Don’t Believe Me, Please

We were talking about monkeys, marathons, and the feeling of falling in love. It was humid and hot and we were sweating like crazy even before the sun came up, walking briskly and talking freely. And then, as usual, we slipped into out-of-body experiences, astral bodies, spirituality, and the Vedas. And, unlike as usual, I said the obvious—that I am not a believer.

And my good friend SC (I’m protecting the identity of my friends by using only their initials) said it’s a great thing to be an atheist—“a hundred times better than developing a herd mentality.”

I wanted to say I’m not an atheist either, since I don’t know if God exists or not, and I don’t care either way—because in case He or She or It does exist, I’m not impressed with what They have done, or are doing (except for the fantabulous act of creating or conjuring up the whole damn thing—no matter whether it was by design or by accident…planned or random). I don’t know if nāstika is the right word. Perhaps it is. Anyway, I didn’t say it—because SC was excited about what he was saying and I didn’t want to interrupt him. And I like listening to him.

He said he too was an atheist before turning to spirituality, and slowly became a believer—not in religion but in the Vedas. My other good friend SC (they share initials, like many of their opinions) also said the great thing about spirituality is that there’s an answer for everything you want to know.

They explained the concept of Brahma. About Aham Brahmasmi and Tat Tvam Asi. About the ego and getting rid of it. About karma and vritti, and the various layers of the self—from annamaya kosha to anandamaya kosha, through pranamaya, manomaya, and vijnanamaya kosha. About sthula sharira and sukshma sharira. And then there’s the karana sharira, or the causal body, the “why” factor—the answer, or maybe a key clue, to your quest for self-understanding.

By now our trail was sort of completed and we had reached this small hut-like sitting area at one end of the sanctuary where we do our walk and talk. Sometimes we get a rejuvenating breeze there, coming from the side of the river. On such days we sit there longer, and today was anyway special because we don’t run into, or walk into in this case, each other every day.

We talked about matter and spirit and soul and more.

They say everything has an explanation. And a cause. There’s a cause for our material existence. For each of our supposedly several material existences. 

That cause or causes, as far as I understand, is related to karma—that is, things done by past material existences of one’s spiritual self, which, sorry, aren't apparent to one’s present material self. Yoga or meditation helps you understand that cause and free yourself—and return to the Brahma—your (and everyone’s) ultimate, blissful self.

But I still don’t get the point. If good and evil and everything else are all manifestations of the same God—Brahma—and if it doesn’t matter what, why leave the Brahma in the first place? Why material existence? If this is because of the karmas of previous selves, then why the very first one?

If everything happening everywhere is because of somebody’s past karma that nobody—at least not many—around in the present world are aware of, then it all feels kind of purposeless—something staged without any meaning, and without even an audience, for all you know.

Can you believe that? Well, it's not about belief; it's about realisation. But me? I’d rather put my money on the idea of maya.

The funny thing is, you undertake this what-looks-to-me-like-rocket-science practice of meditating for hours (of course, I’m sure it’s a lovely experience—observing yourself and realising enlightening things about you and the universe and everything)… only to arrive at the conclusion that nothing really matters and, I guess, that there is no meaning and that God or Brahma is basically everything in the whole universe—the Brahmandam, or Akhilabrahmanda. And, going by maya, that everything is an illusion.

Is that really worth it? More than just doing what you feel like and sleeping as much as you want? Not for me. Not now.

They say we have free will. The late Pope Francis said that too, in a Wim Wenders documentary that I saw recently. Something like: God has given us free will—even to criticise and deny Him.

I like these people… SC1, SC2, the late Pope Francis, Wim Wenders… and I agree with a lot of what they say.

So, this is my free will speaking: I don’t understand this fucking world, the matter and the spirit.

-----

Femininity

July 4, 2005.

This is an old story I was planning to get published in ET Travel. But these days, they have a theme for every issue. And I don't see an issue on train journeys anytime soon. Hence, and also since I can't think of writing anything fresh right now, here it is, up here (or down here if you wish), MY JOURNEY TO FEMININITY...

I'll tell you about the one F trip I had in my life— my journey to femininity. It started one fine morning when I heard my brother yelling: Hey, Rishi has become a female!

Female? Me? I was in the bath, getting ready to leave for Kerala after spending a couple of days in Mumbai. I heard whispers, followed by shouts and almost hysterical laughter. There were five of them, all my siblings. What's wrong with these guys? I checked myself in the mirror. My everything's in place. I changed and rushed out, stimulating a fresh burst of laughter. Rajan had a train ticket in his hand. He passed it to me. It read: "Lokmanyatilak T to Quilon Jn S10 24 SU F 29". That's my ticket. Oh, F!

Lalchechi, who booked the ticket and who was the only female in the gang, tried her best to look apologetic. "Rishi, I am really sorry, hee hee, it was just, hee hee, you know, hee hee hee…” She can't hold her breath anymore. "Rishichetta, why don't you go for a clean shave? Then you can get away as a woman," Navan, the youngest one, chipped in.

My train was leaving in a couple of hours. And I had to reach Thane from Borivili to board it.

There was hardly any time to brood over my just-found femininity. So we rushed through our 'for the rail' and 'for the female' toasts and set off to Thane.

At the station, there was not enough time to get the ticket corrected. So I boarded the train. Anyway, I had my I-card and other documents. Only I'd be looking like a fool in front of all those people, which, according to my see-offers, was nothing new. Hmmm.

Its hugs and kisses time yet again, then the waving — first at them, then at their waving hands above all the people on the platform, at the station, at a couple of days of fun. I'd miss them. But then, it's home, sweet home, waiting for me at the other end of the train.

I went to my seat and checked my bags to see what all had I left behind. Oh no, the Picasso pen I bought for my father is missing. Okay, I'll make them mail it. The female problem? Let the ticket checker come. After all, it's a clerical mistake. I leaned back on my seat. It was a side seat. I liked it like this. My mind went back to the last couple of days as I stared blankly into the endless procession of trees and buildings under the afternoon sun. We hardly had any sleep last night. It was a binge. And it was too good. The best was Lalchechi rushing to the door to check her own address while ordering dinner... I slowly slide into a nap.

It must be the morning's booze on top of the sleepless night, the sound and commotion that accompanied the ticket checker failed to wake me. He woke me. As usual, he was followed by a number of unconfirmed ticket holders. I told him about the mistake in my ticket. He took the ticket, checked it and declared it was not valid. "C'mon, sir, I've got enough documents to prove that I'm Rishi."

"But I cannot let a man travel with a female's ticket. TICKET, TICKET." He moved on, checking and ticking others' tickets. I followed, now wide awake but eyes still trailing the mind.

"Sir, but it's not a female's ticket. It's Rishi's ticket. Female is a silly, clerical mistake. C'mon, sir, there can't be any woman in the name of Rishi. You know that."

