229. Guess Who?

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 57; the fifty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Madhu Vajpayee, the author of Seeking Redemption and Shades Publications, the publisher of Friendship- Bonds Beyond Time.

Voting day is an important day in sustaining and strengthening Democracy.

There are Different parties and Different slogans.

There are Different promises and Different manifestos.

There are Different faces and Different issues.

Somehow to me, they all look alike. I cannot differentiate between them, not a bit.

As a patriotic citizen, I always register as a voter and I always vote – that is if my name does not miraculously disappear from the list.

Today the magic – black magic I must say – happens again.

My name is not in the list.

I have a Voter Identity Card but probably I won’t be able to caste vote today.

I move from one counter to another counter.

There are many Smart guys using tablets and smart phones, but my name does not appear on any of those screens.

I am getting irritated, frustrated.

I move away from the polling station, cursing the system, cursing the rules.

***

Far away from the polling station, one young man approaches me. Apparently, there is no one else on the road. All that crowd I saw is left behind.

He certainly understands that I have not voted, my face is quite transparent, especially when I am in a problem situation.  So maybe he is going to convince me about ‘importance of voting’ or ‘citizen responsibilities’ or something of that kind.

I can ignore him but I automatically stop so that he can talk to me.

He politely asks, “Can you please hold my hand for a minute?”

I am surprised. I don’t know how to respond to this strange request.

I am not young, but still a man, a stranger asking this question to a woman!  

***

Then I realize that he is offering me a small plastic hand.

It is an election symbol of one of the National Parties in the country.

I forget my frustration and start laughing.

Well, well, now a days this party badly needs someone to hold its hand.

Who will be that? Any guess? 

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 49.

200. Color

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"

Every evening Grandpa holds my hand and takes me to the garden.

I like it.

Today children are playing some new game.

“Tipi Tipi Tip Top”, one girl shouts.

“What color you want?” responds the chorus.

“Blue” the girl says and everybody rushes around.

They catch something and laugh.

The laughter is joyful and clear like a sea wave.

Now it is another girl, her voice is different.

“Tipi Tipi Tip Top,” she shouts.

“What color you want?” the chorus.

“Grandpa, what is color” I ask with curiosity.

Grandpa sighs. He holds me close.

His tears fall on my face. 

(This is a Drabble) 

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: XX

183. Celebrations

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 33; the thirty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Celebrations'

They were coming one by one.

Everybody tried to hide the anxiety. However, the process of hiding revealed their emotions more than they themselves would have expected.

“Everybody here?” asked Nanda, knowing that one was still missing.

“Wait for Bachchan, see he is there, waiting for the signal,” Haveli pleaded.

They all waited for Bachchan – a five year boy.

Bachchan came running to them with great joy.

“Let us go behind the school, there would be nobody,” Khan gave a sort of order and everybody followed.

They were all smiles and walked silently behind the big building everybody called school. Many children came to that building every day. However, today the building carried a deserted look.

They huddled together, the taller pulling the shorter, the elders holding hands of youngsters. Everybody had something in one hand and they were trying to hide it from others.

“Ok, now all close eyes.” Nanda  said.

“I won’t” protested Kandya.

Khan put his right hand on Kandya’s head. “Nobody will take your treasure,” said Khan and everybody laughed loudly.

“I will say Ram, Seeta, Hanuman three times. Until then everybody keeps eyes closed. Third time when I say Hanuman, we open our hands and show our gifts to all ….” Nanda was the Didi of the group.

They all waited. Nanda gave the instructions. They opened their eyes and showed their treasure to others.

Nanda had a half torn box with three pieces of Laddu. Khan had found some crackers. Haveli had a box of Chiwda. Bachchan was luckier – he had received a ten rupee note. Kandya was amused by his gift – a packet of wafers with only two pieces in it.  Nani had received Bakarwadi. They enthusiastically watched all the gifts.

“Let us celebrate”, said Bachchan and everybody laughed. They ate whatever was available.

“What next?” asked Mintu.

“Now, we will move to that bigger signal, where more than four roads join and there are more cars on that road. Only people in car give gifts, remember,” Khan shared his experience.

“So, we will celebrate again?” Bachchan asked with all innocence.

“Boy, for one week, we will continue to celebrate, don’t worry,” Nanda assured him.

They moved towards the next signal.

The kids ignored and deserted by their parents, harassed by the police, snubbed by the car owners….

The kids half hungry, abused physically and verbally…

The kids with torn clothes and without bath for days …

The kids fighting with each other to catch attention of the commuters on the road…

They too celebrate Deepavalee ….in their own way.

The celebrations will continue for a while.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: XX

178. Innocent

" Wai Wai? or Momo? What would you prefer, Madam? " my colleague asked me.

Momo, I know. I like Momo. After coming to Delhi I have been consuming them regularly. However at that moment  I did not want Momo only because yesterday afternoon and yesterday evening I had already tested Momo in this part of the county. So, I asked what is Wai Wai? And realized that they are kind of noodles.

I was in the village Sikkp in Namchi area of (South Sikkim district) in Sikkim. My local colleagues were with me. In the morning I had climbed up and down the hills in village Wok and had used lot more calories, so I was hungry. But here there were only two options - Wai Wai and Momo.

I decided to have Wai Wai and it was filling. But my colleagues were still hungry and were planning to order Momo and Soup. Instead of waiting for them to finish their food, I decided to use this time to walk around and take some pictures. Because of my presence my colleagues were not able to freely converse in Nepali so they gladly accepted my plan.

