Monday, September 3, 2012

When ignorance is other than bliss



A few days back at the Andheri Sports Club, as I sat outside the squash court changing shoes, I happened to overhear a conversation that this girl in the next chair was having with someone on the phone. She was explaining that she hadn’t known about the sms ban, and had been repeatedly trying to send a sms and failing, until someone informed her that she could send all of 5 messages in the course of a day. It’s because of Assam, she said. She didn’t know exactly what, but something had happened in Assam, she explained, because of which the government had imposed the ban.
The next day I attended the book launch of Sudeep Chakravorty’s ‘Highway 39’. In the question answer session that followed after the introduction and reading, someone asked Sudeep a question about the Khasi tribes, and the Naga situation. Sudeep and other panelists were quick to shake their heads, and he began his response with the correction that Khasis belonged to Meghalaya, not Nagaland. Never make this mistake with someone from the Khasi tribe, or for that matter from Nagaland, he said.
There is nothing new or novel about either incident. If at all it points to how similar the two people were- both were from middle class Mumbai, one was apparently very ignorant, to not have heard of Assam in spite of it being constantly in the news, and the other was apparently not just well informed, but well read enough to know about the book launch and interested enough to land up for it, and yet didn’t know a very basic fact about the NE- different levels perhaps, but ignorance just the same.
I have often heard this refrain- that we know next to nothing about the NE, that we don’t take enough interest, that we distance them by this attitude of 'us and them'- and all of it is true. Sudeep started his introduction by saying that the seven sisters comprising the NE and its people are so dissimilar, that it’s almost unfair to club them together under the umbrella of the ‘North East’. (According to him they should be called the Far East to begin with, they are not really the North; though I have a feeling that the term probably got coined as a result of the North- South divide, which is very strong in India. The seven sisters are in the North *relative* to the South.) At this argument I found myself thinking, but the South is made of different peoples with different cultures, but we do club them together and say South India. Heck, India itself is such a mix of people, but we all live under the umbrella of being Indian, don’t we. While I see the point he tried to make, it held only so much significance for me.
Coming back to the general level of ignorance about the NE, thing is, from all I can tell, people seem to be ignorant in general, and not just about the NE as a special case scenario. Yes, they know less about it than about other things, and to that extent there is a certain kind of isolation. But they probably also know less about any number of other things that they should know more about- even stuff that concerns them directly- such as the amount of pesticide in their food for instance, or how many local train accidents happen daily in Mumbai. I’m not trying to make a case for ignorance. I’m saying ignorance is non discriminatory. People are too caught up in their own lives and troubles, or maybe it is that they can process only so much information, and their own surroundings fill up that capacity, but also, we have all been deliberately and considerably dumbed down by our schooling system on the one hand and the media on the other, and a culture of curiosity and of questioning has not been allowed to develop. This indifference then extends towards everyone- towards the farmers in Vidarbha, towards Kashmiris, towards tribals fighting for their lands, towards rural populations fighting for their right to traditional livelihoods- the list is a long one, and yes it includes the NE. And wherever the situation is complicated, such as is in the NE, it becomes even easier to ignore- it just takes way too much effort to engage!
Seen in this light, the reaction of the girl on the phone and the man in the audience questioning Sudeep, are completely understandable, are they not? Maybe not entirely acceptable, but at least understandable? Can we really demand that people (presumably more privileged by virtue of being from the mainland) know about the problems of communities in the NE, when they are struggling with enough of their own? Conversely, do we apply the same standards to them? At the risk of inviting much wrath, could I question the NE-ers- their stand on the Koodankulam anti nuclear movement, or Kasab’s sentence, or just about any other issue from the 'mainland'. This is not to take away from their struggles and grievances in the least. All that I am saying is that it is unrealistic, and an impossible dream to expect everyone to be both informed and hold an opinion about everything (this statement even sounds ridiculous, but hopefully the point I’m trying to make comes through.) In any case, for a number of reasons- the very diverse and complicated histories of the many communities of the Indian state being the foremost- it is unrealistic to imagine that the common man, from the NE or mainlander, from the North or the South, the Kashmiri or the 'Indian', can possibly be aware of issues that seem of burning nature to communities that suffer them. We can hope that there are enough in each case- aware and willing to question and demand justice- to form a critical mass, so that issues don’t get overlooked. And that responsibility does lie more with those who are privileged to have had say an education, or are otherwise empowered, maybe by their wisdom, traditional or otherwise. It does lie more with those who are in positions of power, or in positions of being able to drive change.

