Gosh! I feel like a creep

An artist drawing a sketch of a woman fast asleep on railway platform

It all happened in barely a minute! The arrival of Baroda express was announced and I was huddling towards my compartment at Vadodara railway station. I noticed a crowd gathered at one place creating quite a commotion on the platform and it was difficult to walk past it with the luggage. While trying to find my way through the crowd, I witnessed something interesting. An artist was drawing a sketch of a visibly old and sick woman, fast asleep on the platform. People were admiring his work while the helpless woman remained asleep, blissfully ignorant about the stir around her.

"That's an interesting story unfolding there" I wondered. My focus in those few seconds was to capture the moment and discover its story. I somehow managed to click two shots amidst the bulging crowd. People were keenly watching how each line drawn by the artist was getting closer to realistic depiction of the subject right before their eyes. Soon my train arrived and the artist packed his bag. Hurriedly, he picked up some coins thrown at him (not a single coin was seen near the woman) and left. The crowd dispersed and I boarded the train thinking about how I could have taken better shots if I had little more time at hand. 

Once the train started and I was settled, a strange, twinging guilt engulfed me. I played those few seconds on the platform over and over in my mind and felt ashamed, miserable and shocked. What had I done? How could I just observe the scene like a silent spectator? I was deeply pained with the sight of that woman asleep on the platform but my attention was more on the sketch of the artist and simple people with great curiosity, gathered around him. What had I done for the woman despite knowing her plight? If I could take photographs, I could as well have given some money, food or arranged to get a doctor for her. How could I just stay aloof barely even acknowledging her existence! 

For the artist, his purpose was solved. He had followed his inspiration from precarious condition of that woman, a different facet of life and sketched beautifully. When he left after I took his photographs, the crowd dispersed too as there was nothing left to see. The old woman was alone with her cruel fate of isolation on the railway platform.  

Witnessing people around us in distress is a very painful experience. Sometimes we pretend not to notice. Sometimes, we are shocked, angry, upset with the helplessness we feel in such situations. How far is it right to stay objective and not intervene?  In India, one comes across many situations like this every day and it is not always possible to reach out and help each one in need. Sometimes, a situation demands that one stays detached which again is a huge challenge. After seeing such helpless people everywhere, there comes a point when one stops being stunned and we become passive bystanders and prefer not to intervene. Was I just a bystander? Within those few seconds when I stopped at the platform, took photographs and observed the sketch of the artist, didn't I become a stakeholder of the story? These uncomfortable questions have shaken me from within. 

I feel ashamed to admit that while a helpless woman was lying on the platform, all I did was click photographs! It was not intentional but I know it is not pardonable either. Maybe, after a while, this incident would be eventually forgotten and fall apart from my memory. But I know, on that day at Vadodara railway station, a little part of me died a subtle death. Sad!

A silent anguish

I returned home this morning and am feeling bit rung out of energy. My body is tired and uncooperative to my will. My mind is constantly reiterating on doing double time with me even while I am on verge of collapse any moment! It is a very peculiar feeling to be physically exhausted, emotionally drained and yet your mind wanting to work relentlessly. While my body and mind struggle to have a compatible, synchronized rhythm, there is a quiet riot in my heart.

It is strange how death makes us see facets of life that we tend to ignore unknowingly. It is almost two weeks since my father passed away. Prayers and condolences are starting to wither slowly. Grief is a long, painful process and every individual with uniquely different personality, experiences, expresses and copes with it so differently. I have noticed a strange, subtle change in relationships within my family during this period of mourning. Death makes us bare. It makes us see our own self and the people around us much clearly. 

After my father's sad demise, a few incidents have bruised me deeply questioning the very basis of relationships within family and outside it. Having gone through whole plethora of emotions that have surrounded me in past two weeks, a few emotions have seeped in through cracks in heart and soul, perhaps created unknowingly, have posed very compelling questions about whom should we consider as family really?

Yesterday evening, before I left for Bombay, I gathered care takers of my parental home and thanked the staff for their exemplary service; especially for last five years when it was most trying time for them due to my mother's health issues. Two of the staff members have worked for more than two decades and are part of the family. When I started discussing payments for their work, they were in tears saying most profound words that I have ever heard in my life. I must add, all of them are uneducated and yet every word they uttered came from bottom of their clean hearts and personal ethics!

On other hand, soon after my father's funeral, some close members of the extended family seemed more interested in knowing about his will. Some relatives made claims to my father's collection of rare books which he had so painstakingly created and some asked insensitive questions without slightest of consideration to the fact that we were mourning. I am amazed at people's capacity to be so shockingly cruel. In some people, it comes across as terminal illness that has become core of their DNA. How else can one explain someone making loud proclamations about being spiritual and having great value system in place, being so desperate to learn about my father's likely inheritance without iota of shame or guilt! Interestingly, despite being given several hints to stay away from intrusion the concerned people conveniently ignored the hints and went on as if it was their right!  

