Forever Young & Free!!

This is July again, and therefore, Simi’s birth-month. Caught up in my own life, I had completely forgotten about the significance of this month until only a few days back. Simi would not have approved – either of how so full-of-activities our lives have become or, of how easily we seem to gloss over the importance of relationships. As I look at my own unorganized life, I recall the words of Sissy Spacek playing Loretta Lynn in the film ‘Coal Miner's Daughter’ as she gazes over an expectant audience and says; “Things is moving too fast in my life...they always have….. Patsy always told me 'Lil girl, you gotta run your own life', but my life...it's a'runnin' me."

I feel that way a lot these days, and I am sure it is not a good feeling to have. So, I shall hunker down here and attempt to talk of Simi again. Our existence perpetually throws us onto paths of newer experiences and fresh acquaintances; it becomes difficult to recall our past ties and hark upon the memories of days gone by. So it is through my own words and borrowing the words of our batch-mates that I shall essay another pen-picture of my dear friend.

You come across this character in many a movie – the loud, absolutely energetic guy or girl who exults in the present, laughs off worries and starts waltzing at the slightest sound of a trumpet. While doing so, this character of course, teaches the others in the movie (most of them inevitably complicated and too caught up in life’s little problems) a thing or two about living. As movie characters go, this guy or girl is nearly omnipresent in all narratives, sometimes passing off as the protagonist’s best buddy, or a bubbly parent or sometimes even as a stranger from a chance encounter. In real life however, such characters are very, very difficult to come across – life instead chooses to burden us with acquaintances more reminiscent of the afore-mentioned complicated and calculative kind. So, it is a classic case of real not following reel. So, it is with some amount of self-pleasure I declare that my life has been populated by atleast one sample of this rare breed. This blog calls Simi the ‘the confetti girl’ not without reason; so many of us were desirous of being like her. Geetika our batch-mate announced this in the testimonial that she wrote for Simi in our year-book. Another batch-mate Aman, unabashedly credits her with changing the way he lived his life. All our batch-mates were thrown onto the wondrously shining path of Simi for only little less than a year and yet she has managed to cast her unique magical perspective onto our minds even within such short a time.

It is in very recent times that I have unearthed yet another realisation about Simi that pains me slightly in my more unaware moments, but is a secret source of glee in my more contemplative thoughts. Since I have left IMI – that wonderful place which remains and shall remain the harbinger and old steward of so many full memories -   I have loved and lost, have fell and rose, have started and discarded so much that the signs of all those times have left their mark upon me. Similarly, when I see my friends, I see them as they actually are today – some are happy, some are not so happy – but every one of us manifests the toll that time has taken upon us. But when I think about Simi, I still see her in that green top of hers, and always with that smile on her face. She looks so young!

As we go on through life, we will inevitably be marked and scarred with the passage of time. But Simi will always be that beatific, smiling angel which she was and still is. Perennially grinning, making friends everywhere she goes and cocking a snook at life’s complexities with a mischievous glint in her eyes – we shall always see Simi in this wondrous light.

Says the confetti girl, “Have some candy!”

It is just chance that this is July - the birth month for Simi, the “confetti girl” - and it was on the 1^st day of this month that I happened to see the animated film ‘Wreck It Ralph’. Just a few minutes into Wreck It Ralph, I was drawn into the familiar tale of how characters even as those as far-removed from us as the pixilated people from video game are moved by the all-too human emotions of an alienated sense of duty, rejection, isolation, and the cycle of impulsive, ill-advised actions which sometimes precipitate when it is the very nature of the duty which causes that seclusion.

As plots go, this film does not break new ground. We have after all, seen how outcast and misunderstood characters like the hunchback Igor in Igor (2008), the villainous Megamind in the eponymous Megamind (2010) and not to forget, that lovable green monster Shrek, all strive to escape from the caricatured roles which someone else has scripted for them, in order to gain just that little bit of love, acceptance and friendship which has always been denied. Yet it is not the plot itself which delighted me, but the imaginatively-written characters which populate the arcade-style video games, the humour, and the poignancy and honesty in feelings which often laced such humour. This film follows Ralph – a ham-fisted bulldozer of a man in a game called ‘Fix It Felix’ who is forever fated to rain down blows on an apartment building (Niceland) and terrorise its residents, an unhappy state which the handyman Felix soon remedies with the help of his magical golden hammer. Every successful game of ‘Fix It Felix’ concludes with the same fixture – Felix gets feted and awarded with a medal for a job well done while the residents unceremoniously throw Ralph down from the terrace to a muddy puddle on the ground below. To add insult to injury, Ralph is left to dwell in the neighbouring dump from where he sees the colourful and happy lives of the Niceland’s residents. It is this sad state of things that Ralph seeks to turn around.