I came outside and noticed the beautiful river flowing to my left. While going to Wok village I had asked about the river and was told that the name of the river is Rangeet (which literally means colorful or colored). This is a tributary of Teesta river - the lifeline of Sikkim. About Teesta river, there is a lot to tell - but not today. I was planning to climb down to the river and enter into the water - just stand in the water for few minutes. But then I realized that the water was too deep and was moving very fast. I also realized that there was no path to climb down and that during the last three days I have not seen anybody near the waters. The river is flowing with flurry - so better to keep away from her!

To my left there was a bridge. In Sikkim one comes across these bridges very often. I can imagine that when these bridges were not built, how the villages would remain cut off from the rest of the world for days. These bridges appear to be old and one wonders whether they are strong enough! But these bridges are very strong. They play a major role in connecting villages and in turn connecting people with each other. They carry the burden of the vehicles and make living of people a little less hazardous during monsoon and winter. 

.

I was adjusting my  camera when I saw both of them chatting together. They were standing in the middle of the bridge in a relaxed manner. Initially they were little worried about the camera in my hands. However, I believe that was the reason they wanted to interact with me. They started staring at me. I leisurely walked towards them. That increased their curiosity. I could understand that both of them were in two minds - whether to smile at me or not. I took the initiative and smiled.

"Can I take your photograph?" I asked in Hindi. One of them smiled signaling me his permission and was immediately ready to pose. The other was bit hesitant though. "Can't you speak Nepali?" he asked me expressing his distrust. I said, "No, I can't." He started thinking on my response. But the first one did not want to lose the opportunity to get photographed. He just made his friend quiet.

I took a photograph and showed it to them. Both of them were delighted.
"Are you alone?" one of them asked.
"No, I am not alone. My colleagues taking lunch, I finished with it and so came outside to take some pictures," I explained. 

"Why are you taking food in the hotel? Is your home here?" the first one asked again.
"No, my home is not here," I answered.
"Then where is it?" another question.
"It is in Delhi," I inform.
"Oh! That is the reason you cannot speak Nepali", the first boy who was still doubting me seemed to be little convinced. 

"Where have you come? To whom did you meet?" he asked.
I indicated the office where I had been.
"Ok, I know that office. You met the officer there?," another question.
"Yes," I answered without explaining more.
"Where will you go now?" one more question.
"Namachi", I answered again.
"Which car is yours? The Jeep or the White one behind?" he asked. I was impressed with his observation power. I answered that too.

Then I decided to ask few questions to them. Though the children looked very young, they were studying in fifth class. We had an interesting conversation about their school, Nepali language, mid day meal in the school, their teachers, hostel and the students in the hostel ...

"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Watching the water level" both of them answered together. 

Then there was another round of conversation- this time about the river. The name of the river is Rangeet, there is a dam on the other side, the water level increases during day and reduces in the night because it rains more in the night. They can swim but nobody swims in the river during rainy season.

I asked about fish. One of them explained, "There are no fish now. Like flowers they too are seasonal. This is not the season for fish..." he was patiently trying to explain. 

Suddenly they shouted at me, "Run fast. Your car is leaving. It will go without you..." They were able to see the car though I was not. I knew that the car won't leave me but I was touched by the concern the kids expressed about me.

"The car will pick me up. It will pass this bridge, won't it?" I tried to assure the boys.
"Namachi is not in this direction. It is on the other road...." the kids almost pushed me towards the car.

In the cities we are taught to act with purpose, taught 'not to befriend strangers'; taught to guard our privacy; in short we are taught to distrust people around us. Of course I agree that the changing situation has provided  a solid context to such behavior and attitude. 

However these kids talked to me for half an hour, they showed trust in me, they had a concern for me, they understood my limitations - I am touched by their action, 

Whenever I will remember the roaring waters of Rangeet, the green Himalayan range I will also remember this innocent conversation with these two young boys. 

**

177. Shadow

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 30; the thirtieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“Let us go to the seashore,” Anil suggested.

Sunanda was excited with the suggestion, even when she was worried. She had seen sea only in the movies and in the books – but she never had been on its shore. This was an opportunity.

However, Sunanda was caught in two minds. Something strange was happening in her life and she was not able to understand it properly. She was feeling uneasy about it but was unable to pinpoint the cause of her uneasiness.

Sunil had not taken her to ‘their’ home this morning. He talked about ‘some urgent meeting’ in the office which he had to attend to. He introduced his friend Anil to her and asked to follow instructions from Anil.

“When will we meet?” she had asked Sunil and he had just said, “Don’t know”.

Wasn’t it strange?

Anil seemed to be a good person. He took her to a restaurant, fed her well. He convinced Sunanda how life in Mumbai was different than village life and how Sunil was compelled to leave her and all that. She was not convinced. But she had nothing to complain about Anil. He seemed to be a decent fellow.

*****

Sunanda had arrived in Mumbai at about 3.00 in the afternoon. Sunil, her husband came to receive her at Dadar station. They were meeting for the first time after their marriage which took place a couple of months ago, and she had dreamt of a very romantic meeting.  

Sunanda after the accidental death of her parents was brought up by her maternal uncle. Well, life was not good there. Sunanda clearly knew that she was unwanted there but had no options but to stay with uncle. She managed to score good marks in her secondary school examinations but the doors of college education were closed to her. If there was a college in her village, she could have still managed it. But going to block headquarter for higher secondary studies and graduation was out of her bounds.

