MORNING WALK

Daily bread does not land on my doorstep; I must fetch.  So, in the murky early hour after first Mass, I make my way through the back lanes that take me to the bread shop.  It is not a pleasant journey.  Dingy, shuttered shop-fronts line the pavements on either side; pavements that one cannot use because the previous day’s garbage has been put out for the collection that has yet to be accomplished.  The contents spill out onto the road, thanks to rummaging canines, cats and the hopeful crows. One has to walk in the middle of the road to avoid the odd squelch and snapping teeth, the occasional remnant from the previous night’s hangover – denizens of the local ‘joints’ – and the amorphous, swaddled shapes of the still sleeping homeless who make the pavements their bedroom.  

It’s not a long journey, but the surroundings make it seem so.  I hurry past my daily encounter with now familiar squalor, with purposeful determination. Today, the bread shop is manned by the father, a courteous old man who patiently waits on each customer. He reaches out for my shopping bag and fills in the items as I recite my list – bread, buns, butter, milk, eggs.  He takes my money and hands me my change. I shoulder my bag and sidestep a couple of eager cats playing tag and waiting on the probability of a punctured milk pouch – there is a crateful of them at the entrance. It’s time for the return journey.

In the time between, the conservancy gang has visited.  The garbage has been picked up and the road swept clean.  The pavement dwellers have gathered up their bedding and melted into an invisible background. The shop fronts are still shuttered but in a few hours they will be humming with arriving and departing customers who require the barber, the chemist, the tailor, the electrician, the stationer, photocopies, hot snacks – name it, you’ll find it; practically every need is met! Come evening, the bars will thrum with customers ending their day by getting high to remedy a low. And then shutters will down, some by nightfall others in the wee hours.

Shifting scenes on a temporary canvas – painted over but not obliterated. A living pentimento!  

THE WORST NIGHT (AND DAY) OF MY LIFE

The weather suddenly turned foul, the thunder thundered vigorously, the lightning flooded the sky and the rain poured down in buckets.  I needed a refuge and I needed it fast.  I saw the light on in this house and I sought admittance but no one answered.  Fortunately, there was an entry point and so I took advantage, hoping no one would grudge shelter to a bedraggled stranger.

 

No one was home! That was surprising. I checked out the place, made myself comfortable and heaved a sigh of relief. There was food on the kitchen counter top too.  What a welcome! But it did not last too long.

After a couple of hours, I heard a key turn in the lock and light footsteps enter. It was a woman carrying a shopping bag and she sang as she entered.  Happy company, I thought and sat up to say hello. She took one look and yelled, ‘Get out of my house you varmint!’ and she set to with a will, banging about and screaming till I cowered in fear. I managed to find a roomy cupboard and concealed myself there but apparently she had seen me enter.  The next thing I knew was that I had been locked in and there I remained for the night and the best part of the next day.  You can imagine my plight. When would I see daylight again? 

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I heard was the voices.  A man and that woman talking.  The woman was explaining in shrill staccato and the man seemed to be in vociferous agreement.  Then, the cupboard door swung open and my place of concealment was flooded with light.  The man had a thick stick in his hand and looked dangerous.  Was my life in jeopardy? It was ‘do or die’.  I leapt past the man; the element of surprise was on my side.  He chased me around the room but I was quicker and, seeing an open window, I jumped out as fast as I could without a thought to the consequences.  Oh, the joy of being free and out in the open again.  

Whatever happened to ‘shelter the homeless’ and ‘feed the hungry’? Is charity so very dead?

Take my word for it, it’s certainly no fun being a rat (especially if you land up in Wendy’s home)!!

WHY?

I am haunted by a name – Janhavi Gadkar. When the story broke, like the average Mumbai voyeur, I followed it avidly not because of the condemnation heaped upon Janhavi’s head but because it raised one burning question,‘Why?’

