When the earth shook but time stood still...

There was a strange commotion about the place. Even before we approached the heart of the town, everybody seemed to be out on the streets. It could not merely be explained by the fact that it was a Saturday, in fact Saturday is not even weekend in this part of the world. Suddenly the vehicle stopped and the driver lurched out suspecting a puncture. It was then that the realization of an earthquake sunk in. It was then that the 'commotion' began to make sense. With a hectic schedule lined up for a long day ahead of us, there was little one could do except dismiss it as a minor aberration and go ahead with one's life as usual. Yet, there is always an unsettling feeling about the safety and security of our loved ones when we are far from them. The fact that we could not contact our families immediately afterward just reminded us of the similar need everybody must have felt at a juncture when the ground beneath our feet shakes and this time, quite literally!!

Alone in my room as we reached our destination, I began to ponder if the tremors we had dismissed as minor aberrations a little while earlier had indeed upset the happiness and lives of a chunk of humanity somewhere in a not so distant corner of the world. Before my thoughts could even find an expression, the aftershocks began. As the door swung like a pendulum, and the walls swayed, no uncertainty remained about the magnitude of the catastrophe unfolding somewhere in the neighbourhood. As we silently prayed for the lives and safety of our loved ones across the world, the news updates streaming in from the mobile apps, just served to lend credence to our worst nightmares. Not only had the upheaval affected millions nearby, but also where we were standing while reading these news, was dangerously close to the epicenter of the seismic shocks. 

Next couple of hours as we flitted in and out of meetings, a new realization began to dawn upon me. I could no longer content myself with the fact that everybody in immediate family and friends was safe and secure, rather being at the helm of affairs in an assignment which concerns young children, I was hoping and praying that none of our kids suffer in any manner. As it took time for my faculties to respond, we could only send directions across the State to relay any information of any damage whatsoever and put any rumors and misgivings to rest. Thankfully there wasn't much.

Despite all the damage and the losses that the quake brought in its wake, it was not what had hit me the most. What I saw over the course of the next 24 hours was far more devastating to me on a personal level. Not that anything is terribly wrong per se but just that while we rue about the lives that had been lost in the wake of a
disaster, how I wish we could develop the empathy to rue over the precious lives we are letting go of unknowingly and unhurriedly each day. As we make tall claims of being modern and civilized and enlightened, as we go about showcasing and marketing stories of our success and as we begin to believe in the truth of the stories scripted by us, we could not be more wrong. As one of my favorite authors Khaled Hosseini puts it, "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors." Yet this is precisely what we have been doing all along. It is one thing to be apathetic but quite another to feel something for our own kids but not the same for others'. It was different earlier but now when I look at these angelic souls I see the face of my two year old in each one of them, as if asking me some questions with absolute faith and innocence. Much as I may wish, it is beyond my belief and power to answer all the questions they silently put forth or to even give them hope of a life that they are building dreams of. In moments such as these, I find myself and these little ones being stuck in a time warp. I shall never be able to find the courage to acknowledge that their lives will perhaps be no better or different from the lives of hardships that their parents have led and much as they may strive there will always be a huge chasm separating them from their 'truly blessed' counterparts in the gleaming metropolises. At the end of the day, the questions we ask of ourselves determine the type of people that we will become. Whatever I may do, I can not help but say..

“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.” 

― W.B. Yeats, The Collected Poems

An eventful February and the advent of spring..

February in this part of the world that we live in, has always been a season of change. As students, it was that part of the year when our academic session would close, we would write our exams and wait for our promotion to the next class. When life taught us to appreciate the seasons of the year, February marked the beginning of Spring. February coincides with the month of Falgun as per the Hindu calender and augurs a time of festivities all over the country. As a student of economics in the University, February meant the economic budget and year long repercussions of the same. Even on the personal front, February marked a time of family celebration as we would gather to celebrate the anniversary of our parents. As if it was not enough, me and A tied the knot in this very month and later welcomed little N into our lives at this time of the year. 2015 was no exception.

Little N's birthday Winnie-the-Pooh inspired birthday cake

                         
Before February could even knock on our door, the season of change had begun. It was not the first time that I had to change assignments in the month of February. Thankfully, the same did not involve any change of places this year. Yet, when it comes to 'moving' of any kind or at any time, I become a living example of the 'Law of Inertia' and its always the bonds which unite humans, that I find most difficult to deal with. It was not easy saying goodbye to all those fabulous people who had brought up my daughter since she was 7 months old, who helped us move houses, who worked extra hours to keep their commitments and who did much more than their job title demanded of them. Needless to mention, they become family for life.