"I know it's a mistake. But I've to follow the rules. That's my job... Madam, aapki ticket?"

My God, what's wrong with this man? It's ridiculous. He knows it's a mistake and he can't do a thing about it! And rules? They are for checking frauds, not silly mistakes. "Sir, please, you have to help me," I’m starting to lose my temper.

"I told you I can't do anything. You have to get down with me at Panvel," he won't slow down.

What he needs is one tight slap, MTV-style. My head by now was what the earth was 20,000 years ago — a boiling planet. All the abuses in the world are at the tip of my tongue. I shouldn't have had rum in the morning. The smell must be there. Any aggressive move would be termed "drunken misbehaviour". "Sir, please, this is the 150th year of Indian Railways. (Yes, this story happened in 2002.) And your ads say customer service is your focus," I made a last plea. It was there in the newspaper. "I have to follow the rules, I told you." He wouldn’t relent. I must stop chasing this son of a rulebook. Or he'll have it. And that will be the end of my journey. What to do?

If I get down, at best they'll reimburse the ticket fare. Travelling all the way back to Borivili with these two sacks of bags! And even if I manage it, I won't get a confirmed ticket for at least the next couple of days. I can't cut short my Kerala stay; no way! All I have is just a week. So?

What if I say I'm a woman? That I went to Mumbai for a sex-change operation. That the moustache and beard will go only after a couple of weeks. That I'll charge him with sexual harassment… I was considering the options I had, and most of them were funny to imagine. I couldn’t help laughing a bit.

Why not do it? After all, I am a feminist sympathiser. Come to think of it, I may even have more so-called feminine characteristics than masculine ones. Why, sitting here and smiling secretly over possible conversations with the ticket checker right now, instead of chasing him desperately and offering a bribe—which may probably settle the matter—can be seen as feminine.

I was thinking away to femininity when the ticket checker returned to me. He offered me a berth in the Tatkal coach. But I had to shell out the full charge with some fine for ticketless journey. By now, I was positively feminine, if you consider a safety-first approach frailty and feminine. I went for it.

But I was fuming. My already tight budget for the trip would now be tighter. I noted down the s.o.r ticket checker’s name and vowed to take up the matter with the railways or approach the consumer court. But on the third day of my landing in Kerala I met with an accident and broke my leg. When one can't pee without somebody's help, one looks for support, not vengeance. And I thought about marriage, for the first time since my college girlfriend's wedding years ago.

It's over four years since then and it's the fourth year of my marriage. My F trip hardly ever came to my mind until the other day when I went to book tickets for our vacation. There was this man who returned to the counter after collecting his ticket--it had F against his name. He had to cancel the ticket and take a new one. Poor thing, missed the train to femininity!

A midnight SOS: How fishermen became Kerala’s new army

(published in the economic times on september 1, 2018)

The fishermen of Kerala have been hailed as the heroes for having swung into action and saved hundreds of lives in the state’s worst floods in a century. Here's how it all began...

In the afternoon on August 15, 2018, Kollam district collector S Karthikeyan received a call from his counterpart in Pathanamthitta, P B Nooh. He requested five dinghies to be sent from rescue operations in flooded areas in his district.

It had been raining incessantly for several days all over Kerala. Most of the reservoirs in the state had to be opened in the previous couple of days, leading to floods along most rivers, lakes and low-lying areas. And things were getting much worse than feared.

Now, the few dinghies of the Kollam municipality were already engaged in rescue mission within the district. So, Karthikeyan told Nooh he could possibly arrange some fishermen’s rafts. They were not sure how much it would help, but given the lack of options they decided to give it a try.

The Kollam collector immediately called up a few fishermen’s societies and asked if they could spare some small boats for rescue operations. Most fishermen no longer use the traditional small boat to go fishing in the sea. Instead, the society representatives suggested sending the slightly larger single-engine boats that they use these days. So, at around 4 in the evening, two boats with some fishermen were sent to Pathanamthitta on a trial basis.

Heavy rains and large-scale rescue and relief operations continued across the state.

At around 10 in the night when Karthikeyan was having his dinner, he got another call from Nooh. It was an SOS to send more fishing boats. Only these boats were now able to do the rescuing in flooded areas. Dinghies and rectangular boats of National Disaster Response Force (NDRF) were largely ineffective, because the water level had increased significantly in several areas along the Pampa river and its tributaries, and there were strong currents.

“We were prepared for floods, but nobody expected rivers to flow on towns,” Karthikeyan told ET.

He called an emergency meeting with office bearers of various fishermen’s societies in the town. He assured them that even a scratch on their boats would be taken care of by the government. The fishermen readily agreed to send boats for rescue work.

The problem was, everybody was sleeping. It was past 12 in the night…fishermen who actually work in boats were sleeping in their homes, and there were no trucks to ferry their boats to Pathanamthitta.

“So we started making mike announcements in colonies, seeking volunteers,” Karthikeyan said. He also contacted some truck owners. Within 2-3 hours, about 200 fishermen had gathered near Kollam port, and several trucks reached there with tanks full.

By five in the morning, nine boats – seven from Vaddy, near Kollam port, and two from Neendakara, the other big port in the city some 10 km away – left for Pathanamthitta. Another 35 boats were sent by 10 in the morning. By the night on August 16, some 120 fishing boats from Kollam were engaged in rescue operations in Pathanamthitta.

By that time, other places like Thiruvananthapuram and Ernakulam, too, had started sending fishing rafts to Pathanamthitta. Television channels had already picked up the story, and the Pathanamthitta collector had sent an SOS to the chief minister’s office.

The jury is still out on the reasons for the devastating floods in Kerala, billed as the worst in more than a century. A proper flood warning system and better management of water levels in reservoirs might have lessened its impact significantly. There might have been several slips, and there may still be issues in relief camps and in rehabilitating people. But what is undeniable is that Kerala pulled off a near-impossible rescue operation across the state, with everybody from top bureaucrats and armed forces to local communities and mobile-wielding youngsters chipping in.

It was an operation where everybody was a hero, be it an army man or a policeman saving many lives, or just a common man who gave shelter to others and shared whatever food and drinking water they had. But one group that everybody now hails as the new heroes of Kerala is the fishermen who rushed in and threw themselves into the swirling waters to save people who they had never met.

A video clip of Jaisal KP, a fisherman from Malappuram, going on all fours in knee-deep flood waters to let women step on his back to get into a rescue boat is one unforgettable image that has gone viral on social media all over the world.

As many as 952 fishing boats and more than 4,500 fishermen from coastal areas of Kerala rescued at least 65,000 people, mainly in Pathanamthitta, Alappuzha, Thrissur and Ernakulam districts, between August 15 and August 19.

According to a rough estimate by Pathanamthitta collector Nooh, out of all the people rescued in the district, 70% were saved by fishermen, 15% by NDRF and forces, and 15% by the locals.

