"Jugaad" by the road side

I was following my ritual of fortnightly gallery hopping trip to Kala Ghoda, sipping coconut water by the road side stall, trying to find some respite from the heat and humidity. There is lot of drama that unfolds every day if you have eye to watch it and having coconut water at the stall on the footpath provides you ample of time to peep into burgeoning tiny microcosms in this effervescent city of Bombay!

Hundreds of people traverse on this road every day, scurrying to work; hawkers, beggars, people running illicit small enterprises, students and office goers trying to catch a quick bite from road side food stall, all making an interesting menagerie of people! The city is invariably always alive and kicking with such a lovely energy, always thronging, buzzing with activity, and teeming with life.

I looked at my favourite corner, normally occupied by a small group of people, mostly women, doing brisk business of artificial jewelry, puppets and stuffed toys. I love observing them for their colourful attires and acute sense of business!

There was hidden tension in the air as one of the group member's merchandise was confiscated by police and an intrepid, civic minded municipality officer who had swung into action of clearing the area from hawkers, the road from squatters, tear down illegal constructions, remove all encroachments around, making the hawkers jittery. At a distance, stood a police van and the head of the group was seen pleading, negotiating with the officer in command. After a few minutes of tough negotiations the hawker's property was released for an unrecorded, unofficial amount. Slowly, the life returned to normalcy and the group huddled together, occupying pre-appointed spaces by the head of the group, setting up their respective stalls. 

I asked one of the women, an old familiar face from the group,"Kya hua? Police ne mana kiya kya yahan dukan lagane ko?" (What happened? Has police stopped you from setting your shop here?) She replied shrewdly, "Madam, koi naya afsar aya hain. Jugaad karna padega. Do chaar din tang karega fir hafta badha denge to pareshan nahi karega" (There is new officer on duty. We might have to try new tricks. He will harass us for few days but once the amount of bribe is increased, he would stop bothering us).     

Inevitably, the age-old instinct for survival draws a large number of hawkers to the road each morning, offering every imaginable service. The spectrum of activities is mind-boggling. ‘Where would all these people go if they were expelled?’ I sometimes wonder! There are a few questions that come to mind when we look at these people not merely as hawkers, squatters or beggars. Why are they here and not tilling the soil or doing whatever their ancestors were wont to do, in their village? Another is: Anyone can see that most of them are doing pretty well for themselves (some even better than educated professionals) but they are not paying any taxes! You may squawk. 

Like thousands of people who migrate to Bombay chasing an elusive dream of better opportunities, these women hail from different parts of the country. Most of the times, their husband or the patriarchal figure in the family is not seen around but their invisible hold is difficult to miss.  Far too often for these women, struggle for the everyday existence turns ugly. Beneath their painstakingly nurtured inscrutable personae lie layered insecurities, aggression, inadequacies and deep pain of alienation. Their everyday life involves physical, mental and emotional abuse from their family members, local goons, Police or even from other dispossessed inhabitants just like them who compete to outpace everybody, in the race for survival. The desire to stay ahead of others is so potent that it doesn't matter if they steal, scavenge or beguile their way through life. 

I have had occasional encounters with enterprising women hawkers and sometimes, I have been fortunate to discover their sensitive, intense and very vulnerable emotions of piercing agony that always festers and breeds, making a cozy home within. The outcome of my interactions with them is a sardonic pastiche, a vicious cauldron of urban destitution. Some of these women manage to find respite in temptations of this ravenous metropolis, some get lost over period of time and some really thrive very well despite all the odds by mastering art of the great Indian "Jugaad"! 

My choice

Feminism, according to Wikipedia is, "a collection of movements and ideologies that share a common goal: to define, establish, and achieve equal political, economic, cultural, personal, and social rights for women. This includes seeking to establish equal opportunities for women in education and employment."

There has been so much hysteria over #Vogue Empower's latest video campaign-"My choice"  featuring Bollywood actress Deepika Padukone, directed by Bollywood director Homi Adajania! Everywhere I go, people seem to talk about it and suddenly "women empowerment" and "feminism" seem to be the new buzz words! 

I watched the video made by Vogue and must confess, it failed to impress me. I love Deepika Padukone as an actress and I am sure she has her own reasons to take up a social cause like women empowerment and I respect her for that but I am not convinced the content of the video succeeds to convey message effectively. 

Let us assume that Vogue India's intention in making this video was not commercial gain but purely altruistic. It had all the potential of celebrating women's right to choose but the content comes across as far removed from ground reality, is too farfetched and gives a distorted view of "feminism" and "women empowerment". The lines said by Deepika lack power to evoke emotion and the depth to invoke thought thus alienating and diluting the very premise of the message. Is feminism about women versus men? Why not women AND men? There appears to be complete ignorance about grass root pragmatic issues of women. Our paradigm shift needs to really be in what women need to desire for themselves as their spaces of liberty.

