Photography - is it a route to playing God?
The struggle to capture the moment. The beauty. The drama, poignancy, drama, happiness, the elation of victory, the crush of numbing defeat... Is it possible? To capture a moment which is experienced with 5 senses with what is perceived by one sense? I think not...
A recent trip to a forest... Awed by the majesty, the sheer grandeur, the intricate tapestry of might and the law of the jungle... The mute acceptance of it... The sheer finality of it all... And yet, the joy in the flight of the birds, the exultation in the leap of the deer... All of it sullied...
Marred by the need to capture it all in frames... by a discussion on who has the costliest camera equipment... and who has more notches on the belt for 'sighting'...
Juxtapose this against any backdrop of life - kids' school PTA, pub nights/squash games with friends, work days, lunches with colleagues, anything... its all the same...
Is it all there is? This passionate, all-consuming chase for one-up-manship? Is this the story of our lives? Is this the purpose of life?
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Once upon a Black Mood 1
Life's Labours... Lost... and Found...
One labours on...
Through the labyrinthe mazes of
Passion, desires, dreams,
Fulfilment, denial, debasement,
Satisfaction, achievement,
Dissatisfaction, failure,
Glory, success, pride,
Defeat, futility, hope, hopelessness,
Meaninglessness, aims, plans,
An unending roller-coaster of question marks, commas, semi colons,
Full stops and exclamation marks...
In the end, as one delves deep into the recesses of the mind,
Licking one's wounds in solitude,
Through the hazy smoke-screen of intoxication and suspended reality,
One wonders,
Is this the journey from birth to death?
Is it necessary to lose oneself further
In order to find oneself?
One labours on...
Through the labyrinthe mazes of
Passion, desires, dreams,
Fulfilment, denial, debasement,
Satisfaction, achievement,
Dissatisfaction, failure,
Glory, success, pride,
Defeat, futility, hope, hopelessness,
Meaninglessness, aims, plans,
An unending roller-coaster of question marks, commas, semi colons,
Full stops and exclamation marks...
In the end, as one delves deep into the recesses of the mind,
Licking one's wounds in solitude,
Through the hazy smoke-screen of intoxication and suspended reality,
One wonders,
Is this the journey from birth to death?
Is it necessary to lose oneself further
In order to find oneself?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright...
Lets go! An impulsive trip because a bunch of friends decided to go. The only excuse being that the kids were away at their grandparents’… Where do we go? Place chosen on the basis of the 2 C’s – closest and cheapest… Hardly the decision-making process recommended for great holidays.
The place chosen was Thailand – I heaved a huge sigh at the prospect of 4 days of t-shirt shopping, road-side haggling, taking in oft-seen tourist sights, drinking and nursing hangovers…
And that (as the tele-shopping network presenters would say), is when we remembered a program that we had seen on the Tiger Temple somewhere in Thailand where they rear tigers as pets! We spent some time in Bangkok figuring out where this place was, and that, folks, was the highlight of the tour (apart from some parasailing, etc., in Coral Island, Pattaya).
The Tiger Temple is in SaiYok province in the northwest of Bangkok in the hills beyond the river Kwai. We left at about 6 in the morning from Bangkok.
About two and a half hours of deep, exhausted and good air-conditioning fuelled sleep later, we were at the Kanchanaburi war cemetery. This is a place where the graves of thousands of British, Australian, Dutch and Indian soldiers are meticulously cared for and maintained in a pristine compound.
The place chosen was Thailand – I heaved a huge sigh at the prospect of 4 days of t-shirt shopping, road-side haggling, taking in oft-seen tourist sights, drinking and nursing hangovers…
And that (as the tele-shopping network presenters would say), is when we remembered a program that we had seen on the Tiger Temple somewhere in Thailand where they rear tigers as pets! We spent some time in Bangkok figuring out where this place was, and that, folks, was the highlight of the tour (apart from some parasailing, etc., in Coral Island, Pattaya).
The Tiger Temple is in SaiYok province in the northwest of Bangkok in the hills beyond the river Kwai. We left at about 6 in the morning from Bangkok.