“Once they landed there, fishermen took the responsibility and started saving people stuck at homes on their own. They did not wait for any instruction from anybody,” Kollam collector Karthikeyan said.

That was crucial — taking things in their hands.

Who else could take decisions as fast as those who have fought with the sea their entire life?

CALLING THE SHOTS

When ‘Treesa’ reached a temporary camp behind Aranmula Engineering College in Pathanamthitta in the evening of August 16, a crowd of more than 900 people there wanted to know only one thing — is there food on the boat?

Treesa had just six food packs left on board. The situation was desperate. There was not enough time for the boat to go back to Thekkemala – the nearest place where vehicles with wheels could still run on roads – and fetch food back to the camp.

Joy Marian Fernandez, who was steering Treesa, asked if there was any grocery shop nearby that may not have submerged. Anitha, a village officer coordinating from the camp, said there was a two-storey government-owned ‘Maveli’ grocery store some 3 km away. Her husband joined the four-member rescue team of Joy, his cousin Jose, and local policemen Sajith and Udayachandran. They broke the locks of the shop’s second-floor shutters with a big bolt cutter they had kept to cut power lines and cables blocking their way. All the stock in the store had already been shifted to the second floor. But water had reached up to their ankles even on the second floor by now. They ferried several sacks of rice, cooking oil and other groceries to the Thekkemala base —a service station turned into relief camp.

The camp in-charge, Joji, hurriedly made arrangements for taking all the stock left in the store to other relief camps in the vicinity, because food and other relief materials had not yet started arriving in a big way.

Pampa river had by now eaten up the vast stretch of land between Thekkemala and Chengannur, some 12 km away. Small hillocks looked like tiny islands. Buildings on those higher grounds – mostly churches and temples – had been converted into shelters. Boats mostly took people rescued from houses and terraces to these shelters to save on time and rescue more people. They also brought food, relief materials and medicines to these camps.

It was not just about the boats though.

“If not for those local policemen, we fishermen could not have saved even 40% of the people,” said Joy, sitting on a plastic chair in the small veranda of his modest house along one of the many narrow bylanes at Vaddy, a fishermen’s village near Kollam port. “They knew the roads and bylanes, otherwise we couldn’t have reached even half the houses.”

If they had to follow roads and streets to reach people stuck at homes in residential areas, there were also stretches where roads ran up to higher areas. So they had cross paddy fields and sometimes even the gushing river to reach areas such as Malakkara, Kozhippalam and Arattupuzha.

And there were all kinds of obstructions, Joy said. There were cables and electricity lines that boatmen had to cut to make way, submerged walls and fences that they ran into every now and then, furniture pieces and dead animals floating on the water, and snakes hanging on to tree branches, walls and gates, he said.

His daughter Mary Rose, a second-year BSc nursing student, served us tea. Breeze coming from the sea was cool and comforting on a sunny afternoon. Vague growling of the sea crashing on shores hung in the air. The sea was much calmer now. It had not rained for more than a week.

Kerala has begun its long journey to recovery. In Kollam, perhaps the least affected place, life has almost got back to normal. The hangover is still very much there, though.

FAITH IN PEOPLE

From August 16 to 18, traffic was often stopped on roads here to give way to big fleets of 10, 20, even 50 trucks loaded with boats from Kollam and Thiruvananthapuram rushing to flooded areas of Pathanamthitta for rescue operations.

Jacob John’s ‘Saint Antony’s’ was part of a 28-boat fleet from Vaddy to Chengannur on August 17.

Jacob, who operated on Chengannur side of the Pampa river, said truck drivers took as much risk as fishermen, riding on flooded roads and bridges. For every boat that took part in the mission, there was a truck that carried it. Jacob remembers parts of roads where truck wheels were completely submerged. They had to change routes more than once, before they managed to reach Parumala church in Thiruvalla – which was turned into a relief camp and a base for bringing relief materials, as wheeled vehicles could reach one side of the church, and boats could ply from the other side.

Jacob and his four friends on the boat saved about 1,000 people in two days mostly in Pandanad area, where water had reached up to half of the second floor of several buildings. It was a mad rush to save lives. “The engine was crashing into walls and all, but we just sped through all that, we wanted to save as many people as possible,” he said.

People all around were as selfless. When Jacob and his team went to pick up a small group sitting on a terrace, they told them there was another family nearby that needed help more urgently. One of the boys got into the boat and led them to a house where there were three small children, two young women and an old couple waiting desperately for help on the terrace.

So how did they make out if there were people inside houses? “We got a kolambi (traditional cone-shaped loudspeaker) and called out, ‘Is there anybody, brothers and sisters? Please come out or call out’,” Jacob said.

He stays in a tiny two-room apartment on the first floor of a residential building right across the road from Kollam harbour. It was built by the government at the same location after Jacob and his neighbours lost their houses in the devastating tsunami in 2004. It was a raw flat then. Jacob got done the flooring and wall tiling and other fixtures “one at a time”. “I have got two girls, sir, I need to take care of them,” he said. Joshna and Jisna, studying in class eighth and sixth, were busy showing me pictures of “papa on TV” on his mobile. Perhaps he need not worry too much. Now there may be people who come forward when he needs help.

Jiji Philip, a financial professional in Dubai, said he and his family owe their lives to fishermen who rescued them from their home in Chengannur when they had lost hope after spending two nights on the second floor without electricity or charge in their mobiles, and with hardly any food and drinking water. “When the fishermen were hit by the tsunami and cyclones I didn’t care, I never went looking how they are doing. And now, when I was caught in a near-death situation, it was fishermen who came to save me and my family,” he said. “They are the real heroes.”

Perhaps a blessing in disguise in Kerala’s worst floods is that humanity came to the fore. The entire population faced it together and stepped in to help.

“The only way an emergency of this magnitude could have dealt with was complete cooperation from all the stakeholders. And that is exactly what happened,” Kollam collector Karthikeyan said. “The government alone could not have done much.”

He said the administration had sought help from almost all the departments, and several organisation and individuals, and every one of them cooperated without raising a question – truck owners, hospitals, doctors, everybody. All the government departments and employees worked round the clock. The entire Kerala State Electricity Board (KSEB) and PWD employees are now engaged in repairing work in affected districts.

The challenge ahead is enormous. The state will need thousands of crores of rupees to repair its infrastructure and get back on its feet. But there is hope.

“The biggest insurance we now have is the faith in people,” says Karthikeyan. “There is a confidence that people will help and contribute.”

Ends

https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/politics-and-nation/a-midnight-sos-that-was-answered-by-fishermen-in-kerala/articleshow/65630836.cms?from=mdr

My word for my words

Many years ago when I started this blog, the idea was to write, period. 

It didn’t matter what I wrote, whether it was readable, fair, or made any sense to anybody. Hence the name bubbles. 