All I know of her is what the media told me.  Accurate? I know from experience not to trust everything I read, but the basics were corroborated across the board and one can draw inferences that are pretty close to reality.  Here was an attractive young woman, from a fairly conservative but educated Maharashtrian background, better off than just merely well to do, evidently smart because she qualified for a top post with Reliance, well read and well travelled.

She was obviously on the up and up, ‘in’ with her colleagues – on the social front, at least – and one who inspired affection (Her ex-husband came forward for her and that must make her special. The ‘ex’ usually moves on and never looks back!). Her happiness spills over in her photos and she seemed to be in love with life.  When everything is going your way, why would you throw it all away?

I do not ask why she was driving while inebriated.  I ask why she was inebriated in the first place.  Why did she put so much store in the pub culture, in social drinking where she matched her male colleagues in their ability to imbibe what was clearly ‘over the limit’?  Why would anyone want to lose self-control or choose to be deliberately vulnerable to external influences? That, too, after more than one bad experience? When did she start and why?

For some time, Janhavi was erased from the news thanks to the ‘Sheena Bora’ case, but today her name popped up again and the questions came flooding back. Yes, she took a life. But she is not a murderer.  And, unless she is extremely thick skinned, she will have to live with the horror for the rest of her life. She will have to start over, if ever she is given the chance and so will her family. In a sense, even if she gets off with a light sentence, she will, in reality, serve a life term.

Why would someone for whom life was opening up in amazing ways do something so stupid?

Why?

A friend of mine…

She’s bright, vivacious, an ever-charged battery in a small, compact frame.  Her frequent in-your-face, foot-in-mouth moments are charged with an honesty that is refreshing and what some would consider the crassness of youth, I consider enviable. There is no subtle veneer that shows you one face to your face, and another behind your back. You know where you stand with her and to be ‘liked’ is a privilege.

She is that odd mixture of old fashioned wisdom and naivety; she will immediately grasp the fundamentals that govern the serious, but will fail to catch a meaty joke. She challenges, opinionates, likes and dislikes strongly and, most importantly, she is herself. She has the vulnerability that is typical of her youth but will still take risks that are very obvious (to others!); sometimes she comes off without a scratch and sometimes the price is heavy. But she takes all that in her stride. The lesson is learnt.

She has a heart that cares for the less fortunate and she is ready to pitch in and be an agent of transformation – she radiates the joy that she creates! And she leaves behind unforgettable memories; the kind that bring a smile – sometimes rueful - to the face.

Though she can make you spin on your head (even if unwilling), and throw a whirling dervish out of whirl, she is not a problem to be solved like ‘Maria’. She belongs to the tribe that will change the world for the better, provided the world does not change her.  We have this habit, which is understandable, of being protective of our children and conformity keeps them away from harm. Little do we realise that we might be quenching a fire - one that lights and warms but does not destroy. I would like to think that that is impossible in the case of my young friend. 

From another realm, one day, I would love to be able to look down on the woman she is and say, ‘age did not wither her, nor custom fade.’ And the Lord will endorse that with a thunderclap!!

Aarushi…Rays of the Dawn…

Years ago, while on the drive to Poona, we were playing our favourite game: spotting ‘Truck Graffiti’. ‘Horn – Okay – Please’ was a common rear-end request but, occasionally, one would come across a gem like this one: God spare me from the clutches of a doctor, a lawyer and a scheming woman.  Being a woman, I would change that last to ‘a scheming man’.  And who wants to invite ill-health? But lawyer? You would have to experience an encounter to relate to that one!

 

When Mumbai Mirror published an extract from Aarushi by Avirook Sen (Penguin), I read through it avidly – I’ll admit to the voyeur in me.  But it was more than that.  It was a tragedy that had unfolded in real time with no sense of closure, even though a conviction was reached - too many questions, too many ‘whys?’, too many loose ends.  I picked up the book during a lunch break and delved into it post dinner.  I didn’t stop till the last page was turned.

