them. The Tibetans have reasons to have a free nation. How would a third party like India decide whose reasons are more genuine?Will the parameters we choose to take sides, remain the same when it comes to some other country or even within India?

From an individual perspective the question is where do we relate ourselves and where we do not? We relate to any reported incident in a village in Punjab, but going further west a few miles there might be another village in Punjab (Pakistan) for which we may not feel concerned. How did we draw this line in our minds? Tomorrow if another division happens in the country, will we stop relating to another set of people?

So why does an individual like me worry about all these questions? Why don't I leave this for the politicians or bureaucrats? At an individual level I think it's a matter of my identity. It's how I identify myself. The answers to these questions may not effect my salary or my grades in anyway, but it is true I can't let them remain answered. All my fight for grades and packages is for my identity, and this is one of the fundamental issue relating to what I am.

The questions still remain. What is India? Where does it start and where does it end? Who is an Indian? Who am I?

Death of Mahashay Sadaram Arya

It was september 1997. One month had passed since my father passed away. I was 15 years old then. School had started again and I was trying to get back into normal life. My friends at school were proving to be a great support. Incidently two of them had also been in the situation I was in now. Their father had also passed away in the last few years. Their support in the class was proving invaluable to me. On the other hand I was acting the brave boy. I would smile at anyone who would stop and talk to me. Before they could ask about my well being, I would promptly ask about theirs.

One month had passed. It was a hot september afternoon. I had just returned from school. My mom was at work. She had prepared lunch for me in the morning itself and left for work. I only had to take shower and then eat the lunch. This had been our usual schedule in the afternoon. I had just entered my home, was just surfing the TV channels when the door bell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone. As I opened the door I saw Mahashay Sadaram Arya standing there. He was an old man from Haryana. Mahashay is the title used in the state of Haryana and West U.P which signifies 'respected gentleman'. This title is usually used for an elderly person in the village who commands respect. Somebody people look upto for advice in village matters or even personal matters.

For people like him nothing more is more important than defending the integrity of this title. No amount of money or any other incentive would prove effective when it comes to influencing their descision in village matters. In a village, such people will hold lot more integrity than the local judge or lawyer.

Sadaram ji had great respect for my father. He considered him like his son. He would often visit our home and have long discussions on the present state of the country, the youth and the possible solutions. In Jeevan Vidya he saw the potential to give right understanding to the youth. His biggest worry was the disorientation of the village youth towards their village, their culture and unusual fascination towards city life. He called it the 'trouser culture'. The steady decline in the interest in farming was something that really worried him. In discussions with my father he saw some kind of hope for future. And so Mahashay Sadaram Arya was very fond of my dad. He was fond of me too. But I disliked him. I disliked him, because he was a typical village elder and I was growing into a modern boy. His expectations bothered me and my freedom worried him. While he expected a young boy like me should learn and appreciate the art of touching feet of elders, to me that looked an act of curbing my freedom. So while everytime I touched his feet the way my father wanted but in me I always felt uncomfortable. The act of bending down in front of someone and touching his feet seemed an interferance in my freedom.

Anyways, so this man was standing out at the door happy to see me. I too smiled back at him (with a little sense of discomfort in me). This time there was no dad who would ask me to touch his feet. Therefore the responsibility fell on me. I bent down and touched his feet. He gave me his blessings. I led him inside our house into the drawing room. It was a hot day and his face was red. I offered him some water and then sat on the sofa in front of him. We were both sitting quietly waiting for the other to start a conversation. He broke the silence by asking how my school was and how my studies were going. I had the usual readymade replies for such questions. I answered them promptly with an artificial smile. There was again a period of silence.

I was expecting him to mention a word about my father. Something of a sort that how bad he felt to hear the news of his demise. But he wasn't saying a word. I thought maybe he gathering some courage to speak to me about him. He then spoke." Please call your father and inform him about me. Please ask him if he could come a little early from office. I want to discuss something important with him".