Not many honour life but when people fail to honour death and disregard decorum and sanctity that death naturally commands, something within snaps instantly with the realization that numbs you. When the very premise of a relationship is greed or any other concealed motive, it is dangerous to count on such relationship. Sad, we realize it too late sometimes!  

The last journey

He is lying on the floor, sans life. There are people around him with their heads bowed in obeisance. Their hands clutched tightly. Most of them are quiet. Some are trying to reach out to the ones who are sobbing. A very few closest to the one who has already left for his last journey to God's home are struggling to comfort each other. Their fatigued eyes are swollen. There are tears. Endless tears being wiped and a few tears splash from eyes to cheeks, linger on the chin for a few moments and fall on the ground. A few more people arrive with lowered eyes and serious faces. They strain to catch the story of how it all happened. They murmur some sorrowful words of consolation that evoke painful emotions tapping new spaces of tender aches that are too raw and fragile to handle. Hugs are given. Prayers are said. Then it is back to silence. People disperse after learning that cremation is planned for the next day. Now there are only very close few in the room with my father lying on the floor, lifeless! 

When did he grow so old? Even at the age of 78, there was no trace of ageing in his spirit. Not even in his aches and pains, the sagging skin, wrinkles, lost teeth or his few regrets of having to say goodbyes more often. After my mother's sad demise last year with whom he had lived for more than five decades, he had great difficulty coming to terms with her loss and to learn to accept the inevitable. But he believed in "show must go on" and survived beautifully. The last time I spoke with him, a day before his death he joked, "I am not dying before completing a century. There is still LOT to do!" 

Forgive me if I am losing coherence of words or thoughts today. There is mad rush of fragmented and convoluted thoughts in my mind as I write this. My world has fallen apart and I feel as if I am careening into inconceivable abyss. Utter arrant trauma of the fact that my father is gone forever and my helplessness is too much to bear. A HUGE part of me has died with my dad. Death is a strange calamity just like life with its own absurdities. The feelings of emptiness, numbness, the loss still deeply rooted with heart strings, slow and subtle erosion of self and net worth of pain, the bereft longing to behold again, the weight of loss is too much to bear!

"Life has to be a joy, a dance, a celebration. And when death comes, it has to be welcomed with silence, with serenity-wholeheartedly, not holding anything back. This is the way to kill death itself" Osho

This is precisely how my father lived till his last breath. He celebrated every single moment in life, had great audacity to dream BIG, showed immense courage to face the consequences and emerged a winner despite all the odds. Of course he made mistakes like any other human being but displayed great strength of character in apologizing and correcting them without iota of ego. He touched so many lives, lived on his own terms, made no compromises and died a proud man with great dignity. 

The perfect tribute for him would be to follow his path with smiling face and share joy and happiness. His last words for me on a day before he passed away were that he was very proud of me and that he would always pray for me till his last breath! I know my guardian angel is not with me anymore but there is a strange sense of security in knowing that he would be watching over me even from heaven. 

R.I.P Baba. It was great honour to have a father like you. Strange, words really fail to define what you really mean to me!

"Empty handed I entered 
the world
barefoot I leave it.
My coming my going--
two simple happenings
that got entangled
like dew drops 
on a lotus leaf
I vanish."

By shinsui

   

With a song in his heart

Travelling by a regular taxi in Mumbai is a tough task. The typical, strong smell of the regular taxis is a HUGE challenge for one's olfactory senses. Add distinct idiosyncrasies of the driver that often tries one's patience, the loud and often vulgar Bollywood numbers that play on the radio, chaotic traffic and blowing horns from every possible corner of the street, I think you get the drift. I usually, don't use these taxis but whenever I do, most of my experiences are filled with interesting conversations with drivers from different places. The conversations are generally initiated by the taxi drivers, who in my observation love to share, guide, educate and laugh a lot! Perhaps, it is there escape that helps them sail through hardship of daily grind.

Rajendra Prasad Rai Pandit, the taxi driver from Jaunpur

Yesterday, I was waiting for taxi in heavy rain for almost fifteen minutes when finally a taxi driver showed some mercy. The moment I got in the taxi, he screeched the engine, shot through the narrow gap into seething mass of Mumbai traffic, incessantly blowing horn that faded into cacophony all around. The taxi swerved recklessly splashing water, sending waves into already flooded roads. The driver was blissfully ignorant of the abusive words coming from people on the road and other drivers mad at his driving. He was too busy humming and lost in his own world. Interestingly, within a minute, his humming transformed into beautiful rendition of traditional Indian classical songs like Kajri, Chaiti, Thumri and I realized what an immensely gifted singer he was. He had amazingly beautiful voice and rawness in his singing!

I could not help asking him if he had any formal education in music. Little perturbed and surprised, he blushed and replied, "Nahi madam, gaana kaha sikh paaye. Rozi roti ke chakkar me yaha bambai aa gaye, tabse bas taxi hi chalate hain. Hum thehre Jaunpur ke, isliye gaane ka shauk hain. Bachpan se sunte jo aaye hain." (No madam, I could not learn singing as I my main concern was to get employment and feed my family. Since I am from Jaunpur; a place known for great traditional Indian classical music, I sing what I have grown up listening.")