Those days I still used to think I would become a writer some day. And I thought writing was the best way to improve writing. I guess I was right and wrong. I was perhaps right about writing making writing better. I wouldn’t know because I didn’t practice it. And I was wrong about becoming a writer someday. Just some months short of fifty, I guess the sun is behind me.

So, what is it, my life? A wasted one? Was there a purpose? Is there? 

There were opportunities. Plenty of them, I confess. There were things I wanted to do -- things I thought could impact the world. Words and actions that I never tried to put down on paper or enact. Perhaps they were not good enough and I knew it in my subconscious mind. Or, perhaps I was plain lazy. 

That comes so easily to me -- being lazy, blissfully! The other day I read that an institute in Germany or somewhere is doing a research on lazy people. And they were offering to pay people for doing nothing. Now, I was of course too lazy to find out if the offer was open to people as far as in India. I assume it wasn't. That much for laziness.

Now, about my life and its purpose or lack of it. The problem is I don't know if it matters. I guess it doesn't. Otherwise some bigger force would have forced me out of my idleness. 

So here I am. A bit sad that I didn’t try to do/write things that I could have; a bit happy that I didn’t waste time trying.

Now ‘what is wasting time’ is a worthy debate that I don’t want to get into now, but I confess I’m not sure if I was wasting time or not. I wasn’t saving any, I guess.

But there's a fear that has sort of started nagging me. That in spite of my unconditional appreciation of laziness and my possibly envious ability to stay on the bed for ever and ever, there could be a day when I get bored of doing nothing, and that day might come just when I finally have nothing much to do, when I officially retire from my job! That would be tragedy!

But then, what comes comes. So one for the future!

Now I want to talk about time. Isn't it non-linear and multi-dimensional?

Let's think about that.

A literary debate from half a century ago

A 50-year-ago debate on Malayalam short stories when modernism started to rule the literary world in Keralam, I guess. A writer defends his generation of writers, and two leading critics respond to that. Interesting, informative and relevant after all these years.

The credit for finding this debate goes to the late T N Gopalakrishnan who almost single-handedly managed the Kakanadan Foundation for many years.

Remembering him 😊

Cheers to Mumbai Kaakka for publishing it...

http://www.mumbaikaakka.com/?p=53340

http://www.mumbaikaakka.com/?p=53338%3Ch3%20class=

http://www.mumbaikaakka.com/?p=53422%3Ch3%20class=

Just Don’t Get It

A newspaper report on a Delhi court dismissing bail plea of a pregnant Jamia Milia student, Safoora Zargar, accused of conspiracy in Delhi riots in February quoted the judge as saying:

“When you choose to play with embers, you cannot blame the wind to have carried the spark a bit too far and spread the fire.”

True. Very true. You can’t blame the wind for the fire. But, I have a few questions.

One, your honour, doesn’t this embers theory apply to other fires, too? Like, for example, the migrant workers crisis after a national lockdown imposed with just four hours notice, in the middle of the night? Or, all the trouble almost everyone in the country had for lack of money soon after the sudden demonetisation of some 86 per cent of money in circulation back in 2016? Why, even the spark that lit the embers that Safoora supposedly played with, the implementation of the Citizenship Amendment Act?

Two, we all saw the fire: northeast Delhi burning for three or four days, or more. But, at that time, for several weeks, we saw a lot of embers all over the city, many of them looked like fires, if you don’t remember you can go back to media reports those days, students were on the streets, politicians were spitting venom, police attacked students outside and inside campus, goons barged into another campus and attacked students and teachers, somebody fired at protesters… What about all those embers? What makes the police think the embers Safoora played with caused the fire? And what makes the court think giving bail to this pregnant lady could be dangerous when all those others who played with embers are free?

Three, the same newspaper report also quoted the judge as saying: “The acts and inflammatory speeches of the co-conspirators are admissible u/s 10 of the Indian Evidence Act even against the applicant.” Co-conspirators?! Your honour, are judges supposed to, or even allowed to, use terms like that to refer to petitioners, or, accused? Isn’t it in itself a judgement, even as the court reportedly said it is not delving into the merits of the case at this stage?

Just? Justice? Injustice? I just don’t get it, your honour.

We want justice, we want self-esteem

When the Congress party came up with the promise of a minimum income guarantee scheme in its election campaign last year, I thought it would be a wonderful policy in a country like ours still grappling with large-scale poverty, hunger and unemployment. 

Of course, we the majority of voters emphatically rejected the idea, probably because we didn’t trust them, or, perhaps we didn’t give it a thought or didn’t get to know about it, or, more likely, we just love Modi and his party for whatever reason.

But, now, when I watch and read and hear about the horrible procession of millions of migrant workers on highways and railway tracks in blind hope of reaching their villages hundreds and thousands of kilometres away, about tens of thousands of jobs being cut by organisations, about teachers and MBA degree holders who have lost their jobs taking to manual works in their hometowns to support their families, and some study that said 34% of the country’s households will run out of resources to sustain their lives within a week, about governments diluting labour laws drastically and privatising almost all sectors using the crisis as an excuse, and so on...I am certain about one thing:

A minimum guaranteed income is an absolute necessity for this country. And it’s not just about eradicating poverty or hunger, or dealing with a spike in unemployment. It’s about the rights of the people… 

The right to live. 

The right to self-esteem.

The right to freedom.

The right to choose. 

In my early days in Delhi, I once heard the thud of an accident involving a big car and a cycle rickshaw, and when I turned around I saw the car driver slap the rickshaw puller. That cannot be.

Minimum income is perhaps the only way to empower most of the people in this country to stand up for their rights, to say no.

Every person in this country, and in every democracy, deserves it. No questions asked. It’s her right. The math has to add up.

Because human life matters. We, the people of India matter.

The Journey

It was a gang of four or five youngsters. They hit him and kicked him, and tried to push him out of the train. He was terrified and desperately tried to hold on to something or the other. But he didn’t want to fight. Why would he? He was at his friendliest best, full of love for the world. Can’t these guys see it, the love in his eyes? 

He tried explaining he meant no harm to anybody. Yes, he was sitting on the doorstep of a moving train, drinking his rum-cola mix, singing his songs to nobody. But he wouldn’t bother anybody. He’s happy. The world is beautiful. Live and let live.

But the youngsters apparently belonged to a different world. They weren’t interested in any dialogue. It was clear from the start when one of them tapped him and his happy lazy eyes met their steely gaze. 

He was sitting there, taking the strong gust on his face, bellowing out his favourite songs that rushed past his ears inaudible, staring at the moon and the stars and blurry dark landscapes and tree lines, smelling the peculiar cold smell of a running train—perhaps a mix of steel and water and crap on the tracks, sipping his drink, loving everything and everyone…in a beautiful world, a world of his own.