For the last two years, she was just at home, doing nothing and not knowing the purpose of her life. She had nobody to talk to, nobody to communicate. So, when the marriage proposal came, she accepted it gladly, thinking that she would be able to make something of the new opportunity.

Sunanda’s uncle did not find it necessary to ask her consent. He had fixed it in a local Samudayik Vivah Sohala (Community marriage ceremony) organized by a political leader. Sunanda only knew that his name was Sunil and he was working in Mumbai. She also came to know that like her, Sunil too was an orphan. She thought that they will be able to understand each other well because they had gone through the same peril.

And here was her husband; not taking care of her but delegating to his friend!! Sunanda felt very insecure.

*****

Anil had entertained Sunanda well. He seemed to have a knack of making strangers talk. He listened to Sunanda with sensitivity which surprised her. Once in a while, she asked him to call Sunil. However every time Anil politely answered that in the meetings cell-phones were not allowed.

Sunanda did not know what to do. She realized that in this strange city, she did not know anyone except Sunil. She also realized that she did not know anything about Sunil as well. She had his number but no cell-phone to make a call. She had some money with her – but she was sure, she could not go back to her uncle’s house. There was no place for her.

She had only one person to depend on – that was Anil.

So, she accepted his idea of going to sea-shore.

The Sun was about to set and the horizon was reddish –orange. The waves sounded beautiful. There were many people playing with the waves. Sunanda forgot all her worries and was excited like a child. She wanted to run into the waves, but was frightened to do so. What if she gets drowned?

“Do you want to go inside? Don’t worry, I am with you. Just hold my hand,” Anil promised her.

For a moment, Sunanda was aghast at his suggestion. How can she, a married woman, hold hand of her husband’s friend?  She politely refused and went on.

But just before entering into the water, she stopped.

She saw a monster ahead of her. She turned back and she realized that there was another monster there.

She realized that she was caught in a trap.

She turned back to Anil.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Sure”, Anil was as polite as ever.

“Is my husband ever going to come to me again?” she asked with some hope that she would be proved wrong.

“You are very intelligent.” Certified Anil.

Sunanda stepped back. She looked around. There were many people on the sea-shore. Some were walking, some were running, some were playing with their kids, some were building sand castles.

If she shouted, would any of them come to help her? Would anybody believe her? Would she be able to speak their language? If she calls people, what would Anil say? Would people believe her or Anil? He had been good to her so far, but what would he do if she called people or police? Sunanda wanted to cry loudly but only silent tears rolled on her face.

“Come on. Don’t worry. I will take you to my home.” Anil assured her.

“Your home? Who else is there?” Sunanda asked again. She must doubt this man, his intentions. He knew Sunil won’t come again, still he never indicated anything to her until she asked. And why was he ready to take burden of an unknown woman? Sunanda was getting confused.

“Oh! My mother is there. My sisters are there. You will enjoy their company. They will teach you how to earn money in this strange city. You will get enough food and good room to stay. You will have to work for few hours only. You will become a rich person. I promise you, you will never remember Sunil. Anyway, Sunil does not deserve you. He could not bring this luxury to you that I promise. Come with me. Let us go.” Anil’s voice was very assuring and peaceful.

*****

Sunanda looked at those shadows on the sea-shore once again.

She knew she had left one dark corner to have more darkness in life. The past was dark and so would be the future.

Sunanda had to give up to the darkness where there will never be any other shadow.

The reddish –orange horizon and the setting Sun are not as joyous to her as they are to others.

In her life, she is never going to see the rising Sun, never to enter the sea waters, never to have blue sky, never to have the fresh breeze and orange shadows.

She would be drowned in life itself. Now onwards, she would be the shadow of herself.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. I’m thankful to BLOGGER NAME, who introduced Blog-a-Ton to me, and I debuted in XX edition.

Credits Image - Shades of Orange by Harsha Chittar Courtesy - Curious Dino Photography via www.blogaton.in

169. Honesty

Do we really value honesty?

That is what I kept wondering about when I happened to listen the conversation.

I was in the Saphal outlet to purchase some fruits.  Delhi has this chain of  Saphal and Mother Dairy Outlets in every nook of the city. 

Three people – probably father, mother and son entered the outlet. The son was in his 30s and parents in their 50s. They wanted to purchase watermelon.

“Is it sweet?” father asked.

The man on the sales counter answered, “Sir, I cannot assure you. If you are fortunate, it would be sweet, otherwise it won’t.”

“Oh! Stupid! What has fortune and fate to do with taste of Watermelon?” the son exclaimed. “Why can’t you keep only sweet watermelons?” He added irritably.

The sales man just smiled. He politely said, “Sir, how can we do that? We try the best of the watermelons, but it is nature’s gift, we do not have control over these things.”

Now the woman spoke, “But in some other shop I saw the man tapping the watermelon and identifying whether it was sweet or not. Can’t you do that? “

“Oh! Madamjee that is just a trick, a trick to satisfy you. Was the watermelon thus tested always sweet?”

“If you don’t know, don’t teach us  ...” the father was now angry.

“Ok, let us go, let us try at some other shop” the woman said and they all stormed out, dissatisfied.

“Why did not you try to play the trick? Don't you know it?" Some other customer asked the salesman.

“Oh! I never understand why city people do not have patience with uncertainty. Why don’t  you people value honesty?”