About two and a half hours of deep, exhausted and good air-conditioning fuelled sleep later, we were at the Kanchanaburi war cemetery. This is a place where the graves of thousands of British, Australian, Dutch and Indian soldiers are meticulously cared for and maintained in a pristine compound. Incidentally, Kanchanaburi was the site of a Japanese POW camp where many Allied soldiers were interred. They were used for building the railroad which would give the Japanese forces easy access to India through Burma (since the sea-route was too heavily guarded by the British).
From there to the War museum which is constructed on the site of the old POW camp – shocking is the word when one reads and sees photographs of the conditions in the camp… And then to the bridge
over t
he river Kwai which is about a 20 minute drive away. Incidentally, the destruction of this bridge is chronicled in the classic film “Bridge over River Kwai”… Apparently this bridge was of great strategic significance for the Japanese forces to move forces and supplies by train across to Burma. The old bridge still stands. But there is a new one now over which a train passes once in a while (at which time one has to step off!).
And then to WangPho where we had a fabulous Thai lunch in the midst of stilt houses and overgrown vegetation.
Post lunch, it was fifteen minutes from there to the Tiger Temple. Many years ago, apparently the head monk of the monastery was a kind-hearted gentleman who
took on the care of a tiger cub that was abandoned by poachers in the jungle after they killed the mother in the forests adjoining Burma nearby. The cub responded and started growing up devoted to the monk. Word spread, and many more cubs were dropped off at the monastery including other animals which were destined to be abandoned or killed – peacocks, old buffaloes, goats, etc. The Buddhist monks of this monastery believe it their duty to care for such animals and give them the chance to live.
Today there are 46 tigers in the monastery –
its now called the Tiger Temple. Lots of people 
volunteer to work there for some time for the chance to do something worthwhile and spend quality time with the big cats. We got to pet the tigers, tickle them, take them on a walk and most importantly, overcome the mind-numbing fear that grips one when one looks into the fierce eyes
of a full grown tiger…
There is no describing this experience – at least I can’t. It is just so overwhelming! It has to be experienced…
It is not without danger though not many incidents happen since the tigers are al
ways accompanied by the monks who have
raised them from the cub stage. But, as one of the volunteers put it, “These are 500 pound cats on dog leashes – if they decide to go after you, nothing much can be done!”
The visit to the Tiger Temple was the single most exciting trip I have done in the recent past. Folks, do make it a point to visit. It is genuinely a must-do – for the sheer thrill, the mind-numbing fear, the chance to see one
of nature’s most feared predators up close and oh-so-personal, the novelty of it all and last but not the least to show off to your kids. ;-)
Incidentally I met a volunteer there – an American who has taken a sabbatical from work and is volunteering at the monastery taking care of the ‘cats’ for the last year – meditation, free food and stay, the company of tigers, no worldly pressures… believe you me, I was sorely tempted... ;-)
From there to the War museum which is constructed on the site of the old POW camp – shocking is the word when one reads and sees photographs of the conditions in the camp… And then to the bridge
over t
he river Kwai which is about a 20 minute drive away. Incidentally, the destruction of this bridge is chronicled in the classic film “Bridge over River Kwai”… Apparently this bridge was of great strategic significance for the Japanese forces to move forces and supplies by train across to Burma. The old bridge still stands. But there is a new one now over which a train passes once in a while (at which time one has to step off!).