Much as I believe, my stint as an academician was truly wonderful in terms of fulfillment of my personal and professional commitments, nothing can compare with the sense of satisfaction one achieves while working in a social sector program. Nothing could be a bigger education than working in the education sector in a state as huge as ours. Thanks to a wonderful and committed team, it took no time settling in and barely a month later as I write these words, it feels as if its always been an integral part of my existence and I always belonged here. At precisely these times, I strongly feel, much as government in our country faces bricks and bats for anything under the sun, the devotion of these unsung soldiers who chart the country's progress can not be acknowledged in terms of being on the government payroll alone.

Change of assignments apart, the month of February is also considered auspicious for weddings (that explains ours too!) and celebrations and hence one could easily correlate the same with a packed social calender. Add to that the responsibility of contributing in every-which-way to our annual service week, and we end up juggling our roles as parents who have to organize their child's birthday and as not-so-senior members of a service that we are proud to be part of and feel committed to contribute to in every possible manner. Our experience last year had equipped us with a fair idea of how things are to be managed and neither A nor me found it difficult shuttling between lunches and dinners and yet be able to choose a design and place the order for a wonderful Winnie-the-Pooh cake for little N's second birthday. And yes, service week also brings its own sets of rewards as we ended up winning a Nikon camera, a  power-bank and a 500 GB hard drive as prizes for our entries in the Photography Competition.

Our submissions for the service week Photography Competition

The biggest event however remains little N's birthday (the fact that we too completed six years of marital harmony this year is often relegated to the category of 'mundane' in the larger scheme of things!). While N's both sets of grandparents could not join us for the celebration, N still ended up spending her day with the people she loves most. The fact that Mamma took an off from work was of little significance as she was surrounded by the love and blessings of those familiar faces who have seen her grow each day and have contributed immensely to the same. These generous souls have not just kept our lives chugging smoothly since our arrival in Lucknow but also showered their affection and care upon our little one which was not part of their 'duty' from any stretch of imagination. The only guests who were 'invited' for the birthday party were two little playmates of little N she grew up with in our old house and who still visit her on play dates in the new one. The day was a truly memorable one for us as well. While our zero-guest-policy did not bog us down with the formalities of preparing and serving food and drinks, the fact that little N was also exultant in the company of her own set of people (and wasn't intimidated by the presence of too many strangers in the house) was a blessing for our little family.

Each day we are thankful to the Almighty for our small cocooned existence spun by webs of happiness and contentment.But above all, we are thankful to our family and friends, who have stood by us over all these years , showered us with unconditional love and welcomed our little one into their lives. And now, the little story about advent of spring..

In my older posts, I have often mentioned of our memories of places being entwined with the flora and fauna around us. Yet, a special story that I am reminded of remains unsaid. In the February of 2013, barely 2 days before the arrival of our little one into this world, we too had newly arrived in the city of Lucknow. Strangers to this city as we were back then, and newly shifted to our one BHK accomodation, little else as I could do at that point of time, sitting on our (newly purchased) bed, I would look listlessly at the life outside our huge glass windows. On day one, as the sun was about to set, I remembered a tree at a little distance, with a slight tinge of red on top. Back then I thought, it could be a new leaf gleaming in the orange light of the fading sun or some resplendent bird from the riverbank nearby. Next day, as I was preparing to go to the hospital for the last medical check before the big day, I noticed a small red flower as if it was some omen about the impending arrival of our little one. A week later, by the time I returned from the hospital with the baby, the entire tree was full of red blooms and it was then I realized it was a Palash tree (Flame of the Forest) in its full glory marking the advent of spring. Over the next couple of months, that tree was some kind of an anchor of my faith while I made the slow but difficult transition into parenthood. And over these months, the tree took roots in my heart forever. Looking back, I fondly reminisce about the same tree growing outside Cauvery hostel in JNU and covering the narrow road in a lovely shade of red. Or the lovely forest of Palash on both sides of the NH connecting Chitrakoot to Allahabad which stretches for miles on end and is often the only splash of color against a dreary landscape in summers. Today, as I travel to office each day, I look forward to the crimson canopy of the Palash growing outside CO Mahanagar's office and I often wonder how long will it continue to thrive on one of the busiest thoroughfares of Lucknow. To borrow the words of Stefanie Brook Trout, to me the true nature of the tree no longer is "in the bulk of its shape but in the way its form alters my vision of the world".

