Posted on by nikita

Rains, ruins, and remedies

Premature birth results from internal complications within a mother’s body; premature rains, the consequence of human-induced external disruptions. For instance, deforestation and urbanization. Unchecked human activities have a ruinous effect on the environment. 

One such corroboration is the recent unseasonal rains in May, affecting the mango crop yield in Gujarat. Not to mention the strong winds that knocked down baby mangoes from their mother tree. Prematurely. 

These are known facts. But I wonder if this untimely rain carried some subtle message for the city’s municipal corporation. 

Hey, when an apathetic civic authority finds it difficult to understand the obvious grievances of its citizens, how will it decipher hints from a voiceless rain? 

So, here I am — the voice of the rain, communicating its pitter-patter as a forewarning, something I attempted to decode.

  1. Make sure your city roads are sturdy enough to defend themselves from the mighty showers. Designer roads with different-sized patchwork don’t last long. Patchwork is aesthetically pleasing only on clothes, not on city roads. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell what’s weaker—the roads or the human conscience. 
  2. Make sure that the recently repaired roads across the city—which you’ve dug up again, this time for installing water pipelines—are timely and evenly smoothed out. On my last visit to Earth, hillocks of soil and gravel were visible on every other road.
  3. Make sure I don’t get mixed with the sewage waters in case I come down as torrential rains. Presumably, the city’s sewer system and drainage infrastructure are in place. I don’t want your citizens to blame me for any waterborne diseases. After all, ‘jal hi jeevan hai’. 
  4. Make sure there’s no waterlogging in the city. I don’t enjoy staying stagnant in one place. And that too, bearing the angry brunt of the commuters. I despise people giving me disdainful looks even when the fault isn’t mine. Let me reiterate—your city’s drainage infrastructure must be well-maintained.
  5. Make sure that after a week of my coming down, you install sign boards at every meter or two on the roads, especially cautioning the commuters on motorcycles about the menacing craters since these vehicles have little cushioning. For example, place sign boards indicating the width of a pothole – 3-4 feet, 4.5-5 feet, and so on. Possibly, also mention the depth of these potholes, warning the commuters to maintain their speed accordingly. Water-filled potholes camouflage their actual depth. These depressions not only reduce the vehicular life but also shorten the life of the riders because of accidents. 
  6. Make sure to also place sign boards indicating ‘KEEP RIGHT’ and ‘KEEP LEFT’  to guide the commuters through their dreadful journey on two-lane roads, helping them to dodge as many potholes as possible. That many of these two-lane roads have shrunk into a single-lane road because of the Metro project is a different story, though. On these roads, the commuters can only shift their bums right or left.  
  7. Make sure that the traffic police are effectively managing traffic jams, especially when the traffic signals are dysfunctional. More often than not, the traffic personnel are on their phones managing calls and messages, which leads to chaos at the crossroads. 

That’s all for now.

See you soon.  

*****

Mr Sharif: Mr Modi, can India give us lessons in effective rainwater harvesting?
Mr Modi: Talks only on terror and POK.



Posted on by nikita

Spic and span, here’s my hand

She pricked the vegetable uttapam with the fork in her left hand, moved the knife back and forth over it with her right hand, like a saw on wood, and cut a bite-sized piece of uttapam. Then, she elegantly dipped it in chutney and gently put it in her mouth.   

By this time, I had already mindfully chewed a couple of pieces, letting them glide down my fibromuscular esophagus into my hangry stomach, making at least one aspect of my life easy — eating with my hands. 

Generally, I avoid eating food that requires a fork and knife. And if it’s too tempting, I let others lead, and I follow suit. But when I see them struggling to cut a piece, I pounce on it with my hands and simply devour it. To hell with table etiquettes.

I don’t remember at what age I learned the art of eating with my own hands, just as I don’t remember the sudden appearance of forks and knives in my home — how they stealthily entered our kitchen territory!  

Forks still find their way out of the kitchen drawers on some days in many households — these days, many people even eat fruits with a fork (at home)! But knives remain reticent most of the time. Unless you are someone who eats pancakes, known as pudla or puda in desi language, with a fork and knife even at home. 

