No Horn, Please!

Ever since I began to use the “new” motor bike, I am sure about one thing: no one will ever tell me not to honk, and no one will be irritated by mindless honking the horn. What have I done that I would be quite innocent of disturbing others by using horn? It is not that I have to do something extra-ordinary to be somewhat different from other bikers; all that I have done for now is deliberately refusing to repair the horn which is not functioning. The friend who had given the bike for me to use did not tell me that the horn was not functioning, and when I began to drive on the busy streets of Kolkata, I found quite strange, and awkward to drive without the horn.

Now that I have been using the bike for some two months, I am quite happy without the need to use it. In fact, when I told my friend why the horn was not working, he himself felt quite embarassed, and asked me to get it repaired as soon as possible. When I told him that I planned not to use horn on the road, he was quite surprised. He might have thought that I was just kidding. He told me that it is impossible to drive on the city street without honking, and now I can show others, it is quite possible to drive in the megacity without the need to hork even once!

But in that case, is it that easy to drive in the heart of the city without using the horn even once? Sometimes I realize that the person who is driving in front of me is not giving me way, and if I had the horn functioning properly, I might push the horn to get the attention of the person, and pull through. Now that I have no horn, I have to wait for the person to give me way; some times I have to slow down in order to find my way through. But does it matter much to me? Surely not! If I take just a few minutes extra, and save the neighbors the ordeal of deafening horns, it is well worth it!

During mid-day when the schools break off for the day, one can hear the most queer horns honking endlessly, and still traffic coming to standstill or moving like snails. Does honking make a difference in the situation? Most often it does not; one cannot force one's way through traffic congestion. Honking does not serve the purpose, and yet many who drive have the psychological satisfaction of passing through others, and forcing the other to give way; ultimately no one cares for others. If only we care for the sick and the suffering who mightbe on the road, we might be more careful not to annoy them with honking.

Someone had said that we Indians lack civic sense; maybe that is part of the Asian baggage; the situation is no different in other Asian countries, save Singapore, which is branded as the "fine" (to be paid in currency) city. We take it for granted, we have to shout in order to get the attention of others; there are other ways of driving through the city highways and avenues. I can only imagine a day when there will be no more honking, and it would be wonderful to walk around. In much of Europe that is already a reality, and how long will it take for India to enter into that phase? I am eagerly waiting for the day when vehicles will not need to have horns!

Mama Mia!

Ever since I began my long journey from Chennai to Kolkata, my mother had been faithfully carrying out one ritual. The day I board the train, she would wake up early in the morning, some days it is as early as half past three, and would prepare food packets for my journey. I do not like the food available at the pantry car in the train, but love to have home-cooked food, and I do not need to remind my mother about this, even before I could tell her, she is prepared to get things ready for me. I really wonder how many people would be prepared to sacrifice sleep and do this for me; I know a couple of others may also do this for me without my asking, but I feel sad to ask my mother to do this for me any longer, due to her health conditions.

I know my mother gets the best of what is available for me, and sometimes my niece had been telling me that more special dishes are prepared at home when I am there, and that she was envious of it. Most often we take for granted the goodness of people around us, who slog to make our lives a little more enjoyable; the hardship, pain and suffering that the parents go through is most often not recognized. I wonder if there is any other way of life or profession which is more unrecognized, unrewarded than that of being parents. In the case of my mother, after sending me with food that she had cooked for my journey, she would make it a point to know if the food was alright on the way… Such is the care that my mother shows towards me.

I have seen the worst happening to my mother, and there were several occasions when she single-handedly shielded the five of us siblings from the onslaught of my uncle, who under the influence of alcohol chased us out of our home. My father being in military service was not available close at hand to take good care of us, but my mother was to play many roles during our young formative years. Herself almost illiterate, she did not know how to express her love for the children, and there were several occasions during my younger days when I had felt that she did not love me sufficiently, and had even shared this with my elder brother once. It took me many years to understand that her love for me was no less.

It is true that I never got a letter written by my mother, because she could not write; she managed to learn to sign her name, and just a few years ago was learning the read the Bible, and therefore it would be unfair to expect a letter written by her. She would dictate a letter to either my brothers or sister and they would write the same. There was not a single time that my mother visited me in the boarding house I spent four years in, and my father visited only at the time of admission. When I would see all the other friends receiving parents and relatives from home on Sundays, I could not think this would happen in my case. I knew for sure I could not expect my mother to find the place, the route for which was quite complicated. And yet I have no regrets for not visiting me even once.

During the holidays this time, on several occasions I had noticed that when my father and I would be resting, she would be in the kitchen preparing some special snacks for me. Given that she has high blood pressure, and sugar, she needed sufficient rest, and yet she was happy to give her best for me. In fact she would do the same for all my other brothers and sister too. Some years ago, I had felt that she was partial towards two of my siblings, but now I know she loves and cares for all of us equally. There is great joy in my mother when offering her best for me and my other brothers and sister, and she would go all the way to do it, if she could. Her own comfort and priorities were only secondary to our well-being. I am thankful to God for such a wonderful mother.