And then to WangPho where we had a fabulous Thai lunch in the midst of stilt houses and overgrown vegetation.Post lunch, it was fifteen minutes from there to the Tiger Temple. Many years ago, apparently the head monk of the monastery was a kind-hearted gentleman who
took on the care of a tiger cub that was abandoned by poachers in the jungle after they killed the mother in the forests adjoining Burma nearby. The cub responded and started growing up devoted to the monk. Word spread, and many more cubs were dropped off at the monastery including other animals which were destined to be abandoned or killed – peacocks, old buffaloes, goats, etc. The Buddhist monks of this monastery believe it their duty to care for such animals and give them the chance to live.Today there are 46 tigers in the monastery –
its now called the Tiger Temple. Lots of people 
volunteer to work there for some time for the chance to do something worthwhile and spend quality time with the big cats. We got to pet the tigers, tickle them, take them on a walk and most importantly, overcome the mind-numbing fear that grips one when one looks into the fierce eyes
of a full grown tiger…
There is no describing this experience – at least I can’t. It is just so overwhelming! It has to be experienced…
It is not without danger though not many incidents happen since the tigers are al
ways accompanied by the monks who have
raised them from the cub stage. But, as one of the volunteers put it, “These are 500 pound cats on dog leashes – if they decide to go after you, nothing much can be done!”The visit to the Tiger Temple was the single most exciting trip I have done in the recent past. Folks, do make it a point to visit. It is genuinely a must-do – for the sheer thrill, the mind-numbing fear, the chance to see one
of nature’s most feared predators up close and oh-so-personal, the novelty of it all and last but not the least to show off to your kids. ;-)Incidentally I met a volunteer there – an American who has taken a sabbatical from work and is volunteering at the monastery taking care of the ‘cats’ for the last year – meditation, free food and stay, the company of tigers, no worldly pressures… believe you me, I was sorely tempted... ;-)
Friday, November 30, 2007
Himesh of Hyderabad
I met a person last week in Hyderabad… the person who drove the car that came to pick me up at the airport – was with me till late night when he dropped me off at the hotel.
I don’t remember his name, but let me call him Himesh – he had a stubble, tight jeans, tight t-shirt, open jacket and a cap pulled down over his forehead. All that he didn’t do compared to his more famous likeness was go “oooooo” when he missed traffic lights…And hence Himesh.
Himesh was a man with attitude. Spoke halting, heavily accented English but insisted on listening to a radio station that has the RJs speaking predominantly English and plays English songs. At the airport he held the name board fairly apologetically and as inconspicuously as possible. He drove like he was Haikkonen Himesh. At the hotel he got into a fracas with the doorman who apparently referred to him disrespectfully and asked him not to stop in front of the main door. Of course, he took the tip that I proffered, but with such a supercilious air that I felt fairly apologetic about the quantum of the tip (which was quite substantial if I may add)…
Why was he Himesh? Why the attitude? Why the permanent disgruntlement? And he seemed fairly typical of the new generation of Hyderabadis (going by the few people I met). From my previous experiences with Hyderabadis, dating to about a few years back, they have always been very courteous, very at peace with themselves…
Drawing a rough parallel, this change is fairly evident in native Bangaloris (or is it Bengaloorians) too over the last few years. The one common change in these two cities over the last few years is the huge growth in the IT/ITES segments in them. And the consequent increase in salary levels among a largely expatriate work force with largely foreign skill sets. Is this the reason? Possibly it is. There seems to be a distinct class divide now among the Have-a-BPO/IT-jobs and Have-not-a-BPO/IT-jobs. The majority of the former, are typically from outside the city, have high proficiency in English, high salaries and conspicuously extravagant spending habits. The latter meanwhile can only look and envy. (Almost like the metros of yore where the divide was with respect to having a secure Government/Bank job…)
This theory seems to be borne out of the rising crime rates in these cities (crimes committed not for survival, but for spending money) and the increasing linguistic xenophobia (look at any movie and more often than not there is the mandatory comedy track deriding the linguistic foreigner – Indian or otherwise).
I believe, unless we address the cantankerous Himesh-es along with infrastructure and the like, while on the path to development, we will have unrest and chaos which may soon become unmanageable.
Is it reservation that is the answer? I don’t think so – it will only perpetuate this like the hydra-headed caste system being propagated in reality by the system of caste-based reservation. Is it low-cost quality education? Maybe it is, but it is too late for this generation of job-seekers. Maybe it is generation of entrepreneurial opportunities for today’s Himeshes… I don’t know. I bet most of us don’t. But we better find out fast… The first step to that is to not get blinded by the splendor of the non-Himeshes’ success stories and accept the existence of the Himeshes.
Till then, Himesh will continue to exist in a state of growing discontent dreaming Walter Mitty’s dreams I’m sure… I sure as hell hope that he doesn’t stop dreaming and get into action-mode… but I guess he will at some point.