Perhaps just about the only thing we can hope we can be, perhaps the only thing to be done, is to be tolerant. To view the world through the filters of love and compassion, and perhaps much of the dividing lines will dissolve away. And the question of us being different from them won’t lead to a display of power, to control and persecution, leading in turn to retaliation as a consequence. And that perhaps, is the only thing we can and should teach our children as well- to see the beauty in diversity, and to respect and accept differences. If we could succeed in doing that, then we would raise a generation that would view everyone- whether they be from another state or another country- with kindness and compassion. And then being ignorant would not be such a serious malady.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Book Spine Poetry

Inspired by brainpickings, which was in turn inspired by artist Nina Katchadourian.


Being Indian-
behind the beautiful forevers,
everybody loves a good drought

Being Indian- Pavan K Varma
Behind the Beautiful Forevers- Katherine Boo
Everybody loves a good drought- P Sainath





India after Gandhi-
poor souls!
the inheritance of loss,
multitude,
identity and violence-
a fine balance!

India after Gandhi- Ramachandra Guha
Poor Souls- Joseph Connolly
The Inheritance of Loss- Kiran Desai
Multitude- Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri
Identity and Violence- Amartya Sen
A fine balance- Rohington Mistry




all these years,
the fear of freedom
the wonder that was India!

All these years- Raj Thapar
The fear of Freedom- Erich Fromm
The wonder that was India- Basham

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Of eavesdropping on conversations in cabs...



So I overheard this rather interesting conversation today.
It so happened that I landed up in a cab with a stranger in the front  passenger seat. Cabs were hard to come by today, and we were both headed in the same direction- the cab guy was gracious enough to suggest that I hop on as well, (for he had taken on the other guy first,) and the dark, lanky passenger nodded his agreement.
As soon as the cab started the lanky boy in the front seat started fiddling with the newspaper on the dashboard.
Ye aaj ka hai?
Nahin, kal ka. Aaj ka nahin hai mere paas.
Arre, aaj ka paper dekhne ka hai.
Kyun, kya hua.
Burma mein logon ko kaat rele hain.
(Incredulous) Acchha?
Haan, bahut logon ko. Bacchon ko bhi nahin chhod rahe. Ek mahine ke bacche ka sar kaat dala. Usi ke liye log jama hai Azad Maidan pe.
Acchha? Kyun maar rahen hain.
Kya maloom, bahut kuchh to gadbad kiya rahega.
Ye Burma kidhar hai?
Nepal ke baju mein.
Acchha. matlab India mein hai?
Nahin. India mein nahin hai. India mein Assam mein maar rele hain. Kaat ke phhenk rele hai.
Acchha? TV pe dikha rahen hain ye sab.
Nahin, TV pe kahan. Sab daba dete hain aisi khabar ko. Kahin nahin milegi, na TV pe, na paper mein.

Cabdriver gets a phone call- his mom has called to apprise him of the trouble at Azad Maidan, and to ask him not to go there. He speaks to her, hangs up and relates the news to us.

At this point, my destination is near. Much as I would have liked to hear more of this conversation between the very interesting passenger and the simple, rather ignorant and easily believing cab driver, I had to ask the cab to slow down. The lanky guy shuffled around as I paid up, he got out of the cab and left without offering to share the fare.  As I entered the building, I realized he was there in the foyer, not ignoring me but not acknowledging either. We entered the lift together, and got off at the 10th floor. On the way I stole a couple of glances at him- there is something oddly familiar about him. He waits for me to get out first. Chivalry, I thought, or has he just decided to let me lead the way since I obviously know where I’m headed.
I was late, and even though I was curious to at least ask his name, or check if he has come for the screening, (in which case I would have asked him to come with me,) I just rush through to the theatre. A minute after I find myself a seat, I see him walk past and sit a few rows ahead. The first film has ended and the second one begins.
And there he is, on the screen. Videokaaran.