He looked at me.

I had no answer.

I will never have one to this question.

163. World of JH

Oscar is a socialite. He likes to attend various social meetings in the town.

When the door is left open, Hamish runs away from the surgery and sits patiently waiting after reaching home.

Judy the nurse, dutifully watches everyone. She is always there to attend the ill.

Gertrude gulps two gallons of beer.

Bobby is a picture of massive muscle power.

Skipper is stunned by the death of Jingo and almost gives up his life too, only to be revived by presence of another young one in the family.

She is hiding her new-born baby.

What am I talking about?

Last few days, after reaching home from, I did not do anything but spent my time with those whom I have mentioned above.  

It does not matter that Oscar is a cat, which was found by a girl and brought to surgery.

I forget that Hamish is a Dog of a retired school teacher.

I have not mentioned that Judy is Eric Abbot’s sheepdog taking care of ill bullock and small chickens.

Gertrude is sow who has is just not allowing her newly born baby’s to come near her. The baby’s would die if it the mother continues to behave so.

Bobby is a splendid horse belonging to Mr. Mount.

Skipper and Jingo are two dogs.

There are not only cats, dogs, cows, horses, pigs.

There are interesting human beings as well.

Who would forget Tristan’s pranks? And his brother Siegfried?

The benevolent Mr. Barge with his Soothitt; Mr. Hollin the farmer with traditional wisdom; Mr. Mount with probing grey eyes; the overconfident Mr. Seth Pilling who had to eat his words; Mrs. Ridge who was happy even when her car was stolen because her dog Joshua barked at the thief; how lonely James feel along with number 87 of Mr. Blackburn; Paul Cotterell who appears so strong and James thinks that nothing touches Paul deeply.. how he commits suicide after his dog Theo had to be put to rest;    how blindness of dog Digger helps Andrew to come out of the dark phase of life…

There are stories after stories. Enchanting stories of the world of Darrowby .. World of Yorkshire.

As seen by James Herriot.

161. Queue

“Are you in this Queue?” he asked.

“Yes and No” I answered.

He frowned. At least I thought so.

Today I was in Nasik.  Even before we started our work, people asked me whether I wanted to visit Tryamabakeshwar temple. Someone called me from Mumbai and suggested me to do so.

I have visited this temple many times and it is one of my favorite places. So, in the evening at last, people were able to convince me and thus we were there.

There was lot of crowd. One of the trustees was visiting temple then and so there was much more discipline than what is usually observed. As always, local people tried to arrange for some kind of special treatment for me – that in most of these religious places means avoiding standing in the queue. I don’t like to break the queue when so many people are standing there. If I want to visit temple, I should follow the standard procedures. If I don’t have time, well, no God needs me.  We have a mutual understanding about not needing each other.  We respect each other and let live other in peace.

I told the people around me not to bother about breaking the queue. I added that one should approach God by leaving aside material achievements – because they do not matter in the relationship with God. As the security guards did not allow ‘special entry’ today, people around me had no option but to follow the queue.

For last two days I had overworked. Lot of travel, no food on time, many challenges in the work I was supposed to monitor and had to be very patient to make people understand the next steps that were essential. I was completely exhausted and needed time to relax and refresh. Looking at the length of the queue, I said, “Ok, it looks like God does not want me to visit him today. Let us go back.”

On my casual remarks, the team around me panicked. They immediately started searching for some higher authority of the temple, with whose permission they could get me through easily. I had no energy to discuss rationality with them. My views on God are bit weird and it needed special efforts from me to communicate those to others. I realized that if I don’t stand in the queue, these people will continue to feel uneasy and they will keep on trying some or the other way to take me inside by the shortest possible way.

The only option for me to stop them was to stand in the queue as if I was really willing to visit the temple. It was hypocritical of course, but at times I have to be so – not for my own wishes, but to satisfy others.

So, I was in the queue physically and was not there at all emotionally or spiritually. Hence this:  ‘Yes and No”.

And then I kept overhearing others. Two people behind me were discussing some Rural Development Scheme of Government and were sharing secretes about ‘how to get included in the beneficiary list’. A woman standing in front of me was reading an English book but her 10 year child was not allowing her to concentrate. A woman in her 30s was chanting Shiva stotra – she broke suddenly and shouted at her 8 year daughter for some kind of misbehavior. A group of youth was planning about what they should eat in the evening. An old lady was explaining her knee-ache to other lady.   A young man was looking dreamily at some tree in the temple courtyard. A girl in jeans and sleeveless T shirt was sentimentally watching her plate in which flowers and other material for worship was kept. A group of children tried to bypass the queue and got a big scolding from elders. One elderly gentleman started his sermon on how the next generation is getting worse. I was wondering why nobody is using mobile and clicking and realized that mobile phones and cameras were not allowed inside temple premises.

The queue kept on moving. As it was a zigzag queue on every turn I had different people on my left and on my right.  I kept on hearing different versions of life – mostly material.

Nobody in that queue was willing to give up material aspects of life even when they cherished to see the God, even when they were in the presence of God.  I was not different from them as like a sponge, I was taking everything that was around me.

Was I in the queue?

Not really.

“If you are not in the queue, you are not in the queue”, again he spoke.

I was surprised.  Then I smiled.

I said, “This remark is very absurd, specially coming from you.  It is more like Zen.”

“Well, if you are not in the queue, sometimes you are also in the queue,” he added thoughtfully. I cannot imagine him smiling, but I guess he was smiling.