I don’t remember his name, but let me call him Himesh – he had a stubble, tight jeans, tight t-shirt, open jacket and a cap pulled down over his forehead. All that he didn’t do compared to his more famous likeness was go “oooooo” when he missed traffic lights…And hence Himesh.
Himesh was a man with attitude. Spoke halting, heavily accented English but insisted on listening to a radio station that has the RJs speaking predominantly English and plays English songs. At the airport he held the name board fairly apologetically and as inconspicuously as possible. He drove like he was Haikkonen Himesh. At the hotel he got into a fracas with the doorman who apparently referred to him disrespectfully and asked him not to stop in front of the main door. Of course, he took the tip that I proffered, but with such a supercilious air that I felt fairly apologetic about the quantum of the tip (which was quite substantial if I may add)…
Why was he Himesh? Why the attitude? Why the permanent disgruntlement? And he seemed fairly typical of the new generation of Hyderabadis (going by the few people I met). From my previous experiences with Hyderabadis, dating to about a few years back, they have always been very courteous, very at peace with themselves…
Drawing a rough parallel, this change is fairly evident in native Bangaloris (or is it Bengaloorians) too over the last few years. The one common change in these two cities over the last few years is the huge growth in the IT/ITES segments in them. And the consequent increase in salary levels among a largely expatriate work force with largely foreign skill sets. Is this the reason? Possibly it is. There seems to be a distinct class divide now among the Have-a-BPO/IT-jobs and Have-not-a-BPO/IT-jobs. The majority of the former, are typically from outside the city, have high proficiency in English, high salaries and conspicuously extravagant spending habits. The latter meanwhile can only look and envy. (Almost like the metros of yore where the divide was with respect to having a secure Government/Bank job…)
This theory seems to be borne out of the rising crime rates in these cities (crimes committed not for survival, but for spending money) and the increasing linguistic xenophobia (look at any movie and more often than not there is the mandatory comedy track deriding the linguistic foreigner – Indian or otherwise).
I believe, unless we address the cantankerous Himesh-es along with infrastructure and the like, while on the path to development, we will have unrest and chaos which may soon become unmanageable.
Is it reservation that is the answer? I don’t think so – it will only perpetuate this like the hydra-headed caste system being propagated in reality by the system of caste-based reservation. Is it low-cost quality education? Maybe it is, but it is too late for this generation of job-seekers. Maybe it is generation of entrepreneurial opportunities for today’s Himeshes… I don’t know. I bet most of us don’t. But we better find out fast… The first step to that is to not get blinded by the splendor of the non-Himeshes’ success stories and accept the existence of the Himeshes.
Till then, Himesh will continue to exist in a state of growing discontent dreaming Walter Mitty’s dreams I’m sure… I sure as hell hope that he doesn’t stop dreaming and get into action-mode… but I guess he will at some point.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Ramblings on rumblings and noise cancellations
Have you heard the old limerick about rumblings written by i-dont-remember-who? Well it goes like this:
I sat next to a duchess at tea
Her rumblings abdominal
Were simply phenomenal
And everyone thought it was me.
I was sitting in a train from Mysore to Chennai. Early morning, sipping tepid, extra sweet tea and everyone intently gazing out of the window pretending to take in the scenery - the reality being that no one wanted to talk.
Next to me was a stylish-denim-and-red-T-shirt-clad middle aged French-bearded gentleman with a distinctively Bengali accent when talking on the phone… Even the sound he made while sipping tea screamed Bengali.
Of course, many-a-times you would also have been in similar situations with the Indian countryside, desultory conversation, boring magazines and oily snacks whizzing by... You may well ask 'so what's special'. What's special is that this gent was rumbling abdominally with a vengeance.
(Did I hear you say ‘disgusting’? Well, you asked me ‘What’s special’ didn’t you?)
All this with look of nonchalance on his face and beatific contentment that would flit across his beefy countenance for a split second after each hell-raiser broke loose. The contentment was understandable, but the nonchalance must have come from a supreme belief that the noisy train sounds would cancel out the rumbles. He may have been hard of hearing also...