As our trio (me, A and N) completes two years of our stay in Lucknow, and we live each day like none before- watching mini adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh, baking fresh cakes and pastas and spending time with family and friends, I often imagine myself asking my two kids (the older one and the little one), the words I reproduce below:


“Would you like some warm Spring pie?
Then, take a cup of clear blue sky.
Stir in buzzes from a bee,
Add the laughter of a tree.

A dash of sunlight should suffice
To give the dew a hint of spice.
Mix with berries, plump and sweet.
Top with fluffy clouds, and eat!” 

― Paul F. Kortepeter, Holly Pond Hill: A Child's Book of Easter

Turning 31 and the challenges of being an academician!

31st birthday is not a happening event in any case. Its not even as if one is completing a decade of existence. Add to that the fact that one's best friends (the likes who are credited in blog posts)do not even remember and an eighteen month old constantly tugs you down, one can not help but wish one could stay 10 forever. As a kid I hated the fact that my birthday would fall on a National Holiday every year. Since it would always be a holiday at school, I could never attend school in a new dress and distribute sweets to my classmates on the day of my birthday. Today, being a civil servant,I have a duty to attend the flag-hoisting early in the morning and other such official engagements planned for the day. I can not recall a birthday when I could claim the day for myself and just let things be!

However, it did not turn out to be as bad as I might have made it sound. To look at 200 (officer-)trainees present during the flag-hoisting in formal attire and everybody lending their voice to the singing of our National Anthem fills one heart with pride for one's country. It is on occasions such as these that one can feel the idea of 'unity in diversity' and however much we may differ, our respect for our nation and national symbols really shines forth.

And while my dear friends forgot my b-day in their own official engagements, my dear colleagues R and S surprised me by gifting me a beautiful bouquet of flowers each. While the flowers would dry out in time, it is the memory of this gift that would linger forever.My sisters and family would never fail to wish me on this day, however near or far they may be! More surprisingly, while a boisterous party was insisted upon on this occasion last year, a lot has changed in this one year and me, A and little N celebrated the day all by ourselves gorging on fabulous mushroom-cheese enchiladas and penne farmhouse for dinner!

I may not have mentioned it before, but in the kind of profession that one is in, the chances of coming across an academic assignment are rather slim. And even when one talks about academics, its not as if one is studying/teaching literature or pure sciences, rather one has the task of training fresh entrants into the service or mid-level government officers  by equipping them with latest tools and  basic skills essential for being an effective administrator. While it is easy to conduct sessions which are objective like legal theory, the real challenges arise when it comes to abstract notions like leadership, humility, perseverance. As a Course Director, one constantly worries that the inherent bias of a speaker/faculty member may be imprinted upon the receptive minds forever.

Also certain aspects of certain professions (read government service!) are rather 'intoxicating'. For one, there is a sense of 'having arrived' on the scene. It just doesn't stop at that. Even in a profession where most of the perks and promotions are safeguarded by law, there is often a strange sense of superiority and cleverness displayed by a few. Again, thanks to the super-competitive Indian society (and more importantly pushy parenting) if one has qualified for certain institutions/professions, sometimes one develops the tendency to look down upon those who do not carry similar tags.

Strangely enough, I sometimes feel, we have lost our ability to appreciate a poet who always wanted to be one. No wonder that a country as huge as ours, has over time, a dwindling population of artists and literateurs and sportspersons fewer still. In our country, for most people who attain some degree of success in any walk of life, it becomes difficult to look up to those from humble backgrounds and from alternate professions with parity and tolerance. 

As a beginner student of economics back in 2001, the basic premise that was made clear to us is how economics differs from our other 'pure' social sciences. While pure sciences like chemistry, physics would yield similar results under a similar set of conditions, economists can only claim satisfaction from the 'law of large numbers'. Even then, an economist can never be certain of results because when it comes to human behavior, no scientific tool can predict the same with infallible accuracy.In recent years, a number of Nobel Prizes in Economics have been given for Behavioral Science, Decision Making and allied fields.

Yet while a lot of research is being carried out in these fields,  I can only seek comfort in literature finishing two dense reads 'Snowflower and the Secret Fan' and 'The Book Thief' back to back. And yes, before we even dare imagine incorporating inputs on behavioral aspects in the structure of our courses, me and my colleagues too need an orientation training for the same. In the meanwhile, am happy that the tribe of artists, writers and poets continues to flourish in the larger world and years later when little N has to choose her calling, she need not worry about the tags, and will have these innumerable role models to look upon.