“Decide for yourself,” he said and disappeared.

I am still tired.

I have yet to get some nourishing food – simple but nourishing.

Who was he? What did he say? Why did he say it to me? Did that conversation really happen or as always I was just dreaming with eyes open? Why it always happens to me? Is there any seed of truth in what he said or the fatigue is getting over me? Why can’t I stop thinking?

Lots of questions. There is sort of queue of questions.

Yes, somehow, I am always in one or the other queue.

(Nasik, Maharashtra)

155. Guilt

I know Mumbai has only two seasons – Summer and Monsoon; no Winter at all.

It took me one year to understand that Delhi too has only two seasons – Summer and Winter – no Monsoon at all. I mean it rains, but it is not like a ‘rainy season’.

So, while moving around Nehru Place, I was thirsty. Though it was month of July, the Sun was blazing. I was amused with this habit of Delhi to name Malls after great historical persons. Nehru Place, Bhikaji Kama Place, Aurobindo Place, Rajendra Place …. All these places are basically Shopping Complexes.  

I went to a small shop. There were many ‘cold (soft) drinks’. I almost don’t like any of those. Maybe I should drink water – I thought. Suddenly I experienced some movement at my side. A young girl was standing by my side and looking at me expectantly. She was about 8 to 10 years. Her frock was torn at many places but it was clean. Her hair was unkempt. She looked weak. Her eyes were big – maybe because of her malnourished status, the eyes looked bigger. She was touching my Kurta and was trying to smile.

I smiled to that young girl. I asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No, I just had some food,” her honest answer surprised me.

“Well, “ I did not know what to speak next.

“What are you going to drink?” she asked me.

Well, I was thinking of drinking water – but I knew that was not what she expected.

“What would you like to have?” I asked.

She looked at me in disbelief.

I repeated the question.

“I never had that” – she showed me one bottle with some hesitation.

The shopkeeper was getting impatient.

“Madam, don’t pay any attention to her. They are beggars. All the day they follow some or the other. Give her a rupee or two, that is all.” He advised me.

I asked the shopkeeper to give two bottles of what the girl had indicated. It was badam milk – cold milk with almond pieces and sugar. It was good. I liked it.

The girl was trying to finish the drink in a hurry. I told her not to hurry.

She looked happy and satisfied.

When she finished half of the bottle, she stopped suddenly.

“What happened? Don’t you like it?” I asked.

She was clearly in two minds.

She looked at the half finished bottle once and looked at a distant corner again.

Then she came to a decision.

“I want to take this to my young brother. Can you wait for five minutes? I will just take the bottle to him and bring the empty bottle. You know he too never had this, I liked it and I want him to have this” she pleaded.

I was touched by her innocence. Who would give something for others so easily?

The shopkeeper and the people around were watching the scene with interest now.

I smiled at them, they smiled back to me.

“Finish your milk first. Will take another one for your brother,” I told the young one.

I asked for the third bottle. Gave that to the girl. Asked her if she wanted any more.

She said, only one bottle would do – as her elder siblings and parents have tested the badam milk some other time.

I asked the shopkeeper to charge me for the price of the (empty) bottle – in case the girl forgets to return the bottle to him.

“What are you talking Madam? We are not so bad. Let the girl take the bottle and return whenever. Does not matter if we miss one empty bottle,” he said, everybody around nodded.

“After all she stays here. We are sort of neighbors. But many customers don’t like them around and so we shout at them,” another one explained.

“Come again,” the girl said to me.

“Do come again Madam,” the shopkeepers said with smile.

Who knows, I might have been in the place of that girl!

Or if life changes to worst, I might have to beg one day!!

At times even if I cannot give money or food to beggars, I treat them with dignity.

Life is full of uncertainties – but I have no fear.

Guilt? Yes I feel some sort of guilt.

How can I say that I live in a cultured society where people have to beg for food and have to live on streets?

How can I spend so much for non-needs when millions have no ways of fulfilling basic needs?

Yes, I feel guilty of being not able to change the reality around – as I would have liked!

I guess I will have to live with this guilt forever! 

154. Other Way Round

There are occasions when I do not understand what to do, what to decide, which road to take.

These are not necessarily very serious situations. On the contrary in serious situations I take my heart’s call and hence never have dilemmas.

However when problems are very simple, I tend to get more confused. Sometimes I try one aspect and sometimes I try another one. But so far I never have been able to arrive at ultimate solutions to these dilemmas. Whichever way I go, it hardly makes any difference; - so, in fact, it should not be a problem; still it is.  

For example, today I am struggling with what to order for dinner. I want something simple to eat – maybe just daal and rice - but as I am put in a luxury hotel such ‘simple food’ is not available here. To make a choice out of what is ‘not my choice at all’ is more difficult.

Well, when I am clear about what I want, everything seems to be easy. When I am confused, everything seems to be difficult.

Clarity comes out of choices and preferences.

Confusion comes when there are no choices and no preferences.

Whenever I have ‘no specific choice’ I seem to invite trouble – though temporary, it keeps on coming in different forms.

Is it not funny? I thought– having choices would make my life difficult.

It is rather the other way round. 

152. Wrong Corner

Very rarely we agreed, and it was one of those occasions.

By ‘we’ I mean me and my organization. We always had different perspectives and hence different priorities. What I thought most important was neglected by my organization and what my organization thought of prime importance was almost always very insignificant to me.