Gripping narrative? No! But it was a fluid read through a journalist’s meticulously reported journey through the case.  Objective for the most part, it is not entirely dispassionate. But comment, inference and opinion are supported by illustrative and damning fact. Take the text of the judgement, for example: “The cynosure of judicial determination is the fluctuating fortunes of the….who have been arraigned for committing and secreting as also deracinating the evidence of commission of the murder of  their own adolescent daughter – a beaut damsel…”. There is more! The judge in question is apparently in the habit of reiterating, “I have command in English.” This was one of the lighter moments.

For the most part, the book takes us through the very sordid environment that is the Indian legal and law and order system, no holds barred. The scarred and the inured would probably retort, ‘So what’s new?’ There is, on the other hand, a new and rising generation who could make a difference, even if it is one person at a time. Which is why I make this my fervent recommendation: every college of every university in India should make this book compulsory reading.  This is no work of fiction. It is pure fact.

The book closes at the end of yet another ‘ordinary’ day.  For Aarushi, the rays of dawn are forever an altered reality. And I fervently paraphrase that driver’s prayer – from the clutches of the law, O God, spare me!

Melbourne Memories

Reading through my posts brought on nostalgia! So, here's what I will remember -

First of all, reconnecting with my cousin Penny who is still the delightful presence that I remember from childhood – the only cousin whom I have really known. And her husband, Ian, is a darling too.  I am all of 64 years old and he calls me ‘Kiddo!’ What’s not to love?  I got to catch up with her sons and their wives: the elder is the baby I carried - he is now a grown man with teenage sons and a person of eminence.  The younger son, who was a little fellow when I first encountered him, still retains his shy smile and happy demeanour.  He’s also ace at choosing fabulous places to eat!! 

I got to catch up with other cousins, too, some of whom I had met years ago and one who I was meeting for the very first time!!  David is still the big and burly giant to my slight frame but definitely closer in image to Santa than the teenage lad who used to take me piggy-back.  His wife, Jackie, was all affection and super-efficiency.  And I was the pampered ‘little cousin’!  I loved meeting their children and extended family – most of all I loved Tim’s renovated caravans.  A home on wheels is a beckoning adventure!  

Catching up with Eslyn and his lovely wife, Christina, brought back happy memories of Uncle Dudley, my Mum’s older brother.  And the ‘tea party’ in Melbourne city with Penelope Jane rounded off the encounters of the relative kind.  

From the original family of ten that my mother belonged to, this may seem like a small number but quite a few of her siblings did not marry, some (as I) are only children and one cousin has, sadly, passed on.  My visit did achieve what it aimed to do – catch up with family!

And then there was the road-trip to Sydney and Canberra with the Anglo Indian Association. Boy oh boy, that was a family trip of a very different kind.  A joyful, exuberant, friendly busload of people who were glad to share their memories of an India that would be totally unrecognizable to them today.  They also shared an amazing variety of food (reminded me of our train journeys when I was still a child and the picnic hampers we carried from destination to destination), the songs of yesteryears and Bingo!!  Yes, the memories are plenty and nostalgic!!!

Of Melbourne itself (in preference, Sydney and Canberra come a distant second and third) I will remember the tree lined suburbs with houses boasting the prettiest gardens – the freshest air, the cleanest water (I did not need to carry my bottle – we drank straight from the tap), the well-kept surroundings, the fantastic food.

Of Australia, as a country, I will remember the really huge open spaces, the miles and miles of road that made up the longest distances, the outsize servings that are characteristic of every meal and the rejoinder ‘no worries, mate’ to my sometimes necessary ‘sorry’!  But what made the greatest impact is that here one sees that good governance really works – it is visible in every aspect of daily living: the efficiency, the courtesy, the observance of rules, the honesty and accountability.  I never heard a car honk and the consideration observed on the road by every driver is to be seen to be believed. It is perhaps significant that on the only occasion when I was almost ripped off, it was by someone of Asian origin!! 

And all this is just the ‘outline’!  

Yes, it was a good trip – a fantastic trip - and as memories grow distant, my heart will still carry the happiness of a month much enjoyed, the anticipation of living as family certainly achieved.