Doesn’t this cutlery look like armaments?

In a restaurant, when I see a systematically arranged fork and knife on either side of a plate, they conjure up an image of a military arsenal. Once the delicious food is lovingly placed on the table by the swiftly moving waiters, you pick up your fork and knife as if preparing for some kind of ambush — an attack on the unarmed food in front of your greedy eyes. For instance, using a knife and fork to eat hara bhara kabab, masala dosa, stuffed samosas, and a few other food items. 

Who needs a fork and a knife when you have five tines on each hand? And how can you chuck the joy of slurping a mango seed in an Indian summer till a couple of stubborn fibres get stuck between your teeth? (A tribute to summer)

I distinctly remember one aunt from my childhood who would run behind her small daughter, a fussy eater, trying to feed her with her loving hands. The daughter would scamper from one house to another in the neighbourhood. As soon as the aunt caught hold of her, she would forcefully stuff a big triangular piece of roti, concealing some sabji in the center, into her small mouth.

Imagine her chasing her child, fork and knife in one hand like weapons, threatening her child to eat — like a miniature, AI version of Rani Laxmi Bai. 

Of course, good table manners are needed,  whether you’re dining at home or in a formal setup. And frankly speaking, many Indian food items don’t even require cutlery except a simple, solitary spoon. But fascination with foreign culture has gradually overshadowed even our eating habits along with the choice of food. Often, people suppress the natural urge to eat with their hands, either because of the setting or social expectations. And as the adage goes, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do. ’ 

Instead, I would say, Rome or home, let your senses lead the way. 

*****

Mother: Today we have daal bhaat for lunch.
Daughter: Where’re my chopsticks?

Posted on by nikita

A visit to a hospital – Putting things in perspective 

When we were young, we used to get essay topics such as – ‘A visit to a zoo’, ‘A visit to a hospital’, ‘A visit to a museum’, and so on. As these were places I had never been to, extending my imagination beyond a certain limit wasn’t easy. 

But if I were to write an essay today on a visit to a hospital, it would be very different, of course. It would be more philosophical than sheer imagination. 

*****

When friends and relatives visit a hospital, they come with the ‘WH’ questions for the family members sitting there in the waiting area. Questions like — ‘What happened?’ ‘When did this happen?’ ‘How did this happen?’ ‘How and when did you come to know about this illness?’ ‘What did the doc say?’ ‘How long will it take to cure this disease?’ and so on.

And the family member(s) is left with no alternative but to tell his/her story. The patient’s father, mother, sister, brother, wife, husband, son, or daughter is expected to narrate the ordeal like a film script. The family member is made to relive the entire painful experience. It starts with the time, the day, and the date when a particular illness invades a body of the loved one. The irony is that the more they want to forget about distress and suffering, the more they are made to experience it by replaying the same account for every new visitor. It’s exhausting.

Sometimes, the visitor already knows the story, yet he/she will still ask questions seeking confirmation of the known details. It could also be a sincere attempt to connect to the family’s emotional burden.

Also you may come across some family members who seem to find comfort in verbalizing distressful episodes. Generally, they are well-versed with voice modulation. They know which words and phrases require emphasis, and when to pause. They seem to enjoy being the center of attraction, even if it’s momentarily or for the unfortunate circumstances. And with every new visitor, the narration slightly differs since one can’t remember the exact words and phrases. 

And when there are too many visitors at the same time, which generally happens in a big family, the same experience finds various narrators. Even the visitors become storytellers for the just-arrived visitor. They also seem to enjoy sharing their part of the story, with some improvization in the script. They like playing the cameo role of a comforter in the family’s tragedy because, after all, sharing is caring.

An observer and listener, sitting in a corner wonders — Aren’t people tired or bored relaying a story repeatedly? Do they find solace in retelling a tale of affliction? Are their actions out of love and care? Or is it to gain attention, acknowledgement, and sympathy? Or an attempt to make emotional connections?Are they waiting for some validation of their feelings and emotions? Or is it a cathartic moment for them? 