Still we co-existed and did rather well together – I have never understood the mystery of why and how.

The organization was celebrating its 40^th year of consistent existence. There was a gala function arranged. Employees coming from all the corners of the country were engrossed in thematic review, sharing experiences, documenting learning, strategic planning etc.


The agreement I had talked about earlier was: Gender Integration is an important topic to be discussed in this historic meeting. 

Somehow the responsibility of discussing Gender Integration came to me. I was not very high up on the ladder – for obvious reasons – but still I was given the responsibility. Maybe there were two reasons, there was no one else who had enough experience of working on this theme with strong field perspective and I was the self-declared champion for the cause. It was kind of TINA situation – There Is No Alternative. So, I was there – chosen one!

Boss A told me to prepare a power point presentation. I asked him about the objective of the presentation. He was clueless – as all Bosses are. He said, “B has suggested your name. Maybe you should talk to him.” Naturally, B was A’s boss.

I spoke to B. First of all, B did not understand what I was asking. Secondly, he did not remember. Third, he was not ready to take any responsibility of such a sensitive topic.  B politely requested me (he was always polite with me), “Why don’t you discuss with C?”

Yes, you go it right. C was B’s boss.

C was out of town. I called. He diplomatically said, “Ah! You are the expert on the topic. You know everything about it. Why do you want to test me?” Then he added, “You know the best, so go ahead with whatever you feel would be right for the occasion.” C had always given me such freedom – he knew that when left free, I gave my best.

Taking into consideration the importance of the event I prepared a power point presentation. I prepared well giving a lot of thought on what to include, what to emphasize and what to exclude. I took pains to elaborate basic concepts, evolution of the theme in the organization (historical journey), milestones, strengths, challenges, possible areas of integration, programmatic and structural actions required, desired changes at personal, institutional and methodological levels etc. I had ample examples from the field and knowing the audience I had kept the language very simple - avoiding technical terms as far as possible. Instead of focusing on weaknesses, I also focused on strengths – kind of ‘we can do it’ message – which was right for the occasion.

I was aiming to reach out to my colleagues working in remote corners of the country, who were actually spending more time with communities than in meetings. I knew that if I could sensitize them; if I could appeal to them; if I could motivate them - half of my work would be done. Dignitaries including senior officials and board of trustee members were present but they were not my target audience. I had interacted with them earlier too on different platforms. I knew them well enough and was aware that they won’t be affected by my speech. Institutional Change many times comes from bottom up – building from below is the right strategy. Especially, when building from top is more challenging.

As most of my colleagues were more comfortable with Hindi rather than English – I had my slides in English but I spoke in Hindi. I spoke for about half an hour. When it was over, everybody clapped. People appreciated. Some came near me and congratulated. Some patted. Some said, “We knew you would do well” .. ……. .. So many responses.

One of my colleagues, whom I did not know so well, came to me. A group of four to five people joined him on the way. Another group joined. It was as if a crowd was attacking me from all sides. They came from different corners.

One very senior colleague said, “Your speech was excellent.”

I politely said “Thank You” – feeling happy that I have at last reached their heart.

“A real good speech”, added another. Many nodded.

When appreciation pours in, I always know there is some problem. I was waiting to have debate at any moment.

“You know what I liked most about your speech?” another one.

How could I know? I smiled.

“You delivered the speech in perfect Hindi. You never spoke a single English word. That was so beautiful. You have such a command on Hindi – I never knew……”

And they all started praising me for my language skills. 

I was completely baffled.  I did not know whether to be happy for this unexpected impact or to be sad for having failed in generating expected results.

I had reached no doubt but reached at a wrong corner. 

134. Clap: Artificial, Funny, Formal

It was a huge gathering of rural women.
Women from 10 different villages had gathered together.
Many of them were for the first time participating in such a huge event. They did not know about meetings, gatherings, lectures, guest speakers etc. They were all poor, middle aged, never had opportunity to see the larger world. Most of them had never been outside their village, had never seen pendal, had never known microphone.....
They were anxious, they were excited, they were curious, they were smiling.
They were clearly enjoying the event.
There were songs, quiz and competitions like 'Musical Chair' etc. Women had lot of fun. It was a happy environment.

And then as is the usual case, there was formal learning session.
Some well known social personalities were on the stage. They were to guide the gathering.
But even before that  some of the rural women were invited to the stage to share their experiences - about Self Help Groups, about their struggle, about their successes, about their challenges and about their hopes.

I like to be at the backstage, that is my strength. That is also because I generally easily get bored with the formalities that have to be carried on the stage with pomp and show. Generally it is so artificially funny, that I cannot sit on the dais with stone faced seriousness. So, I was sitting in the audience. Initially some of the women were little bit frightened to have me with them. But many of those women knew me well and were happy to have me with them instead of me sitting on the distant dais. With exchange of lot of spontaneous smiles and nods  from them and from me; we finally were set to listen to the speakers.

The experiences shared by those rural women - most of their were illiterate - were very touching and inspiring.
The dignitaries on the stage and some of the people sitting in the first rows clapped for the first woman speaker.
The women sitting around me exchanged hurried looks, I noticed that none of them actually clapped.

The second woman spoke and the sequence of the events was repeated - dignitaries and people in the first few rows clapping, the large gathering of rural women sitting quietly.