I didn't know what to say. This man had come to meet my father. He had no clue that he had passed away just a month back. We had sent a letter to everyone informing about the demise, but I guess the letter never reached his village. The Indian postal system cannot be fully trusted when it comes to delivering important letters.
This situation was new to me. I had to inform somebody in person about my father's death. I just didn't know what to say, what words to speak. I kept quiet for what could have been the longest one minute in my life. I was looking at him and he was looking at me. He was probably wondering why I am not picking the phone and calling my father.

I then spoke."Don't you know? Did you not recieve the post card? My father died last month".

There was complete silence in the room. I could hear the sound of fan. This old man had completely gone quiet. His face got more red. He just sat there without making any sound. His eyes were wide open. He was looking at something, not me.

I slowly started feeling bad. It felt as if I gave this man a shock of his life. A shock he was not prepared for. We just sat there quietly facing each other. No one said anything. He then got up. "I should leave now", he said. He then moved towards the door. He stopped, turned back and put his hand on my head. It was a gesture of giving me good wishes. He then went away, went back to his village in Haryana from where he had come.

I was wondering what was going inside him. He must have had lots of plans for his village, all of which must have come crashing down. The problem of disoriented youth all of sudden must have become huge. When he would reach back home in the evening people would ask about the meeting. What will he tell them?? I kept thinking on all that the whole day. That was probably the first time I cursed the postal department. Why did the post card not reach him??

Few days past by since that day. One day I recieved a post card. It said, " With great greif we inform you about the sad demise of Mahashay Sadaram Arya". The old man had died within a month of that incident. The postal department did not miss the letter this time thankfully. I had tears in my eyes.

It's been more than 10 years now since this incident happened. Mahashay Sadaram Arya's face is still clear to me. I still remember the details of that day.

The Blue Tooth way of touching feet

I was at home last week. It was good to be back with the family after a long time. The entire family was there over the dinner on 29th March. Usually it's unlikely in our family for everyone to be present together at the same time in the house and have dinner. So this was one such not so often occasion. And boy we did have fun. Lots of chit chatting, lots of leg pulling and lots of jokes.

Amongst all those funny conversation, one such conversation tinkled a bell in me which I thought is worth sharing on this platform. It was about the Blue tooth technology. For those who may not be aware of what Blue tooth refers to, let me just mention a line for it. Blue tooth is a technology, where two electronic devices can interact with each other, without any physical contact between them. This technology is commonly used in mobile phones these days. If two phones are in vicinity of each other, then using Blue tooth they can exchange data from one another. And for this purpose physical contact is not necessary.

Anyways, coming back to our family talk, my brother tried to show the extension of this technology in our relations. He described, what he termed "The blue tooth way of touching feet".
It's a common practice in Indian families to touch the feet of any elderly person one meets. The method of touching feet has however changed over the years. The original method was to bend fully and massage both the legs of the elderly. This massage giving would last for half a minute to one minute. The elderly person meanwhile showers the youngsters with all the best wishes he can think of. This method over the years 'evolved' into a method where the youngster bends down fully and touches both the feet with both hands. The time reduced from half a minute to about 10 seconds. And in these few seconds, the elderly would shower whatever best wishes he can think of. The massaging of feet vanished. Further 'evolution' meant, the youngsters now would bend and touch any one foot with any one hand. The time of the process further decreased. Moving further into time, the youngsters would now just half bend, and touch the knees of the elderly with one hand, instead of the feet. The time taken would be in order of couple of seconds. And now the latest thing is to touch the feet using Blue tooth. The youngster just pretends to bend, with one hand pointing towards the feet of elderly. There would be no physical contact. The hand and the feet would be in vicinity of each other. Similarly the elderly would just keep his hand over the youngster's head and not touch it. My brother termed this as 'The Blue tooth way of touching feet'.

My Nani (grandmother) had a great laugh over this. She is the only one in the family who has witnessed the massaging method of feet touching. My brothers and I only know the latest two forms described.