From that point onwards, the journey became a rolling confessional. He told me about how he hated drudgery of fixed hours in a typical job and instead preferred being his own boss; stories about some nut case, mean and stodgy passengers, his large family back home, his love for singing that he continues during and after the work hours. When I suggested, he should think about singing professionally, he seemed shocked. "Kya maidam aap mazak kar rahe ho. Hum to sirf humare apne anand ke liye gate hain" (you must be kidding madam. I sing for myself as that makes me happy") I told him with serious face about me being a graduate in Indian classical music and that I could make out if the singer has any potential. He was speechless and quiet for a minute. He knew I was serious about what I had suggested.

As we were about to reach my destination, he started singing a nice Kabir Bhajan and finished it just on time. While paying my fare, I told him to continue his singing and never to give it up. "Thank you madam, aise rasik passengers bahut kam milte hain." (I rarely get passengers who understand my singing) I was so inspired by Rajendra Prasad who despite his vanquished dream continued pursuing it in whatever way he could and was happy. When I told him I was going to show his picture to my family and friends and write about him, bit hesitantly, he posed for the camera. When we parted, off he sped to the chaotic streets, elated, with a smile on his face and song in his heart! 

"The singer has everything within him.  The notes come out from his very life.  They are not materials gathered from outside."

  ~Rabindranath Tagore

From food stall to the "filum city"

It was one of those typical days when you keep toiling without achieving much. My weary mind was screaming for a little respite. I headed to a handicraft exhibition hoping to shift my focus from the mundane and get some fresh perspective on my work, when I returned.

It looked like the day was not meant for me. There was nothing new or interesting to discover at the exhibition. I was leaving disappointed, feeling terribly guilty for wasting time while more important things needed my attention. I heard someone from the stall near the exit; a voice coaxing me, "Madamji padhariye, hamara Rajasthani khana try kariye. (Welcome, would you like to try Rajasthani food?")"Khamma ghani bhaisa" I replied (Hello/ Namaste brother!), to the man from the food stall. My greeting in traditional Rajasthani style instantly captured attention of the whole team of about six men, between late twenties to thirties all dressed in whites with traditional Rajasthani paghadis (turbans).  

Bhavani Singh, the leader of the group

There were interesting Rajasthani food items neatly arranged on the table and men at the stall were waiting attentively for the customers to arrive. Bhavani Singh, the leader of the group, tried to sell hard, "Madamji, churma, ker sangri, gatte ki sabzi, dal-bati, sabkuch fresh bana hain. Kya khaoge?" (He named traditional dishes and said they were freshly made and if I would like to try any). I refused politely posing some excuse relating health and asked if I could take their pictures. Surprised, he asked with a grin, "Aap reporter ho?" (Are you a journalist/reporter?") I giggled and explained that I write a blog and share stories of interesting people. Not sure he understood it well but from that point on, my conversation with him and his team flowed very smoothly.

Bhavani Singh, Narendra Singh and Rampal Singh

During my chat with these men I learnt how smitten they were by the swanky silhouettes of this effervescent city that exudes such aura of wealth and power. Their life back home was so far removed from the comely allure of the surrounding that they seemed completely out of place. Bhavani Singh's genuine, perdurable smile could provoke instant envy. Rest of his team members were bit reserved, proud, decent and dignified despite the rampant pressures urban life had subjected them to, in few days. I probed gently and each member opened up. In the beginning, they appeared stiff and their eyes portrayed stony silence but their curiosity was difficult to hide. They were very keen to know all about "filum stars" (film stars) and when my very limited knowledge about the film stars was shared, I saw glint of aspiration in their eyes. 

Himmat Singh, a senior member of the group

When asked why they were not in their traditional attires like dhoti, kurta with ornaments like balis, kadas, anklets, Bhavani Singh said since everything around them was changing, it was high time they changed too. I asked if they could survive with this kind of work and were able to support families back home, the group members shared their concern about fierce competition and need for changing priorities and inevitable transition. At no point, despite the shared bonhomie and camaraderie within the team, hierarchy was forgotten and it was evident in their interaction.  

When I shared my beautiful experiences of several places in Rajasthan and told them how enamoured I have always been with its culture and people, it looked like I had won some brownie points! While chatting with these men, a shy, reticent figure peeped from behind the tent. At the sight of helper/cleaner, Bhanvar Singh, the whole team insisted I take his picture, saying he was most hard working member. 

Bhanvar Singh, the helper/cleaner

Bhanvar Singh, barely spoke a word except his name. Perhaps, this was his first trip to the city. He posed reluctantly, more on insistence of his group members than me but not before glowering disapprovingly in my direction. He appeared too scared and starkness in his eyes was disturbing. My only challenge was to make him smile without intruding and fortunately it was achieved when I showed his picture and complemented him for having very photogenic face. 

After spending about half an hour with this group that was from completely different world than mine yet very much connected in some strange beautiful way, I returned home happy with a big grin on my face.