I did not understand what was happening.
Had we (the organizers) chosen wrong women to share the experiences?
But that did not seem to be the case, because their experiences were worth listening to, the stories were told with vigor,  honesty and simplicity.
But why these other women were not clapping?
Were they angry? Were they not  happy with the speech, the speakers, the content, the prestige some of them were getting?

I was not sure how to interpret the silence of that large crowd. Was it indicating some potential disaster?

No, the women  were smiling, they were in agreement with what their representatives were saying. I was getting more and more confused.

When the third woman's eloquence was met with silence, I spoke to the woman sitting next to me.
I asked, "Don't you like what she said? It is not true? Is it not the real story? Is it not the right kind of expression?"
Before the woman answered, another turned to me and asked, "Can you go to the dais and tell those learned and urban people not to clap?"

That was such a strange request that for a moment I was speechless.
"What do you mean?" I asked with a great courage.
"Why are they discouraging our women by clapping?" another woman asked me with visible irritation and anger.

I did not know why they thought that the dignitaries were discouraging their colleagues.
"They are not at all discouraging them. On the contrary they are appreciating your friends," I tried to explain.
"By clapping they are appreciating? That is what  you mean?" another woman was amused.
"Are you sure?" third one wanted the assurance.
The whole conversation was happening in a hushed tone but within moments it spread like a fire.

From almost every corner, women turned to me and smiled at me sheepishly, some even encouragingly, some with their faces glowing as if with a new light.
I was completely lost.

"Oh! We thought only when you don't like what somebody has said, you clap", another spoke in my ear.
I did not know why they had such a concept, from where they borrowed it or how they imagined it.
It could be only due to their lack of exposure to public life and social gatherings.

I do not know how the message was spread without speaking, without words .. but when the fifth woman spoke, at the end all the women clapped loudly - so loudly that even the dignitaries on the dais noticed that. Maybe for the first time they realized that the four earlier speakers were not greeted in the same way by the crowd. And the fifth woman looked stunned.

At the end of the function, one of the senior colleagues came to me and said, "That was well done, truly well managed, your backstage contribution is always noteworthy."
"What?" I asked, not knowing for what the appreciation was.
"Oh! For asking the women to clap properly, the silence was so embarrassing you know...." and  with a mild pat on my back, he moved on.

But since then whenever I see people clapping I ask myself - is it really appreciation? Or is it a relief that finally the speech has ended? Or is it just a formality? Is it just a norm? A stereotype? Do people clap only when they want to appreciate? Is there any spontaneity? Why do people really clap? When did the clapping start? How did people learn it? What if I don't clap but appreciate in some other way?

I am not sure whether I gave the right information to the women that day.
Somehow from that day. I find claps very artificial, funny and formal.

105. Sejal’s World

I wish I could borrow Sejal’s innocence.
I wish, like Sejal I could trust all.
I wish, like Sejal I could see the hollowness of the ‘beware of’ announcements.
I wish, like Sejal I could instantly be connected with everyone around.

Alas! I know Sejal is not only that – not that I know her thoroughly. Sejal might have her fears and her worries. Sejal might have her moments of broken promises and lost trust. Sejal might have been ignored and dumped. I have lived enough to understand the ups and downs of human life. I know that every human being that we come across is a package – we cannot choose only what we like in him/her and throw away rest of it merrily. Life would have been too easy then. We have to accept people as they are – in the process live with what we do not want and do not like.
But is it the outcome of situation or of paradigm?

I can see the question coming from all of you.
Who is this Sejal I am referring to?

Frankly speaking, I do not know much about Sejal. I may never meet her again. However the impression she created on my mind will remain for a long time.

I was traveling from Patel Chowk to Hauz Khas by the prestigious and comfortable Metro. It is an enjoyable journey. Especially with a coach reserved for women makes it more comfortable even though I have to stand for 20 minutes.

At Central Secretariat Station a mother and a four year child climbed in. The child was screaming for something. The mother was looking at the child but clearly she was not listening. Her mind was somewhere else. She seemed to be in trouble. Generally children know it very well. Within seconds I realized that the child was seeking attention of the mother not for herself, but that was the strategy of the child to draw mother out of her troublesome feelings and thoughts. But the child was not getting much success and hence she was becoming more vocal.

Other women passengers instantly understood the predicament of the mother and the young child. They tried to help. Someone asked the child her name, she refused to answer. Some other woman asked the child where she was getting down, the child refused to answer. Someone asked the child whether she liked metro, the child refused to answer. The mother was standing stone faced, the child was screaming and everyone around was helpless.

Suddenly the mother spoke, “Listen, there is some announcement.”
The child was so happy that her mother spoke to her, and her face illuminated. She smiled, her eyes fully shining.

It was a coincidence that the announcer was saying, “Be aware of strangers, and don’t be friendly with them” – not exactly in these words but conveying the same meaning.

The child was excited. “Ma, where do strangers live? I want to see a stranger.”
That was very unusual demand and the mother looked helpless.
To help the mother, one woman said, “Look, I am a stranger”
Everyone around was relieved and looked thankfully to that woman for intervention.
The child gave a piercing look to that woman. She touched the right hand of that woman as if to asses whether she was real. Then the child announced the judgment: “You are aunty. You are not a stranger.”

We all were struck by the simple answer.
“But I do not know your name. You do not know my name. So, we are strangers,” the woman was quite determined and was not giving up easily.

The child felt rather insulted at this. “My name is Sejal, I am not a stranger. You are an aunty, you are not a stranger.”