It is constant endeavour for any Indian woman to protect the wings of her freedom from being clipped by the opinions or attitudes that demand blind subservience to conformity or slavish attitudes towards out dated traditions and mindsets, the real malaise where women are thought to be dispensable!  Unfortunately the reality around me shows many privileged young urban women not having the gumption to be the architects of their own destiny.

Of course, gender politics and the comprehension of equality and humanism needs to be addressed urgently today. There are no tricks involved to determine dignity and honesty within relationships between the two sexes; and men only have to reflect upon one of the age old precincts of common sense wisdom, which is to respect another as you would yourself. It is in the small gestures of consideration that we humanize our engagement with people and determine the value of intentions by our corresponding actions. We need to make this the credo for all human behaviour if we are to evidence significant change in society. Subtlety is undoubtedly the most alluring magic within the arena of sexuality and it has to hold consensual desire for it to manifest its beauty.

Still I Rise

You may write me down history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise. 

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you best with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room. 

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like tear drops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it aweful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? 

Does it come as a surprise?

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I am black ocean,leaping and wide,

welling and swelling I bear the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and hope of the slave.

I rise.

I rise.

I rise.

Maya Angelu

It is not just a game, silly!

It was all set! I had decided, it will be a day off from all the work and me and my son would devote entire day, watching the much-awaited, much-anticipated semi-final match between India and Australia, Cricket World Cup 2015. Like any other devoted Indian cricket fan, the day was spent, doing just that; relaxing on couch in front of the television, enjoying nonstop supply of snacks without worrying about calories, jumping with joy and shouting at peak of voice when India took any run or wicket and forgetting the world! What a great stress buster!

smile emoticon

Unfortunately, India lost the match and the hell broke loose! Like it happens every time India loses a cricket match, disappointments were expressed on how team India could have done much better. (No, in cricket crazy nation like India, one doesn't need expertise in the game to understand/appreciate/criticize/ and pass vehement judgments. We Indians feel, it is our birth right to question/criticize just about anything when it comes to this game and we firmly believe in passing on our wisdom to the next generation! Pardon me, I am digressing.) 

It was sad end to the day that had started with anticipation of victory and hope of basking in its glory till the final match. There was so much to look forward to in the next few days! The most saddening part was what followed the defeat at Sydney.

Some of the Indian cricket fans started incessant trolls against Bollywood actress Anushka Sharma, for her presence at the match to support her rumoured boyfriend, Indian cricket team's vice captain, Virat kohli! The social media went berserk! The fans, shocked and dejected by the defeat went bonkers writing nasty, insensitive and sarcastic remarks about Anushka Sharma and Virat Kohli condemning her presence as "panauti" (inauspicious)! It all began the moment Virat got out and team India started losing its grip on the match. Anushka Sharma became the target of twitter. The content of the memes were viciously spiteful and obscenely crude. 

While the whole day was spent watching good cricket, it ended on a bitter taste not because of India's defeat but because some of the Indian fans, senior media journalists and some well known cricketers of past blamed and questioned integrity and commitment of team India. The way everyone sulked with extreme reactions spewing venom, vile sexism and slander is truly shocking. 

It is great to like a game, support it with every possible way that a fan should. But, blaming a woman who is present as a viewer just like thousands other cricket lovers for the defeat is a reflection of primitive, misogynist mindset of Indian society where a woman is blamed for just about everything that goes wrong with a man.

Does being an ardent fan of cricket gives right to break windows and pelt stones at the houses our cricket players? Should media have any moral obligation for unbiased journalism or it should be allowed to abuse its power by creating sensational news for sake of TRPs? 

Being a cricket crazy nation, it is always painful for the fans to accept the defeat with élan. But vandalism and extreme reactions displayed in the India-Australia match yesterday is unacceptable. It is cricket, a sport. Not just means to escape from the mundane. Not a "paisa vasool" titillating Bollywood movie for our entertainment. Certainly not one more opportunity for media to catch eyeballs by creating stories in unprofessional manner.  

If we make big proclamations of being diehard cricket fans, we owe to the game to show some maturity in viewing it as just a game. If we celebrate every single victory of the cricket match then it is also important to learn to take defeat in our stride. It is high time we learnt to respect the spirit of this game of cricket. 

Tikar, Where the time stands still !

Elders sitting at the temple and chatting whole day

One of the colourful doors of a "haveli"

Shops at market

A beautiful edifice of a closed house

Elders in the village sit for the whole day and catch up with passers by 

A silent stream by the village

Last week, I went to Gujarat for some work and could not resist paying visit to Tikar, my hubby's native place. It is almost a ritual to go there at least once a year for thanksgiving to the family deity from hubby's side. Each time I go there, I am fascinated! 