*****

I was waiting for my turn to meet the patient. This hospital was like any other hospital. For me, hospitals look somewhat like railway stations. The only difference is that at the station, we see people with baggage in a literal sense; in the hospital, they carry mental and emotional baggage. 

The hospital I visited also had hurried faces walking briskly towards the medicine counters, lifts, emergency wards, inquiry desks, or doctors on the move to have a quick word with them. The burdened faces of the relatives of patients sometimes appear oblivious to the world around them, like the people at the railway station. 

While waiting for the visitor pass so that I could cross the threshold guarded by security personnel, an unpleasant conversation hit my attentive ears. The man, who seemed to have lost a family member to death, got infuriated when he was asked to show his visitor pass. The fact that the security man hadn’t recognized him even after regular hospital visits seemed surprising to him. With intense displeasure and ire, he blurted, ‘There’s a death in the family and you wanna see my pass! Where will you end up after death!’ 

Once the angry middle-aged man left the scene, the agitated security guard vented his anger in front of his supervisor wearing a black safari uniform. His face and his uniform were uniformly creased. 

This incident made me wonder — Was the security guard at fault for following hospital protocols? Did he even know that there was death in that man’s family? Was the behaviour of the relative of the deceased acceptable? Would it have been difficult for him to follow a simple protocol despite whatever happened in his personal life?

I stood there thinking until the visitor pass was passed on to me and I went to meet the patient.

*****

Teacher: Raga, what’s your essay topic?
Raga: A visit to America. 



Posted on by nikita

From peri to post, the bells are ringing

Jingle bells, jingle bells, 
Jingle all the way,
Santa Claus is coming along,
riding down his way…

Why am I singing the Christmas song before Christmas? It’s still time for December. Christmas is still away. Of course, I know. I am just trying to keep up with the ‘pre’ trend. 

Nowadays, many things happen ‘pre’ to the event or festival. Like a pre-Diwali lunch or dinner. Pre-Diwali parties. It’s understandable though. You can’t be at different places simultaneously on the same day. You aren’t the omnipresent and omniscient God; you’re simply god-like. And to become a god or be considered God, you should be able to do godly things for real. 

Like the way, women can do certain things akin to god. For example, enduring pain in all its forms – mental, physical, and emotional before and after giving birth to a new life. They create a new life on earth. Isn’t it godly? 

Or even enduring pain every month from the age of 12 or 13 (it could be early/late for some) till the age of 40 (again, the age could vary).  And the painful cycle (many theists might consider it a Karmic cycle) doesn’t seem to end. Appears eternal. Because she still has to go through the stages of menopause — perimenopause and postmenopause. (Premenopause isn’t the correct medical term though people use it quite often.)

In keeping up with the pre-trend, I stumbled upon an amusing idea of connecting these prefixes to different stages of marriage.

For example, peri-wedding — the joy around marriage. It could be the courtship period once the wedding bells are rung, alluding to the likelihood of marriage between two people. There’s joy, excitement, fun, and jingling bells all around. The would-be bride and groom become Santa Claus for each other — giving gifts and surprises to each other, dashing through the metaphorical snow to meet each other. 

Then comes the pre-wedding aspect — the pre-wedding photo shoot. Quite in vogue currently. It’s like helping couples get comfortable with the photographer before they can get comfortable with each other — I mean, getting them to become more confident in front of the camera before the wedding day. 

The photographer gives lessons on the real-life application of math —  what should be the width of their smiles, the space between their lips, the distance they need to keep between them, the angle at which they hold their hands, and so on, so that the couple is thoroughly prepared for the day of marriage. 

And then there’s marriage. There’s music — the dhinchaak music during the procession— filling the air in a literal sense. There’s a Santa-like figure in white attire, the white beard replaced with a black beard (or no-beard), with a garland of flowers or currency notes around his neck, riding in a sparkling horse-drawn carriage. Sleighs can’t run on bumpy Indian roads, I suppose.

For the first few years of marriage, there are flowers, stars, moon, poetry, and everything that sounds and feels romantic under the sun. You are still Santa Claus to each other, but the size and the type of gifts begin to change. The pleasant surprises gradually lose their charisma, along with the hormonal changes. And sometimes you feel shocked not to receive those once-upon-a-time-lovey-dovey surprises. Your reactions are so much similar to hot flashes during menopause. 