Then he felt this firm tap on his back and turned back to see this gang of boys—teenagers perhaps, or, in their early twenties. What stood out was their aggressive, intense self-righteous gaze. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. So he signaled that they were inaudible, stood up, closed the door, and moved closer to the guy closest to him to hear him. 

They all screamed together, barraging him with many different questions that they sounded just like the train – loud and unclear. It wasn’t hard to guess though: they wanted to know what was he doing there, what was in the bottle, where was he going…things that ideally shouldn’t concern them. They were asking for his ticket, too. They had their fingers pointed at the cola bottle in his hand. There was nobody else. Most people in the three-tier air-conditioned compartment had gone to sleep, and almost all the lights in there were out. 

He smiled gently—he knew he was an offender in their book of morals—and started an earnest attempt to answer all their questions one by one. But, of course, nobody listened. The youngsters had already got their answer. He had hardly said it was a mix of booze in the bottle when one of the boys grabbed his throat and pushed him back. The closed door stopped him from falling out of the train. He was sort of dazed and tried to regain balance. Somebody slapped him. His glasses fell off. As he bent down to pick it up he got a kick on his butt. He tumbled and all of them pounced on him, kicking and stomping on him. 

He tried explaining even as he curled up and hid his face and head under his arms. He didn’t want to create any trouble. He knew how to handle his drinks and never misbehaved with anyone just because he was drunk. Not even once in about three decades, perhaps more, since he started drinking. What has he then? Around the age of his assaulters. Probably younger. 

Hello? Is anyone listening? This guy has been drinking for some 30 years, and travelling for more than that. He knows exactly where he is and what he wants, don’t worry about that. Leave him alone and he would sit there for some more time, enjoy this lovely night, finish his drink, tiptoe to his berth, eat his dinner, and catch a good night’s sleep. 

That was his plan. If only somebody cared to listen, he could give a lecture on the benefits of booze – the best appetizer, the best anti-depressant, the best sleeping pill ever…. Why, that night, if not for the out-of-the-blue visitors, he would have gorged on the tasteless dinner they serve in the train and slept peacefully. And what better way to sit back and relax through a 56-hour journey from the north of the country to the south, enjoying the music of a running train and the relentless march of trees and farmlands and hills and rivers and buildings and platforms, forgetting adulthood tensions and cherishing childhood memories, and seeing the good things of life? He would’ve loved to explain. He longed to show those youngsters what he saw.

But they were too busy beating him up and shouting the choicest of expletives of their regional tongue. It was extremely painful for him. One of them had a heavy pair of boots and another a cane in his hand. Every blow felt like breaking his bones. But what hurt the most was their intense animosity towards him, without any apparent reason or provocation.

He thought about his assaulters and their lives. He tried to picturize their homes and their parents and teachers. He thought about racism. He thought about Jesus on the cross. All that to help the pain here and now.

But soon he realized mere thoughts wouldn’t save him that night. The boys kicked him aside and one of them opened the door. The air gushed in. The roar of the train rushed in. They pulled him up. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t open his eyes. Every part of his body ached and stung. He thought about death. They pushed him to the door. He clung on to one of the metal bars at the train’s entrance. They hit on his fingers. He held on to the window grille on the side. They took turns to kick him and beat him with the cane. He knew he would fall off any moment. 

He felt immense pain in his chest. Why? He didn’t get any answer. He cried out to his tormentors: “I’m not evil, this booze is not evil; the evil is the hatred that your masters have fed you with.” 

And he cried. He cried for the boys. He cried for the world. His own sobs echoed in his ears as a lullaby as he slowly blacked out. 

When he opened his eyes he was still hanging on to the window grille and the youngsters were still beating him with the cane. But something had changed. He was no longer weak or helpless. Their strikes no longer hurt him. He felt only a vibration. It was like his body had turned into a strong energy field. Nothing touched him. Not even his clothes. Everything was happening at a distance. All he could feel was the vibration. It felt it right in front of his forehead, somewhere between his eyes, at the edge of his nose. He breathed it in and became a part of that energy, that vibration, a network…of eternal life?

He felt strong, very strong…full of life, full of energy. He stepped on the doorstep and grabbed the side bar. He pushed the youngsters back and got into the train. He shut the door behind him and stared at them. He felt nothing for them. He no longer owed any explanation to anybody. All that didn’t make any sense. He just sat there on the floor, breathing in the vibration. When they hit him he growled. When they hit him again he snarled at them. But nothing touched him.

He didn’t notice when they went away. Perhaps they got down at some station, or they might have just walked away, it didn’t matter. When he felt hungry he washed his face and hands—he didn’t feel any sting in the cuts or bruises—and went to his berth and climbed atop carefully. He turned the reading light on and started eating greedily, almost snatching the food from his hand. He didn’t feel any taste, but he loved it. It was energy, it was more vibration. He saw a noisy child of the day clinging on to his mother with a hand and a leg on her in the dim moonlight. She who spent the whole day scolding him and fingering her smartphone is now holding on to him. A man who never removed his suit and was constantly fixing up meetings or shouting at people on his phone is now snoring with his mouth open. Everyone looked rotten and wretched. He saw a compartment, a train, a world, full of miserable, lifeless creatures. They put him off. He could no longer relate with them, or make sense of their thoughts and talks. He had nothing to do with them. Not any more. 

He finished the food. He still felt hungry and gulped down a bottle of water. He felt unbearably hot. Wasn’t the AC working? He wanted to tear off his clothes. He felt suffocated. He carefully rolled up the food packet without spilling anything. He crawled down from the berth and sneaked out of the compartment. He pushed the empty food packet into the already full waste bin. He opened the train’s door and threw his face into the strong wind. He felt good. He felt the vibrations again. He closed his eyes and let out small groans of happiness. He wanted to roar.

He roared.

********************

May 2016

Lockdown

It's hard to say whether I feel more like

Naranathu Bhranthan, that is Kerala's own Sisyphus,

or the blokes who waited for Godot.

Well, I don't even know what they really felt like.

All I know is it's absurd

My life, my deeds, my thoughts

All shrunk into four rooms and four screens -- 

the score is even if you keep the balcony out.

Balcony is the other world,

My stage and my gallery

In the real world of absurd theatre

Where I become we and the show never ends.

You and I, we act and watch the same play

On all the balconies all the time

We see slight improvisation sometimes

But you know it doesn't make a difference.

Nothing does. It wouldn't matter 

Whether you expect a change,

Or accept it'll be the same,

But imagine you're happy. That may help.



April 2020

Citizen Foreigner

Correct me if I am wrong.

So, you say it’s stupid of them 

To oppose the changes in the citizenship act,

That the law does not affect the minorities in the country,

That it is not related to any of the 130 crore citizens here,

That no local has any reason to be worried about it,

That it will not change the idea of India and its secular base,

That it will not impact its promise to treat every person equally

Without discrimination no matter their

Gender, religion, caste, cash, colour, degree….

Right? Good.