Ralph quickly comes to the conclusion (erroneous!) that what he lacks is a gold medal just like Felix, which would propel him into the high league. And so starts his journey to a game ‘Hero’s Duty’ which awards a gold medal to its victorious warriors, and onto an ill-managed starship crash into a racing game called ‘Sugar Rush’ with a candy landscape and an absolutely saccharine little girl, Vanellope (voiced so endearingly by Sarah Silverman). It is the chemistry between the mischievous little Vanellope and the grumpy Ralph which is the highlight. In an obvious parallel with Ralph’s own state, Vanellope who is characterised as a game glitch is the resident outcast in ‘Sugar Rush’, mocked and left friendless by her own kind. In a predictable journey fighting vile cybugs and racing impossibly candy-coloured cars through an impossibly candy-themed racecourse and discovering the inherent spirit of friendship between them and a new sense of self-worth, we are treated to some insightful ideas.

It is these insights which bring me now to the life of our beloved friend, Simi. In a world where so many of us seem ill at ease with who we seem to be inside, and the struggles which we put up to re-define ourselves in a bid to win acceptance and love, Simi was the exception. Just like Sarah’s plummy-voiced Vanellope, Simi too conveyed that sweet naughtiness and that bold spirit to boot, of a girl who has her sights set high borne up by a sure sense of identity.

Whether it is Fix It Felix or Wreck It Ralph, I realise that just as we are defined by the jobs we do, we are also marked in a far deeper sense by the values we live by and the love and friendship we are able to share. Just like a zombie character in the game says, “Labels do not make you happy. Good, bad... you must love you.”

Here is wishing you a very happy coming birthday, Simi!

An Art of Many Forms

I am terrible at drawing; have always been since school days when my Vinci-esque repertoire was limited to battle-scenes of unaerodynamic-looking planes above dropping egg-shaped bombs on proportionally-challenged hapless infantry below, grotesquely-smiling plaid-shirted ‘kou-boys’ with shoulders too broad and legs too small and finally, my pièce de résistance – scenery sketches of hills, valleys and plains. My sceneries were dominated by triangular hills which I am sure, would have made Pythagoras proud and a serpentine river flowing down from the hills in distinctly Z-like courses, and of course, the ubiquitous proportionally-challenged people frolicking in the foreground. Evidently I suck at drawing, which is why I have forever looked upon people gifted with the artist’s eye for detail, colour and imagination (not to forget proportion!!) with awe and a teeny bit of jealousy.

While some artistically-gifted people are content to express themselves on drawing paper and painter’s canvases, still others explore several additional avenues of expression, like the sand painters who work such wonderous images using just sand or the artists who use superlative imaginative skills to fashion beautiful objects of art using the most nondescript of artistic medium – sticks!! Yes, it is true that over the ages, man has sought and found unique and mesmerizing artistic voices where stones, egg shells, glass panes, even pieces of discarded junk have done service as sometimes the brush, at other times as the blank canvas upon which man carves out his impossible, wonderful dreams.

To conclude, for those with the creative bent, everything is grist to the mill. So there is this friend of mine; she is unmistakably a member of this singular clan of individuals who splash the world around with colours and new forms. She carries a notebook around – a constant companion of many years – where she records the passing wisps of still half-forming images which sometimes float by. Her living room is adorned with wall murals, picture portraits, a framed Ganesha made up of perfectly-cut and wielded silver foil pieces and wonderful knick-knacks of decorative items painstakingly crafted with everyday items.

I have reproduced one of her most recent murals; I find the colours, the smooth curves and yes, the imaginativeness in juxtaposing the gently-swaying flower stalks with that of the left silhouette of a girl’s face quite striking. Now more than ever, I am convinced that Art is a gift – a gift which brings joy to the self and to others, and creates new spaces for reflection and comprehension. Yes, Art is a gift.

The story of another ‘Jake’

My friend and I had gone to a road-side restaurant by the city. In fact, it was the second visit to that place for my friend and my first. One word about my friend – he has a wonderful love for animals and films. Once there, he started asking after a mongrel dog which stays by the dhaba’s lot. My friend told me, “You have got to see him and understand the sheer willpower he has.” I asked him why and he responded, “This dog drags himself along the ground cos his hind legs don’t work. His hind legs are paralysed.” So you see, the dog is a cripple. The dhaba’s staff informed us that the dog was away and might be coming back later.

We saved some chicken pieces from our lunch. When we went out to the lot’s entry gate, we saw a dusty brown-coloured dog walking and alternately, hopping towards us. It was the crippled dog but now, instead of dragging himself all along the path, he was walking and hopping. My friend said,” Last time when I saw him, his hind legs were completely useless; he was just lying on the ground. But now look at him - he is learning to use his hind legs by hopping on them!” We gave him the chicken pieces and the dhaba’s staff graciously put out some more food and water in two bowls. We discovered that even the dhaba’s staff was taken in by the dog’s spirit; they made arrangements to feed him whenever he returned to the lot from his daily wanderings.