Anyway, I got a few reproachful looks from fellow passengers. Unshaven me in old track pants and baggy T-shirt may have looked the type who would do this - definitely not a middle-aged dapper Goshto Pal-look-alike. So I hunched my head into my shoulders and busied myself typing this on my mobile... (and remembered a dear friend of mine who often spouts the irresistable hindi-belt ode "thain thuin madhyama... thuskari maha hathyari")
But that’s not the point…
The point is, Hey, isn't this what we all do? Spitting on roads, rioting, eve teasing, scratching graffiti on public toilet walls, advertising our latest loves on walls of historical monuments… believing no one will notice us - the comfort of invisibility in a crowd. The belief that the rumbles will be lost in the deafening din of humanity passing by.
And hence would it be right to posit that as long as there is a crowd, the best in us can't surface. There is too much comfort in collective failure and wrong-doing. If so, then loneliness is the route to individual brilliance.
Individual work dazzles - teamwork is a means of sharing it and hiding collective weaknesses. Brilliance must perforce be compromised since the brilliance of the team is the brilliance of the weakest link...
So then, is teamwork fit only for a group that is equally mediocre? Of course then, the mediocre can survive in a world illuminated by flashes of individual brilliance only if they stick together and work in teams.
Maybe that is why the tiger hunts alone... And the wild dog hunts in packs... I wonder...
By the way, I had a chance to view the tiger, wild dog, elephant in the wild - was in the Mudumalai forest last weekend. I will write about it in a couple of days...
I sat next to a duchess at tea
Her rumblings abdominal
Were simply phenomenal
And everyone thought it was me.
I was sitting in a train from Mysore to Chennai. Early morning, sipping tepid, extra sweet tea and everyone intently gazing out of the window pretending to take in the scenery - the reality being that no one wanted to talk.
Next to me was a stylish-denim-and-red-T-shirt-clad middle aged French-bearded gentleman with a distinctively Bengali accent when talking on the phone… Even the sound he made while sipping tea screamed Bengali.
Of course, many-a-times you would also have been in similar situations with the Indian countryside, desultory conversation, boring magazines and oily snacks whizzing by... You may well ask 'so what's special'. What's special is that this gent was rumbling abdominally with a vengeance.
(Did I hear you say ‘disgusting’? Well, you asked me ‘What’s special’ didn’t you?)
All this with look of nonchalance on his face and beatific contentment that would flit across his beefy countenance for a split second after each hell-raiser broke loose. The contentment was understandable, but the nonchalance must have come from a supreme belief that the noisy train sounds would cancel out the rumbles. He may have been hard of hearing also...
Anyway, I got a few reproachful looks from fellow passengers. Unshaven me in old track pants and baggy T-shirt may have looked the type who would do this - definitely not a middle-aged dapper Goshto Pal-look-alike. So I hunched my head into my shoulders and busied myself typing this on my mobile... (and remembered a dear friend of mine who often spouts the irresistable hindi-belt ode "thain thuin madhyama... thuskari maha hathyari")
But that’s not the point…
The point is, Hey, isn't this what we all do? Spitting on roads, rioting, eve teasing, scratching graffiti on public toilet walls, advertising our latest loves on walls of historical monuments… believing no one will notice us - the comfort of invisibility in a crowd. The belief that the rumbles will be lost in the deafening din of humanity passing by.
And hence would it be right to posit that as long as there is a crowd, the best in us can't surface. There is too much comfort in collective failure and wrong-doing. If so, then loneliness is the route to individual brilliance.
Individual work dazzles - teamwork is a means of sharing it and hiding collective weaknesses. Brilliance must perforce be compromised since the brilliance of the team is the brilliance of the weakest link...
So then, is teamwork fit only for a group that is equally mediocre? Of course then, the mediocre can survive in a world illuminated by flashes of individual brilliance only if they stick together and work in teams.
Maybe that is why the tiger hunts alone... And the wild dog hunts in packs... I wonder...
By the way, I had a chance to view the tiger, wild dog, elephant in the wild - was in the Mudumalai forest last weekend. I will write about it in a couple of days...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Ocean in Each of Us
"Our life, it probably began inside of the ocean. About four thousand million years before now. Probably near hot places, like volcanoes, under the sea. And for almost all of that long time, all the living beings were water things, living inside the sea. Then, a few hundred million years ago, maybe a little more - just a little while, really, in the big history of the Earth - the living beings began living on the land, as well.