Now tell me,

When you have tens of millions of homeless and jobless to take care of

Why bring in a law that does not have anything to do with any of them?

Why insist on it when tens of thousands have taken to the streets against it?

Is it so important to offer fast track citizenship to some foreigners?

Can’t they wait for six more years like all other refugees?

Why bring this law in spite of the deaths and violence?

To protect a tradition of giving shelter to the needy?

Athiti devo bhava?

Is it? Good.

Then tell me,

Why limit its scope to select minorities from select countries?

Why not open this aafast-track window to 

All 'persecuted minorities' from all neighbouring countries?

Why not? After all they too have daughters to honour
And dharma to save, don’t they?
And it will not affect the 130 crore here. Right?

Then let’s do it. Be fair. Make peace.

Okay? Good.

Prayer

I pray only when I’m helpless, desperate,

When I have nothing else to do.

Now is such a time.

But I don’t know what to pray,

For life or for death

Of my dear Ammama...

Drowned in Liverpool

Liverpool have done what looked like impossible just 10 hours ago: beat Barcelona in the Champions League semifinal’s after losing the first leg 0-3.

Surprised? Yes.

Unexpected? Completely.

So what did they to make this happen, that too when their top strikers Mohamed Salah and Roberto Firmino were not available?

For me, they just did the only thing they could have done: stay aggressive, run hard, press hard, and chase every ball.

What was surprising was, Barca looked like they didn’t expect it. They were looking for a stroll in the park. In a Champions League semifinal!

So they were stunned when Claudio Mane pounced on a back pass, cut into the box and passed the ball to a rushing in Jordan Henderson whose shot was saved by ter Stegen only for an alert Divock Origito slot it home. 1-0 in less than 10 minutes. Anfield exploded. Liverpool were all over the ground. 

Barca just could not hold on to the ball as the reds pounced on everything. It took at least 10 minutes for Barcelona to find their feet. Then they managed to slow down the game and created a number good chances even as the whole of Liverpool rushed to the other half every time they got the ball.

The first half was even, but Liverpool came at them even harder in the second half while Barca seemed happy to just try pass around the ball without really looking to score an away goal and settle the issue. That was a mistake I thought. Because it seemed clear to me that a second goal for Liverpool would set Anfield on fire. That happened.

The second goal came from the boots of substitute Georginio Wijnaldum, through the armpit of ter Stegen, and once again the reds were all over the place. The third came in less than a minute, with Wijnaldum heading in.

By now Barcelona were completely done. They were too slow, and it looked like they had no plan B. They showed no fighting spirit. Messi hardly touched the ball in the second half. 

This was exactly what Roma had done tothem last year, in the quarter final: overcoming a 1-4 deficit in the second leg. 

They apparently didn’t learn from their mistake and paid the price.

Liverpool went one step ahead, stealing afourth to settle the issue without having to go for a penalty shootout.

Well done Liverpool! 

Forget Sabarimala, think #MeToo

Call it dogmatism, religious fanaticism or a calculated right-wing Hindu move to help BJP get a foothold in Kerala -- all that could be true -- but to my mind all the drama and widespread protests over Sabarimala is another manifestation a strong male chauvinism that remains ingrained in the Malayali psyche despite all the social progress that Kerala has made. It's no different from the hero's welcome that the rape-accused Bishop Franco Mulakkal got from Keralite Christians in Jalandhar, and actor Dileep, accused of masterminding sexual assault of a female actor, got when he was released on bail. So, forget Sabarimala, think #MeToo.

post truth

The other day my soon-to-be-teen daughter was talking about some kind of pamphlet or poster that they made in class that day on Indian Independence. Apparently they had good fun. As an aside, she mentioned a conversation between two of her classmates. A girl drew an image of Mahatma Gandhi on one of the pages and a boy who was her partner said something like, "Hey why are you using this guy's pic? He's a fraud." And the girl said: "I know yaar, but it fits here." !

I was like, "And you said nothing?" She didn't. 

I wonder where that kid got that from. All of what, 12 or 13, this child says with conviction that the father of the nation is a fraud.

Well, I have heard several gossips about Gandhi. I've heard some say Gandhi could have saved Bhagat Singh but he chose not to. I've read Nathuram Godse's defence for killing him. 

I'm sure Gandhi had his points of view, his politics and perhaps his biases too, like almost everybody does. I don't think he was a fraud...but then of course I've no idea what went on in his mind.

But, for me, or I guess for any citizen of India, what matters is Gandhi played a key -- if not the most important -- role in securing the independence of this nation after two centuries of British rule.  That's good enough to make him a great man as far as this country is concerned, and an appropriate face in a poster on the country's freedom.

Anyway, the question here is how did our little man got it into his head that Gandhi was a fraud? From some book? Or did anyone tell him? My hunch is that he must have picked it up from some conversation at home or somewhere possibly involving his parents or somebody else he looks up to.

In this part of the country -- I live in Delhi NCR -- I've noticed that a lot of middle class people, including several good friends of mine, back BJP. Now, Hindu hardliners have never liked Gandhi. I guess they believe but for Gandhi India could have been a Hindu Rashtra. 

I believe those hardliners have a propaganda machinery that spreads stories and rumours that support their points of view as facts. 

But why would anybody buy that? Why would somebody our little man looks up to accept that Gandhi was a fraud without questioning it (as I assume)? Is it because it suits their politics? Or because they did some serious research on Gandhi? Or just peer pressure? Why did the girl readily agree with the boy?

Is it that as a society we just don't care about facts or truth?

In February this year during a brief visit to Mumbai my brother and I had a conversation with a taxi driver on civic elections there where BJP almost matched Shiv Sena and the Congress put up perhaps its worst performance.

This man launched a scathing attack on the Congress, saying it has been looting the country (to which I gleefully nodded). But soon it turned into a personal attack on Jawaharlal Nehru. It went something like this: "Do you know that s.o.b was a Musalman. He went to Kashmir for 30 days and the whole family returned as Hindu Pandits..."

He went on to alleged that there was an election immediately after independence to select the prime minister and people chose Vallabhbhai Patel, but Nehru was selected on Gandhi's insistence. 

We asked him who told him all this. He said everybody knew it and that it was in newspapers. We said we also work in newspapers and what he was saying was factually incorrect.

Yes, there have been rumours about Nehru's biological father being a Muslim client of his lawyer father. But that's just rumour. And anyway what's the problem even if he was Muslim?

Our man just wouldn't relent. He insisted that he was right and that Muslims are anti-nationals. 

Luckily it was a very short trip, otherwise we would've had to get out of the taxi midway.

In social media like Facebook and Whatsapp there are endless rumours like this circulated as facts. And people are consuming them without raising any doubt.