Withering under half empty, lonely homes, whose younger generation has long gone in search of better livelihood, the village has managed to carry on with its problems and adding a few more with great élan. There is immense potential residing within the village yet in its weave and warp, it has remained almost unchanged. Life is strongly bound and playing quintessential host is an honour no one likes to miss.

It looks very peaceful and so quiet that it can fill up enough of a life that you don't have to spend your days thinking about the things you'd rather not.  I watched a farmer tend to his sheep and round up errant donkeys in his compound, his face a slab with a couple features chiseled in. I wondered why he is even bothering. One glance at his house offered the answer: his father laid mouldering in bed, near his end in the wooden bed ( Khatlo) under the stark Sun and women were cleaning soiled linens and utensils as part of the same what-else-you-gonna-do grind. 

There was little dialogue and even less incidents. Life is expected to remain slow and languid. It was all so quiet that the loneliness is captured and amplified subtly. Nothing was going to rush the old man leading his donkey up the hillock. The women untangling knots in their grand daughters' hair under the Neem tree had all the time in the world. A stream that was struggling to flow was so calm in the limited flow that it was hard to tell if it was moving at all. 

Nestled near the desert with trace of its harshness, Tikar has an air of unflappable serenity. This small hamlet seems to have slipped through the net of history, preserving a way of life that is vanishing all over the world. The locals, mostly farmers, are usually friendly. This is not always the case in small, rural communities. But because of the village's remoteness, the ratio of people returning to natives is low enough for local people not to feel threatened or overwhelmed. 

The herons, wagtails, kingfishers, bee-eaters, parakeets, dippers, ducks, and so many more birds and insects charm you with their sheer abundance! Tikar has things you can't find in cities. Silence! Space! The beauty of nature! Light. Real darkness! 

Architecturally, it is not really remarkable: it is the conjunction of people and landscape, in a relationship which has not changed for centuries and that is what really seduces the eye. 

When you see life taken at this serene pace, it alters your whole world view. You see things you would normally miss, take pleasure from the small change of daily existence: a dog barking at a cat; an old man lighting his pipe; a pine tree swaying in the breeze, children playing with moped tyre. 

I spent almost two hours spellbound by the drama unfolding! Buffaloes, cows, pigs, goats, dogs, cats, villagers on mopeds, old women carrying heavy baskets on their heads with great ease and children playing, running around passed me by, first dishing out a dismissive look of comic curiosity and then smiling, laughing and a few trying to engage me in conversation.

The stillness of the air and jutting of trees in horizon, the beauty of the moment brought lightness that is beyond description. That invisible load that we urbanites seem to carry sometimes, suddenly evaporated, slowly getting un-tethered from my soul  leaving in its wake an empty, light space. I returned home cleansed, rejuvenated in my body, mind and spirit engulfed with divine calm!

A Nation without spine

At last, I saw the much talked about documentary, "Daughters of India" and frankly, my head is spinning and I am consumed with complete revulsion not only because of its content but also what has followed after the documentary was made public and subsequently banned! 

As a human being I feel numb and ashamed by this entire controversy. How can anyone be interested in giving voice to a hardcore criminal, who doesn't flinch while indulging in barbaric, dastardly acts of inhuman cruelty? I wonder, if women have any hope in this Nation without a spine? Or for that matter, any where in the world, at all?  

The case against criminals covered in the documentary is sub judice. In my personal opinion, despite all the claims by the maker of the documentary, it was filmed surreptitiously showing no regard for Indian laws for voyeuristic purposes that smells British hangover of colonial supremacy over India laced with moralistic tone. 

Honestly, the way the whole documentary stresses misogynistic mindsets of criminals and their lawyers, the smugness of the rapist, who despite the proof still maintains his innocence and the manner in which "views" of the criminals and their family members are contrived makes one wonder if the purpose for this documentary was to create sensation. Why should a viewer need to listen to the rapist, a psychopath gloating, "She (the victim) should just have been silent and allow the rape." ?! We already know about such filthy mindsets from our own backyards, work places and society. It is high time we DID something about it and started working on finding solutions right from the grass root level. 

One more equally shocking truth in this entire episode of controversy is the failure of the government in enforcing law when the documentary was filmed. Instead of going in denial and cry foul, as a Nation we must admit and accept the fact that this documentary and the manner in which it was filmed flouting all the Indian rules is a clear reflection inability of Indian state to implement its own laws. As a Nation we stand exposed with our fault lines yet again! 

It is time for deep introspection. And introspect we must! Because lynching of an alleged rape victim is NOT an answer to crime against women! It is a matter of shame if we still don't realise it.