But in a way you can say that after leaving the sea, after all those millions of years of living inside the sea, we took the ocean with us. When a woman makes a baby, she gives it water, inside her body, to grow in. The water in her body is almost exactly the same as the water of the sea. It is salty, by just the same amount. She makes a little ocean, in her body. And not only this. Our blood and our sweating, they are both salty, almost exactly like the water from the sea is salty.
We carry oceans inside of us, in our blood and in our sweat. And we are crying the ocean, in our tears."
Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram
Read this bit in this book I'm reading now - Shantaram.
Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram
Read this bit in this book I'm reading now - Shantaram.
Spawned a sea of thoughts... The inexorable pull of the sea when one stands on the shore long enough… the sheer wildness of the beauty of the sea… the comfort of the waves enveloping you when you goes far enough out to sea for the waves to overpower and throw you off-balance… of course till the panic button for survival is pressed and you rapidly get back to shore…
I had read somewhere that the ‘samudra manthanam’ of Hindu mythology is really symbolic of us churning the vast oceanic depths of knowledge that is present within the self… taking help from both the good forces (Devas) within us and the evil forces (Asuras)… using the mountain (Mandara) of self will tied up by the serpent (Vasuki) of cooperation and conflict…
Various items kept coming out of the depths – prominent among them being the deadly poison (Halahala) symbolic of the fear of death (this was consumed by Shiva the God of destruction in the myth)… and finally the nectar of immortality (Amrit) – the non-fear of death so to say.
However, that’s not the end – the good forces and evil forces have equal rights to it since as the self gains from the churning, so does good and evil (the self being bipolar always). It requires Vishnu (the Absolute) to protect the self by denying the evil forces the nectar… (In the myth the Devas and Asuras fight over the Amrit and Vishnu comes in as Mohini to deny the Asuras and give the Amrit to the Devas)
The symbolism hit me… Left me in the throes of introspection… Have I churned myself enough... Have I not been lax with myself? Just a wee bit?
I had read somewhere that the ‘samudra manthanam’ of Hindu mythology is really symbolic of us churning the vast oceanic depths of knowledge that is present within the self… taking help from both the good forces (Devas) within us and the evil forces (Asuras)… using the mountain (Mandara) of self will tied up by the serpent (Vasuki) of cooperation and conflict…
Various items kept coming out of the depths – prominent among them being the deadly poison (Halahala) symbolic of the fear of death (this was consumed by Shiva the God of destruction in the myth)… and finally the nectar of immortality (Amrit) – the non-fear of death so to say.
However, that’s not the end – the good forces and evil forces have equal rights to it since as the self gains from the churning, so does good and evil (the self being bipolar always). It requires Vishnu (the Absolute) to protect the self by denying the evil forces the nectar… (In the myth the Devas and Asuras fight over the Amrit and Vishnu comes in as Mohini to deny the Asuras and give the Amrit to the Devas)
The symbolism hit me… Left me in the throes of introspection… Have I churned myself enough... Have I not been lax with myself? Just a wee bit?
Guess many before me would have been hit by this… And many after me...
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Old man and the 'If Only'
Met an old man today. I knew him, had seen him earlier. But I MET him only today...
A man who devoted his life to his children. He was from a small village in Kerala. As was usual with young men of that generation in Kerala, he had to leave and search for employment elsewhere. He chose Calcutta - a room, a mess for food, a job as a secretary in a typewriter company, no interest in books, no music, and himself... He was the quintessential Haripada of the old Anjan Dutt Bangla song...
In due course he brought his nephew, his nephew's friend and a few other youngsters from his village to Calcutta and ensured they had shelter till they found jobs and enrolled in college...His need then came to obviate loneliness... Marriage followed - to a teacher. The wife stayed in Kerala with her job... Remember this was the age of no telephones, no email and only snail mail... And 3 days to travel by train one way. Life as before, with a one month holiday for him in Kerala with wife and a one month holiday for the wife in Calcutta. Kids followed - 2 boys, both stayed and studied in kerala. The man continued in his Haripada way. Then the wife died. The kids stayed in Kerala - both between 5 and 7 years. With the man's sister.