Touching Lives

Today the city of Kolkata bade final farewell to one of the citizens, who had become part of the history of this state for the past sixty years or so. Jyoti Basu, a man who is as short in stature as his name, and who had such a command over reaching out to the masses, and holding the reins of governing the state for 23 years, that today about half the city had gathered on roads to bid him farewell. Basu had always been a controversial man, and he had equal number of foes as friends. He had political rivals, who could not help but take their hats off for his political acumen. But the problem with us is that we often love to label people, and if we label Jyoti Basu only as a representative of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), then we may be doing injustice to his personality.

We all of us have several sides to our personalities; one is personal, another social, and there are cultural, familial, political and economic, and academic; the list is rather endless. We may not excel in all the fields, but we cannot ignore any of these fields, because they are all interconnected. If the professional side occupies much of our time, then our personal and familial ties may weaken, and that may have further unpleasant consequences. At the same time, it is not possible to allot equal amount of time for all the different fields of one’s personality. We need to prioritise our areas of interest and importance and have to divide the time accordingly. I believe Jyoti Basu would have done this exercise several times in his long life.

Our lives are very short in comparison to the age of the universe; Jyoti Basu had lived 95 years, and out of which about ten to fifteen years would have gone out of his control; the past five years, he was at the mercy of his family and friends, to decide what he wanted. But out of the eighty years, we take quite some time to establish ourselves in the society; we begin to build up a family, which takes some more years; this way our lives are spent so soon, often in a disoriented way. If we focus on what we have gained in life, we may be quite disappointed. Instead if we begin to ask ourselves what have I given to the world, out of the little I came into the world and out of the little I made for myself, then probably we may be able to smile as our spirits take leave of our mortal bodies.

I feel there is one simple yardstick to measure the success of our lives; surely this is not on the basis of the amount of money, wealth and riches we have accumulated, through fair and unfair means; but this yardstick is based on how many lives we have touched over the years. Most of us are simple people, with acquaintances who are too few to number; we may be able to reach out to only a few hundreds or thousands in a year. But I would feel happy and contended if I am able to touch the life of at least one or two in a year. If I am able to make at least one or two persons to smile in life, then I should be proud to be a human person.

It would be hard to determine how many people Jyoti Basu had touched in his long life; but slowly we shall be hearing the stories of men and women who had felt the warmth of this person, and such sweet memories are the greatest tribute that can be paid to the departed souls. These stories are the ones which can give life to the earth, and make us feel life is worth living. As we express our “Lal Salaam” to Jyoti Basu, I would like to ask myself, when I am on the verge of bidding final farewell to this wonderful world, will I have at least a handful of men and women, whose hearts will throb for me, with love, admiration and wonderment?

The Pavement-Dweller

Every time I cross Allen Park, on my way to St Xavier's College, I cannot miss this young girl sitting on the pavement, sometimes begging, sometimes just sitting and whiling away her time. It is about three months since she is seen around Allen Park; she has as her possession, a worn out polythene bag, containing God knows what. Sometimes I had seen her walking with this bag in hand. I had also seen her merrily singing a song (probably in Hindi), and one tends to think she is out of her head, or else which young girl on earth would dare to live alone on a busy city street. I don't know how she manages to eat her meals and spend her night. Malnutrition had made her but a set of bones and skeleton. But her life too goes on.

She does not seem to disturb anyone, nor demand money from those busy men and women who walk the path incessantly, from morning till night. No one may come to know what made her to resort to Camac Street, one of the busiest city streets, with highlevel business centers, and connecting to the most important street of the city, the Park Street (aka Mother Teresa Sarani)! I dare not think of spending even a single night on a street alone; you cannot be sure what could happen to you - the flesh-monging men prawling around the city at night, the bribe-monging police men on their patrol, the beggars and drug-peddlers seeking some dark corners to experiment with syringes and alumnium foil...

But she does not seem to be bothered about any of these; as I walk past her at about 6 O'clock in the morning, I can see her going to occupy her own place on the pavement. Does she believe in the providence of God, who knows how to feed the birds of the air and clothe the lillies of the field? I feel guilty looking at her, and quite many times, before reaching the place where she sits, I cross to the other side of the road and feel happy I don't need to see the pitiful sight she lives in. But deep within I know something keeps pricking me! These days when it is quite cold at night and early in the morning, these girl is seen with hardly any warm clothes.

My educated and religiously oriented mind begins to question the designs of God - how can God be so cruel to let this girl, who cannot be more than 20 years old, seek asylum on a busy street, with no one to care for her! How can the world be so indifferent and hostile towards her? We all of us want to close our eyes from seeing the bitter reality, which is one of the fruits of human greed and self-centeredness. can we really blame God for what we have made to the world? One of the most horrifying sights in the recent days was, when I could notice her drying her only set of clothes after washing, and herself sitting on the floor with a cloth around her waist, and another cloth on her shoulders! This is reality, and she does not seem to blame anyone for this!

I am not sure if I ever will be able to reach out to her in any way, and assure her that the world cares for her, and that I too am responsible for her plight; I may not have the guts to do anything for her, nor do I really have any "connections" to get her a fair deal from the world and humanity. But my insensitivity and that of those living such cosy and comfortable life cannot close our eyes from the stark reality taking shape each morning and evening. I only know that if not today or tomorrow, at least one day before I reach the grave I may have the guts to reach out to a person struggling with life, and give my hand!