Sejal looked around. She said, “She is an aunty, she is also an aunty, and there is another aunty and the one reading a book is also an aunty. Here are all aunties. No strangers.”

I wish I could be like Sejal when dealing with the world. I wish I could trust everyone around and I wish I could establish an instant relationship with everyone around.

I wish at least Sejal could do it even when she grows. Sejal has her own world, let her continue exploring the world in her own way.
Whether our system will allow that freedom to Sejal is the question.
Whether Sejal will be able to face the world alone is the question.
Whether Sejal would be happy is the question.

If Sejal can do that, even if she is alone in her world, that does not matter.
Let it be Sejal’s world.

83. Bheema Nee Ghantee

“Madam, come this way if you want to see Bheema nee Ghantee ”.

I am in Gujarat. As part of our official work the team is visiting two villages today to document process of two development initiatives in tribal areas. Everything is arranged in advance. A day before the team asks ‘whether we can visit Jambughoda, few kilometers away from our work area, during this field visit". “What is there to see?” I ask casually. “Oh! A huge idol of Hanuman!” explains one of my colleagues. Then he hastily adds, “The forest around is cool and you would definitely enjoy the place. It is actually a sanctuary.” When the whole team wants to visit the place, there is no point in saying ‘no’ especially when it is not going to affect our work.

We are in Panchamahal district, about 70 kilometers from Vadodara. On the way, we cross Pavagadh. It is a hill fortress and capital of a 16^th century princely state. We do not visit it, but the place seems to be a good site to visit. The advertisement boards on the road inform us that there is even 'rope way' facility to visit the fort.

We visit Zand Hanuman. What is the meaning of Zand, I am not able to understand, may be it means HUGE. Lots of Mahua trees on the way, their fragrance is maddening. We watch tribal people collecting Mahua flowers. They earn a little income by selling those flowers. Now the forest is not green naturally, but the air is cool. I can imagine what the scenario must be in the post monsoon period. But even in the month of March – April – May, forest has its own beauty.

The 21 feet Hanuman idol is beautiful. Photography is strictly prohibited here, so I do not open my digicam. The driver of our car, a local person tells me that during the 13^th year of agnyaatavaasa (‘incognito’ stay), the Pandavas stayed here. He also narrates a story that Arjun with his bow and arrow created a flowing water stream to quench their thirst. The stream has completely gone dry now, but during monsoon it is powerful flow. How Hanuman (from Ramayana) comes and fits into the ‘Pandava’ place is my curiosity, the driver and other colleagues laugh at this question. When one cannot answer, one laughs – that is the strategy almost each one of us uses.

Next is ‘Bheema nee Ghantee’! Though I understand Gujrati well enough, somehow I am thinking about a ‘huge bell’ which may be only Bheema could use. So when I come across Bheema nee Ghantee I am disappointed for a moment. But then I realize my mistake of mixing Hindi, Gujrati and Marathi and smile. Because what I see is a huge grinding stone. Looking at its size it appeares to be Bheema's grinding stone!

During the 13^th year of ‘agnyaatavaasa’, Bheema worked as a chef – ballavacharya. May be, this Ghantee then was used by him. So, is this ancient Keechaka kingdom? I do not know. The best option seems to be ‘internet search’. It is funny that now- a days I get more information about my country through internet!

I find so many stones around. “What is this?” I ask. My team is slowly getting used to my questions and they try their best to satisfy me. “Here, one builds imaginary house with the help of stones lying around. If this house remains stable, you get a similar house in your real life. Your wish of having your own house is fulfilled.” My colleagues ‘build’ – two storied, three storied, five storied houses in a childlike enthusiasm!

Many religious places have such stories built around them. I look at my colleagues and see a dream, a hope in their eyes. Suddenly, I realize that all this is not just a superstition; it is a kind of motivation for those who are homeless, who have to live in rented house all their life. I look at the ‘houses’ in the area and realize that so many of us need some hope, some encouragement that life in future would be much better. I am deeply touched by this phenomenon. Though I do not build a home there, I do not laugh at others. I wish that all those people and everyone else should have a home to live happily.

We return. On the way we have seen a number of police personnel. I smile at couple of them and ask “Is any VIP visiting today?” One officer smiles but does not answer. I add, “I understand if you do not give me information. Just curious because I have seen so many of your colleagues on the way.” The second officer decides to share the information. “The Chief Justice (of Gujrat) is visiting. Good you came early here. Now the Chief Justice would be here any minute. If you were late, you would have to wait for half an hour.”

We are happy that we came before the VIP visit. The police are not harassing anyone, but they are taking extra precaution, which is well understood and appreciated. As we start, we see a convoy of vehicles approaching the temple. I count those. One, two .. there are twenty one vehicles. The whole district machinery is geared up for this visit. It is easy to separate pilot vehicle from the vehicle of the VIP. We are informed that the Chief Justice is in Jambughoda for inauguration of court building. I do not take photograph, obviously as I am not a press photographer!

So, like us, the Chief Justice is combining pleasure and work. But I cannot help thinking about ‘who bears the cost of such pleasure trips?’ The answer is known and we have accepted that.

I do not know whether the VIP guests also went to Bheem nee Ghantee and built their dream house there! May be, they did not because like me they too are privileged with a home! May be we are not innocent enough like all those people to believe in our own dreams.. we are too rational for such a joy of life! Does it mean that I can afford to be rational only when I am happy? Don't really know!
*