While another year in service (almost co-terminus with my birthday) and 365 more days of my existence on earth pass rather uneventfully, I send out secret thanks and prayers to God for all that there has been and all that he has in store for me. Talking about A's gift,I can imagine him saying

“For your birthday, I got you a box. Hooray! It’s empty, so you can fill it with whatever you want.
” 

― Jarod Kintz, A Zebra is the Piano of the Animal Kingdom

On a full moon night..

While the election fever in the country refuses to ebb, there was little else to do apart from our eat-drink-sleep election routine. The heat in Bundelkhand makes it difficult to venture out in the open during the day and there is little respite from the constant buzz of phone calls and messages. With two days left for the electoral results to start pouring in, our conversations with family and friends also start acquiring electoral overtones. Interestingly, everybody adds a new twist to the stories and speculations floating all around us. Often, being on the 'other' side of the fence, being detached from the results that shall follow and being thoroughly conversant with the procedural aspects, when it comes to our batchmate-friends, we can not help but share a hearty laugh at messages and stories circulating in the social and electronic media.

It was during one such lively sunset-time empty conversation with dear friend An (of Coorg fame!) that he noticed the call of peacocks and parrots on my end. Looking around I realized the magic of the moment, with a silver moon shining up on the horizon, and bevies of birds settling down to roost for the night. While one could hear the calls of peacocks in this lovely house at any hour of the day, that moment will be forever etched in my memory and on An's insistence, also in my camera. Thanks to An's inspiration, apprehensive as I was of clicking without a tripod, the pics turned out out to be not just amazing but also as another friend N remarked 'mystical'.

Looking at a full moon after ages that day, made me loose track of time and place for a while and made me realize how little we cherish these small joys in life. Of the few things that I shall take away from Banda this time, this moment shall be the one. Of the multitude of thoughts which crossed my mind, nothing could have summed it up better than these lines:

"The moon is a loyal companion.

It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain.Alone. Cratered by imperfections.” 

― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

In the Kingdom of Clouds- Coorg, Karnataka

A lot of things have changed since my last blog post. For one, I have resumed office.And as I write these lines sitting in my office, I could not be more thankful to the government for being such a liberal employer. There are multiple reasons for that: I got six months of maternity leave, got nearly all my hospital expenses covered and now that there's nobody I could leave my baby with, am even allowed to take her along to the office. An outsider to the system may smirk at this but then as civil servants living in a city far from our respective home-towns, there wasn't much else me or A could do about it.

Cooperative as our baby has been, bringing up a kid without grandparents, drains the last reserves of one's energy and patience. Add to that the constant fire-fighting which has become the quintessence of government functioning in India and one is left gasping for breath. By the time I write this, I shudder to even mention about the woes faced by a young couple in keeping the house running without any full time support. Weighed down with these and a dozen other concerns, the posting of a dear friend An in Kodagu came as a whiff of fresh air and an opportunity we could not afford to miss. While A showed immense enterprise in getting the reservations and bookings done in a matter of hours, the generosity of the invitation extended to us was no less commendable.

While it wasn't our maiden trip to 'the Scotland of the East', the sheer diversity of the landscape with a change of every few kilometers meant our holiday was not going to be bereft of discoveries and surprises.I often wonder how little we knew about the place till not so long ago. Even if one were not to visit, it is difficult to understand, how a place with culture and history as distinct as this, could be unknown to us for so long. Even if it were not for the 'charm' of the place, the fact that we were welcomed by a bright sky full of fluffy white clouds, I could not help but christen this place as 'the Kingdom of Clouds'.

There are many places in India one could describe as 'breathtakingly beautiful' but for Coorg this alone doesn't suffice. It is one of the few places which has been so favourably endowed by the Nature and has managed to preserve much of its pristine beauty. Strangely however, in terms of the parameters of modern development, Kodagu is considered to be a backward district. For me however, in some fictional narrative, the place could serve as a magical country in its own right. It has a language of its own but no script. Coorg was also an independent state of India till it was merged with Mysore after States Reorganization in 1956. It has a distinct cuisine of its own. It is an important spice region of India and contributes one-third of the country's coffee production. And not just that, the people even have their distinct dressing styles/ costumes/ jewellery. The way Kodagu women wear saree differs from the rest of the country- with pleats at the back, it is supposed to make it convenient for them to go up and down the hilly countryside.

The people of Coorg, (Kodavas as they are called ) consider themselves to be descendants of the soldiers of Alexander, the Great and hence are known for their martial skills and beauty. Hence the fact that a number of Kodavas have made their mark as India's defence personnel, athletes, actors etc shouldn't come as a surprise. Our friend An took immense pride in informing us about the Kodavas Annual Hockey festival, the existence of three astro-turfs and four eighteen hole golf courses in Coorg! We were also surprised when he decided to shed light on Section 4 of Arms Act of 1954 which read with another notification actually exempts all "persons of Coorg race" from going through the usual process of obtaining an Arms license!