This is not being done by the right wing alone, all lobby groups -- be it political, religious, racial or casteist -- seem to be doing it, across the world. Only in India right wing seems by far the masters of this game. And now that the party they support is in power, it looks like they are using such propaganda to divert people's attention away from the real issues that the country faces. Sometimes it looks like nobody wants to talk about issues that impact people, be it demonetisation causing a lot of job losses and affecting the economy's growth, or rising prices of fuel, or the killing of an anti-Hindu right wing journalist that a lot of right wing supporters apparently celebrated on social media.

Welcome to the world of post truth.

I came across this usage, post truth, last year when Oxford Dictionaries named it the word of the year 2016. 

Oxford lists 'post-truth' as an adjective meaning, "Relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotional and personal belief."

That seems to be the case in present day India. And several other parts of the world as well.

One factor that facilitates this is the rapid growth of social networks such as Facebook and whatsapp. People share all kinds of conspiracy theories, fake news that appeal to them as facts and at the same time shrug off genuine reports as fake.

The result, I guess, is that readers are often confused and they either believe what appeals to them emotionally or doubt everything including genuine facts.

Early this year I'd shared an article on the challenges teachers face in a post-truth world with some of my daughter's teachers. One of them responded that she believed that there's no such thing as post truth and that our feeling of insecurity will go away when our children learn to sift truth from obscurantism (that's the exact word she used).

As a teacher I guess it is natural for her to be positive about tomorrow.

I wish she is right. I wish today's children will ultimately learn to identify truth and respect others without considering their sex, race, religion or wealth.

But right now, our generation, the grown-ups, seem to be allowing ourselves to be swayed by some selfish, narrow-minded propagandists of a post-truth world. By doing this many of us, perhaps unintentionally, could be leading our children into a narrow well of a world of prejudice and intolerance.

I am not afraid

Gauri Lankesh, a Kannada journalist known for her anti-Hindutva stance, was shot dead yesterday by unidentified people in front of her home. I had never heard of her and have not read any of her articles. But I want to protest her killing.

Because the way she was killed -- similar to some other rational voices in recent years -- seems to sending a message, a warning: shut up.

Of course it's not clear who killed Lankesh with what intention. But there seem to be several hardline right wing supporters who justify her killing. That is not acceptable. In a democracy, everybody has the right to express oneself, and everybody else has he right to agree or disagree with others' view. But nobody has the right to silence anybody.

If anybody's voice is silenced for her ideas, then other voices that share her ideas must come up.

That's why I feel a need to speak. To write.

I don't think I share Lankesh's ideas about whatever she has been writing on. I don't even think I will talk about things that concerned her most. Also, I don't think I have anything new to say.

But I want to make it clear that I'm not afraid to speak. And I think everybody who believe in free speech should make a voice: just to assert that we believe in free speech, and that it's all right to disagree with one another.

For example, I don't agree with the aggressive nationalism that some political leaders are trying to sell the people. In fact, I am not a 'proud Indian'. I am an India, alright, but I guess identify myself more as a human being. I do stand up when the national anthem is played in a theatre before the start of a movie, though I don't see any reason for playing national anthem in film halls.

Anyway, all that doesn't matter. I am perfectly fine if my wife and daughter is a proud Indian. They don't need to share my views or ideas.

In fact, I want to speak out basically to encourage everybody, particularly my daughter and her generation, to think independently and express themselves anywhere they want to, without any fear. I want to tell them it's alright to disagree, with anybody -- no exception.

So, here's to independent thinking, and freedom of speech, for every human being.

Reality Check

It was results day for four state elections yesterday and four different fronts won -- at least that's what I thought till I saw newspapers this morning. They made it look like a BJP show all the way. Really?

Why didn't I realise it yesterday itself? Maybe because I didn't watch the TV analysis. But I did see the results, and I thought it was about Mamata Banerjee in West Bengal, Jayalalithaa in Tamil Nadu, BJP in Assam and the Left in Kerala. And, yes, one big picture was Congress continuing its spectacular downfall. It was the biggest loser, losing power in Kerala and Assam and its coalitions failing to wrest power in West Bengal and Tamil Nadu.

But how come it all added up to BJP's moment in history? Wasn't it more like big regional leaders once again proving their might, just like Nitish Kumar and Lalu Prasad did in Bihar?

Yes, BJP did thrash Congress in Assam and made its first ever government in the Northeast. And? And it won an assembly seat for the first time in Kerala. And? That's about it, I guess. Or did I miss anything?

I went back to the election commission site (http://eciresults.nic.in) to look for what I missed. I confess I couldn't find much. I added up the numbers to compare BJP's performance with that of Congress. (I did not count their allies because I just don't have it in me to look for the numbers of each and every partners of their coalitions...but don't worry it sort of evens out: if BJP allies won 26 seats in Assam, Congress allies won 25 in Kerala.) Here's what I found:

BJP won 64 seats in all in the four states plus the union territory of Puducherry where assembly elections were held: 60 in Assam, three in Bengal, one in Kerala, and none in Tamil Nadu and Puducherry.

Congress won 115 seats: 44 in Bengal, 26 in Assam, 22 in Kerala, 15 in Puducherry, and 8 in Tamil Nadu.

What about vote share?

Assam
BJP: 29.5% (41.5% adding its allies)
Congress: 31.0%

Kerala
BJP: 10.5%(14.4% adding allies)
Congress: 23.7% (36.8% adding allies)

Puducherry
BJP: 2.4%
Congress: 30.6%

Tamil Nadu
BJP: 2.8%
Congress: 6.4%

West Bengal
BJP: 10.2%
Congress: 12.3%

So, clearly Congress remains a bigger party than BJP in the far corners of the country. Yes, it is on a rapid downward spiral, but perhaps it's too early to talk about a 'Cong-less India' though that possibility is very much there.

More importantly, I think there is nothing in this round of elections to suggest that BJP has reached a new high. Assam results are not exactly a surprise. It was a straight fight and there was supposed to be a big anti-incumbency factor. This Assamese friend who I met in a recent trip to Meghalaya was saying he wanted Tarun Gogoi to lose more than he wanted BJP to win. I am not trying to take anything away from BJP's win. In fact this guy and the taxi drivers I spoke to felt it's a tough fight and too close to call. So, of course it was an impressive performance by BJP in Assam.

But winning one seat in Kerala, three in Bengal and gaining less than 3% vote share in Tamil Nadu in my opinion do not call for celebrations for a party ruling the country with a majority of its own. And has it managed to improve the vote share in garnered in Lok Sabha polls in these states? I doubt.

Many people who follow Kerala politics would attribute BJP's win there to the candidate -- O Rajagopal, who is the face of BJP in Kerala for years, contesting in almost every election and consistently getting a lot of votes. In fact, he had come very close to winning in the last assembly elections as well. Left circles are also talking about alleged cross-voting, pointing out a significant fall in Congress-led UDF's vote share in Rajagopalan's constituency. That's not necessarily correct because Rajagopal is a strong candidate and BJP did get a significant number of votes in Thiruvananthapuram in the general elections.