Saturday, August 11, 2012

Baromas



'Have you seen Harud? Its the best film on Kashmir yet, absolutely brilliant. Has convinced me, if there was any doubt, that fiction is the way to go.'
A couple of years ago a friend of mine who had made a documentary on the women of Kashmir, sent me this message. I mostly agree, though I also feel that we live in a fool's paradise when we imagine that the films we choose to be associated with make any difference at all. And yet, we go on believing.

Here’s another film then, very different in style from Harud, and yet equally relevant. I hope it does for farmers what Harud could or could not do for Kashmir.


Baromas
(from its facebook description)
Baromas is a feature film in Hindi based on the Sahitya Academy award winning Marathi Novel. The movie is produced by Sajith and Priyanka. The director is Dhiraj Meshram.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Update- and I still mostly don't look forward to the rains


And as if to prove my point, a day after I posted the last piece, I had another conversation with my maid Vibha.
So she took a day off because her child was unwell, and then turned up late the next day. When I enquired why, she said they were preparing for the rain, keeping stuff up at a height. So late, I asked with surprise, you should have done that in the very first week of June, Bambai ki baarish ka kya bharosa. Yes, she said, but we had heard that there might be demolitions, so we were waiting for that. But then there were the pre monsoon showers the previous day, and so much stuff got wet, that they went ahead and prepared for the monsoon anyway. What does this preparation entail- a brand new tarpaulin roof. They had a roof of course, but it was an old weathered sheet, enough to shield from the summer sun but not enough to bear the brunt of the fury that the monsoon rain in Bombay can be.
Anyway, whether or not demolitions follow, they have had to put up a new sheet to keep out the water. How often do demolitions happen, I ask. About three or four times a year, she says. I am incredulous. You rebuild every single time then, three or four times a year? Yes, she says simply. We rebuild. It takes them two to four hours to rebuild and get everything in order, provided they don’t lose much to theft.
Rebuilding a house, twice a year (she admitted later that there isn’t always demolition every time there is a threat of one, so it actually really happens about twice a year.) A house that will be defenseless once the monsoon hits with full force, and the streets begin to overflow with water that simply doesn’t have anywhere to go because we’ve built multistory buildings and blocked its natural drainage path. Upar se aane wale paani ko to rok bhi lete hain, she had said to me once, neeche se jo aata hai uska kya karen. (We are still able to prevent water from coming in from above, what do we do about the water that comes in from below- that collects in the streets and threatens to and sometimes does come in to the house through doors.)

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Why I’m not looking forward to the rains


Why indeed? I mean, who doesn’t like pleasant weather and the romance of rains after the oppressive heat that is Bombay summer? Well, me for one. I’m not looking forward to rains.
It’s not like I don’t like rain. It’s beautiful of course. From my window. The moment I have to step out, it doesn’t seem so great anymore. Bombay in the monsoon sucks. It’s filthy most of the year; during monsoon it’s filthy and wet- ie gross. If you are not from the privileged class that travels only in cars, chances are you will have to wade through dirty water at some point or another, every single time you step out. And even if you are from the privileged class, in fact especially so, you will get stuck in traffic.
And then there is the matter of all those people living on pavements and in slums, with no proper drainage to speak of. Do they find the rain romantic when the water reaches their doorstep and beyond? Do they find it romantic when their roof starts to leak, or when the streets become rivers of floating muck, and excreta from several living forms? Do they find it romantic when they spend nights huddled under plastic sheets?
I’m not sure when I started to view the rain differently. I don’t want to be a spoilsport when everyone seems to be waiting with such anticipation, and there is joy all around. Maybe this conversation is partly to blame. At any rate, I can safely say, as lovely as the rain still is from my window, as stunning as the skies are these days, and luscious the green, I will henceforth always have mixed feelings about rain.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

A day in May


Scorching sun, oppressive heat; no sign of the slightest wind, not a leaf stirring.
Househunting blues.
An owner trying to impress on me that the rent is justified, after all it is a ‘good society’, a reference to a building being gated, relatively well maintained and with inhabitants who are typically a little better off. A hierarchy even in buildings. ‘A good society’ does not mean good people, it just means people with more money, I think to myself but don’t say it. When will the Mumbai housing Gods smile down on me?
Sweaty, hot and depressed, I come back home and stare out of the window at the limping palm leaves that I am going to miss very much.
Call from Faiza. There have been demolitions in Ambujwadi and Sion Koliwada.
My househunting blues are now coloured with a tinge of guilt.