Whatever be the reason or excuse, we were smitten by the beauty of the place, the first time itself. But this time as we walked amidst the floating clouds (and lived in the middle of a cardamom estate!), we felt we had to bring our parents to Coorg or else they may never know such a place actually exists in India. The fact that the renovation of An's house would also be complete shortly, seems to be an incentive strong enough..

“Sometimes, for a moment, everything is just as you need it to be. The memories of such moments live in the heart, waiting for the time you need to think of them, if only to remind yourself that for a short while, everything had been fine, and might be so again.”

-Ami McKay, The Virgin Cure

“"You hesitate to stab me with a word, and know not - silence is the sharper sword” -Samuel Johnson

It is indeed strange that the word bureaucrat in India has come to be regarded as a synonym for everything that connotes moral decay, red-tape, power-broking, corruption and malpractices. The very mention of the word conjures up in mind the image of a pepper-haired, crisp-shirted, middle-aged, bespectacled 'gentleman' who leads a life of comfort and luxury and commands immense respect in the corridors of power. Ironically though, nobody spares a thought for the young men and women (in their twenties and early thirties) who labor their lives away in the vast hinterlands of our gleaming metropolises so that the process of development may continue un-impedimented.

The dual income corporate couples take immense pride in their multi-million swanky penthouses and bask in the glory of India Shining while having cleared a highly competitive exam their counterparts in the government take bricks and bats and slave away their prime in providing toilets and drinking water to the citizens of an immensely different Bharat. And most of these young men and women have chosen to be in their spot while they could have been just about anywhere else. While it is indeed fashionable to 'like' (aka Facebook) everything handcrafted, organic and green and to 'hoot and tweet' for the cultural icons, it takes more than that  and definitely a lot of raw hardwork and toil to keep the multitudes at sparring with each other and to keep the wheels of change chugging however slowly..

What meets the eye is not necessary the whole truth.What is often not understood is that these young men and women spend their lives away from home at that juncture of their lives when their families (read parents and children) need them most. Much later in their lives when this job affords them an opportunity to lead a stable life and be with their families, more often than not, the parents are no longer there and the children no longer need them as much.. No bungalow or the blue-beacon-ed Ambassador can substitute for the joy of watching one's child grow. The problems of development have remained since times immemorial but one's child will never be three years old again, the sister will not get married again and the wife's youth will be lost forever.. Often one feels that the difficulties borne by the officers as 'occupational hazards' fade completely in comparison to the silent sufferings of the families at large.

Those who lay down their lives as unsung heroes never knew at the beginning of their day that it shall be their last. It sends shiver down the spine to think about their last phone-call to their families, their last shared meal with their colleagues and their last words fighting for an unknown alien cause.And it is precisely this kind of uncertainty that a typical government functionary faces each day.

While it is 'expected ' of the State to provide for modern housing and broad highways, it is rather convenient to ignore the sacrifices of those innumerable government officers who provide their blood and sweat in the acquisition of land for these dream projects. It may be difficult to accept but it takes more than money and power to negotiate with the masses. The government is blamed because it is always there to take the blame and yet lend an ear to the problems. In the same vein though, one finds it  difficult to speak to one's domestic help in a slightly raised pitch. 

Unlike the spokespersons of various conglomerates and unions, the officials never get to present their side of their story and Explain!.. Reason- the skeptics wouldn't take it, the insiders don't need it and any 'medium' would not carry it/channelize for its lack of scoop-ability.. In addition, the grass-root functionaries are rather naive, untrained and powerless to read through the designs and ploys of so called 'sympathizers' who specialize at distorting facts and mis-representing the slightest of utterances. 

The pro-poor, pro-farmer and pro-development intelligentsia only wakes up from its slumber when incidents like Bhatta, Nandigram and Singur take place. In the immediate aftermath of such events, this very 'social think-tank' indulges in frenzied debating, fact-finding, writing editorials and airing discussions at every 'waking' hour. Strangely again, the majority of them do not have much of an idea of the lives of their rural 'brethren' but never shy from dispensing unsolicited but highly opinionated 'Advice' to the same 'Bureaucrat' whose emotionless facade never seems to give away the churning and turmoil from within.. 

Its time we decide to SEE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS.. These are precisely the times "when silence has the loudest voice."