With the kind of campaign BJP did in state elections this time, led by the prime minister, my feeling is that the party has reasons to feel disappointed with the results in Tamil Nadu, Bengal and Kerala.
I would rather agree with a comment my colleague Ashish made yesterday: This elections have proved that BJP can beat only Congress. Wherever there is a big regional party -- be it Mamata Banerjee's Trinamool Congress in West Bengal or AIADMK or DMK in Tamil Nadu -- BJP has failed to make a mark. Just like Congress.

My take is that the national parties need popular regional leaders to make a big impact in states. I guess both Congress and BJP lack them in several states.

*****************

Holy Shit

With all respect to all those who worship cows, including my ancestors, I just don’t see any holiness in a cow—not any more than what I see in a sheep or a deer. I see them everyday on the streets—sometimes majestic, walking on the road leisurely and nonchalant, ignoring relentless honking of hapless office-goers; sometimes dirty, with dung and mud all over them; sometimes pathetic, being harshly shooed away by roadside vegetable vendors. They have nice, expressive eyes, though not as beautiful as doe eyes. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. It’s not about my likes and dislikes.

It’s about cow worship. The other day I went Google-searching for the origins of holy cow. I found some articles that said traditionally most Hindus including Brahmins used to eat beef. B R Ambedkar in fact stated that cow slaughter was declared a mortal sin by Brahmin pandits around the fourth or fifth century to regain the ground Brahminism had lost to Buddhism in most parts of the country. I also found that several people have strongly refuted this theory and some in very harsh words. I don’t want to take sides. It doesn’t matter when holy cow came into being. She’s here, and she has been here for at least 15 centuries.

But does she make sense? Or, is cow worship another baseless custom like Sati, where widows jumped into the pyre of their husbands? Well, protecting cows made economic sense because she provided milk, perhaps the main source of protein. Also, oxen were widely used to plough farmlands. So there was a reason for protecting them until they turned barren or too weak to work. Was that a reason for banning cow slaughter? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Now, while cow continues to provide the bulk of the milk we use, oxen have been steadily losing their place in the farms to tractors. That is to say there’s not much economic sense in protecting the male cattle. But then this is not about economy or what makes sense to you as an individual. It’s about one’s belief.

Fair enough. I have no problem if you worship cow, or snake, or rat. It’s absolutely up to you. Of course I don’t like it when you take away my food. Beef was one meat most people could afford and, as a matter of fact, it’s very tasty. Now, vegetarians may not get it—when I talk about beef or pork it’s not a bull or a pig that comes to my mind, but some of my favourite dishes or finely cut pieces of meat. Anyway, if the majority worship cow and the state has banned beef, as is the case in Delhi, then I would stick to the rule although I’m not convinced about such rulemaking in a highly diverse and secular country like ours. Nevertheless I would fall in line, in the spirit of 'when in Rome, do like Romans'.

But what has really got into me and prompted this blog piece is the disturbing vigilantism and plain vandalism some right wing groups have been displaying and the way a lot of us, the people, have come to consider such incidents normal.

One person, who apparently had mutton in his refrigerator, was lynched after being accused of cow slaughter right next to the national capital. After that so many central ministers and national leaders talked about cow slaughter, plans to impose a nationwide ban on it, putting up labs in ports to check beef exports, and declaring that cow is our mother. Did anyone talk about crowd violence and steps to check it? Did anyone care to remind people that law enforcement is the job of the police and administration and not that of the public? Even if anyone did it went unnoticed.

There have been several other incidents since—another person was lynched for trying to transport cattle, allegedly to a slaughterhouse, a Kashmir MLA was attacked in state assembly for holding a beef party and later inked in Delhi, a writer was inked for organising the launch of a book by a former Pakistan foreign minister, a Pakistani family spent a night out in the streets in Mumbai because no hotel would give them room… Then there are all those writers returning awards in protest against “rising intolerance” and the Sahitya Akademi and government’s silence over the murder of Kannada writer MM Kalburgi, which is another story.

My issue is not with the central government or the prime minister. As their supporters point out, law and order is a state subject and the central government has nothing to do with these incidents. I don’t disagree. My problem is with the way we people and those in power have been receiving these news as normal everyday incidents. It’s like, if you kill cattle then you may get lynched, if you are from Pakistan then you may not be able to find a place to stay, if you oppose cow slaughter ban then you could get inked…as if these are the most expected things to happen!

During the same period there have been many incidents of rapes, tens of them, of both grown-ups and children, mostly in gangs or pairs. Man’s real, biological mother is treated worse than any animal! But there is no vigilante to protect her. There’s hardly any central minister talking about such crimes. No marks for guessing why.

The problem is not with India or one political faction or ideology. The whole world is full of conflicts, between religions, between races, between cultures and communities. There are civil wars, terrorist attacks, border conflicts, western/US interventions… ISIS and Boko Haram are killing thousands in the Middle East and Nigeria, there’s civil war in Ukraine and several African countries, US and Russia are bombing parts of Iraq and Syria, many European countries won’t let refugees in, there’s no end in sight for the Palestine issue, racism still prevails in several parts of the world… Terrorist attacks have killed almost 18,000 people this year, according to global think tank Institute of Economics and Peace that has placed India at 143 out of 162 countries in its 2015 Global Peace Index. India is among the worse, but there are not many peaceful countries in the world. Why is it so?

Why do cows become more precious to some people than fellow human beings? What makes some people think their own faith is the only truth and those who don’t share it deserve nothing but hell? After all, our faith would have been different if our ancestors chose to follow a different custom. Yet, many of us scorn those who follow a different custom!

I think the biggest problem with man is that a lot of people don’t identify themselves at the primary level—as a human being. Look at all those people: Hindus, Muslims, Dalits, upper castes, Nagas, Tamils, blacks, whites, feminists, homosexuals, bisexuals, Chinese, refugees, settlers, Africans, Sunnis, Shias, rich and poor, capitalists and communists, Indians and Pakistanis, graduates and illiterates, vegetarians and non-vegetarians… there are so many kind of people. Yet, looking for someone who sees himself primarily as a human being would be like Diogenes of Sinope going around holding a lamp in the daytime looking for an “honest man”. We are just not used to identifying ourselves as humans.

It’s strange considering there’s a lot to celebrate about humans. OK, man might be the primary culprit for putting the planet at high risk by attributing greatly to global warming and climate change, mining out resources and changing landscapes in selfish pursuits. Still, there’s a lot to boast about man's journey, transforming from being just another animal to being at a striking distance of travelling to Mars! Not bad for a species, huh?

Why isn’t the world celebrating the human race’s progress and great achievements—be it the day Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon or the day Usain Bolt ran the fastest race in history, or what about a Stone Age day? Instead of that we are busy killing each other in the name of cow and caste. Holy shit!

***********************