But since you are in a karmic cycle, life continues. Until one day, you begin demonstrating post-marriage symptoms. This is the phase when you get used to each other, taking each other for granted, and the jingling bells transition to resting bells used in Buddhist meditative practices. You start considering the sound of everyday music therapeutic in nature. Sometimes, the absence of it brings discomfort and disquietude. The sonorous sound and the wave-like vibrations created by striking a gong (read kitchen plates, here) make you feel like an eternal celebration of the ritual of marriage. 

Whatever the stages be, you live happily ever after.

Happy New Year

*****

Friend (a prediscussion): Where did you get this idea for your blog?
Me: Why? Does it ring a bell with you?

Posted on by nikita

Upcycling Recycling Downcycling
         

Suddenly the concept of upcycling has come to the forefront. Reels on upcycling your mom’s saree, your dupatta, or a pair of denim are on the surge. A wonderful idea but not at all new.

Upcycling is a unique concept if one thinks from the point of view of sustainability in clothing. Less dumping, fewer landfills. Indeed, upcycling provides an opportunity to see the same saree or dupatta in a different light. A better light. Philosophical ha!

I still remember transforming my mom’s jamevaram and pethani sarees, and even my embroidered dupattas, into beautiful dresses. I do it even today. It allows me to explore and expand my creative realm.

Back then, we didn’t use the technical term ‘upcycling’. That’s the only difference. And  neither social media was available to make the concept popular.

Like we didn’t use the psychological or medical terms like ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression’. Most of us must have experienced emotions like fear, anger, sadness, restlessness, shame, nervousness, and many more that drained our happiness from within, like a lamprey fish that feeds off its prey and sucks its life. Either such emotions were considered natural while growing up or for most of us they weren’t worth an intervention. Maybe, we never realized how these emotions would shape an individual if unchecked and unattended.

Like we hardly realize (or we pretend not to realize) that the constant flood of motivational thoughts and beliefs in the modern era are nothing but the ‘recycled’ thoughts and beliefs of ancient wisdom. Of ancient philosophers and thinkers. It’s just that these learnings have become more accessible and fascinating because of technology and the way they are presented. Or represented?

I’m not sure if any learning is happening though.

But, surely, Ms. Atishi has learned the art of being a politician. In a press conference, before taking oath as the Chief Minister of Delhi, she analogized her situation with Bharat, the younger brother of Shri Ram. Akin to Bharat, in the epic The Ramayana, who had declared not to occupy the throne of Ayodhya since he considered Ram as the rightful heir, she announced that the Chief Minister’s seat would be occupied only by her brother Mr. Kejriwal. She was seen sitting in a chair next to Mr. Kejriwal’s throne-like red-coloured chair in the office with pictures of Bhagat Singh and Babasaheb Ambedkar on the wall in the background.

No sooner did this self-proclaimed-morally-superior analogy leave the premises of her mouth than there was an uproar on every news channel. Ms. Atishi had cleverly employed an ancient thought in the modern context, considering herself and Mr. Kejriwal to be the Bharat and the Ram respectively of the kalyug. Of course, she couldn’t replicate the part where Bharat placed Ram’s padukas on the throne. Mr. Kejriwal might be having only one pair of  footwear since he is an Aam aadmi. 

Wondering if the comparison is even fitting in the first place! Instead, isn’t it ‘downcycling’ a religious event?

Ram gave up his claim to kingship when he was exiled for 14 years. Shouldn’t Mr. Kejriwal have relinquished his chief ministership when he was jailed for around 6 months, setting the right example for future political leaders, especially if he aimed to emulate the principles of Ram? Also, are the citizens of Delhi eagerly awaiting Mr. Kejriwal’s return to power, just as the people of Ayodhya awaited Ram?

Difficult to say. India’s 2024 general elections  resulted in a surprising paradigm shift. So, let’s wait for February 2025.

*****

Me: Give me another word for ‘religious doctrines’.
Friend: Chinese whispers.