On a trip when he came down, he was saddened by the state of the kids. He took them to Calcutta with him. Became difficult managing... He married again. A lady from Kerala who probably wouldn't get married given her circumstance... With an agreement that she wouldn't want kids beyond the 2 sons. A life devoted to the sons. Huge performance pressure on them.
One became a doctor and one a chartered accountant. But he wanted more. He wanted them to go to the Mecca of the middle class then - the USA. Both went - one to the US and one to canada. By then they were married - to girls from very rich families. The sons drew apart from the parents- the social standing was very different. The grandchildren are americans - no relationship with the grandparents. The old man felt his responsibilities were over and came back... Back to his village in Kerala. Built a house with great effort and love. He finished when he was 76. What more could a man want, he must have thought... Successful kids, retired, back home, house built... The perfect ending to the well-worked hardly-lived life. A self made man. Realisation of the typical middle class dream...A few trips to the US and Canada...
Disenchantment... Back to the village... Issues with the wife who was blaming him for not having kids, and concern over her future. Now death staring at him in the face. Due to age, not illness. No children. A wife who blames him for her fate. No diversions like a reading habit etc to divert his mind from self deprecation... Yearning to turn back time... Bitterness... Guilt... Anger... Fear... Ambiguity... Loneliness... Is this the end?
The 'if only' phase of life characterised by "If only I had..." or "if only they had..." Or "if only fate had..." Or "if only I could turn time back" or "if only..."
Met an old man today. I knew him, had seen him earlier. But I MET him only today...
A man who devoted his life to his children. He was from a small village in Kerala. As was usual with young men of that generation in Kerala, he had to leave and search for employment elsewhere. He chose Calcutta - a room, a mess for food, a job as a secretary in a typewriter company, no interest in books, no music, and himself... He was the quintessential Haripada of the old Anjan Dutt Bangla song...
In due course he brought his nephew, his nephew's friend and a few other youngsters from his village to Calcutta and ensured they had shelter till they found jobs and enrolled in college...His need then came to obviate loneliness... Marriage followed - to a teacher. The wife stayed in Kerala with her job... Remember this was the age of no telephones, no email and only snail mail... And 3 days to travel by train one way. Life as before, with a one month holiday for him in Kerala with wife and a one month holiday for the wife in Calcutta. Kids followed - 2 boys, both stayed and studied in kerala. The man continued in his Haripada way. Then the wife died. The kids stayed in Kerala - both between 5 and 7 years. With the man's sister.
On a trip when he came down, he was saddened by the state of the kids. He took them to Calcutta with him. Became difficult managing... He married again. A lady from Kerala who probably wouldn't get married given her circumstance... With an agreement that she wouldn't want kids beyond the 2 sons. A life devoted to the sons. Huge performance pressure on them.
One became a doctor and one a chartered accountant. But he wanted more. He wanted them to go to the Mecca of the middle class then - the USA. Both went - one to the US and one to canada. By then they were married - to girls from very rich families. The sons drew apart from the parents- the social standing was very different. The grandchildren are americans - no relationship with the grandparents. The old man felt his responsibilities were over and came back... Back to his village in Kerala. Built a house with great effort and love. He finished when he was 76. What more could a man want, he must have thought... Successful kids, retired, back home, house built... The perfect ending to the well-worked hardly-lived life. A self made man. Realisation of the typical middle class dream...A few trips to the US and Canada...
Disenchantment... Back to the village... Issues with the wife who was blaming him for not having kids, and concern over her future. Now death staring at him in the face. Due to age, not illness. No children. A wife who blames him for her fate. No diversions like a reading habit etc to divert his mind from self deprecation... Yearning to turn back time... Bitterness... Guilt... Anger... Fear... Ambiguity... Loneliness... Is this the end?
The 'if only' phase of life characterised by "If only I had..." or "if only they had..." Or "if only fate had..." Or "if only I could turn time back" or "if only..."
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