In the car while we were coming back, my friend turned to me and said,” That is one brave dog. Let’s call him Jake.” I glanced at him quizzically for a moment, then understood and smiled.

[It is in James Cameron’s ‘Avatar’ where we see the first ‘Jake’ (Jake Sully) who though paraplegic finds the strength to fight for a people and prevail.” You may be out, but you never lose the attitude.”]

Marigolds for Eyes

In little bits and many ways, Simi embodies the guileless and impeccant attitude of a child-like mind. Like I mentioned before, she imbibes an utterly simple mechanism to realise the good and the bad around, without having to resort to duplicity, verbal calisthenics and the rest of that sum total which I suppose, we call ‘worldliness’. No wonder then, that Simi likes wholesome, good-natured and fun films ; films like ‘Jumanji’, ‘Notting Hill’, ‘Baby’s Day Out’, the ‘Home Alone’ series  and so many of Shah Rukh’s ventures. A necessary ingredient when one has a predilection for the kind of films which I just mentioned above is I am pretty sure, a sense of wonderment. Wonder is a precious gift, and too many films now attempt to discover it through cacophony; the trend today seems to create wonder not in the story or in its characters, but in digitally-enhanced sequences.

Anyway, Simi it seems gravitates towards wholesome entertainment in films – a dash of romance, light touches of fantasy, just the appropriate dollop of adventure, canvasses of colourful ecstasy, and loads and loads of comedy. Films which serve this delectable assortment are generally classified as ‘family’. While we are discussing ‘family movies’, I wish to de-bunk 2 myths. A children’s film is not always a family film, neither is an animated one. Now that we have established what a family movie is ‘not’, let us move forward to what it ‘may be’.

A simple rule of thumb for this definition, may be what Roger Ebert prescribes. He says, “A children’s film is a movie at which adults are bored. A family movie is a movie at which, if its good, nobody’s bored.” So, a family film is positioned to appeal not only to a younger audience but to a wide range of viewers. Family films seek to traverse this apparently-disjoint spectrum through an unique balance of story-boarding and humour which oozes sly wit and an edginess, while still remaining universal in appeal.

                                                   

Family films explore universal themes – if ‘E.T.’ is about an unlikely friendship, the ‘The Railway Children’ speaks about dignity in adversity while ‘Fly Away Home’ explores among other things, the sometimes-tenuous bond between child and parent. Family films are wonderful exponents for love too; in ‘Up (2009)’, the tender romance between a reticent Carl and a tomboyish Ellie first sparks and then takes wings with absolutely no spoken words, and on the magical canvas of a lilting score by Michael Giacchino.  

While it is true that so many avant garde family films are actually animated or seem targeted towards the young or the young-at-heart, it is apparent (but not why exactly, to me atleast) that where the story involves children and their immediate setting (parents, teachers, the neighbourhood bully, the reclusive but kind-hearted old neighbour et al), the magic that appears through the child’s eyes and his uncertain place in the world of obtuse-looking adults somehow are easily relateable to most of us too.

I would like to borrow Ebert’s words in his review of ‘E.T.’ to underscore the purport of family films. He says, “This movie made my heart glad. It is filled with innocence, hope, and good cheer. It is also wickedly funny and exciting as hell. This is a movie that you can grow up with and grow old with, and it won't let you down.” It is a moment of intense epiphany for me when I realise that these are just the words I would use to describe Simi. This wonderous touch of gladness, fun, excitement, good-naturedness and timelessness was Simi’s touch too.

Hasta mañana, Simi!  

Always The Confetti Girl

Her name in the rolls came at 18…or was it 19? She wore mostly cheerful-looking, bright-coloured clothes to college, in fact, I think she favoured a bright, fluorescent green top often. I realise now that I know so little about her then, that it is only by concentrating on the slight details that I can describe her.  So, Jassimran Kaur’s roll no. is 18 or 19 in our MBA batch; she has this la-de-da air about her that I must say is infectious; she starts coming in for classes I guess, 2 or 3 weeks after the session began. She does not take much time in making friends.

In fact, when I squint and try hard to remember stuff about her, all I come up with are pretty random, inconsequential-appearing stuff. Like that time our batch goes for an outbound trip to the hills where we undertake all kinds of activities in groups and pairs. We go rock-climbing on a cliff face where the climber wearing safety harness belts, ascends using precarious holds, while another person on the ground (belayer) holds a rope attached to the climber’s safety, anchoring him. Well, when it is Simi’s (that’s Jassimran) turn to climb up, I am her belayer. As Simi climbs up, I have to slowly feed out the rope and if she gets stuck at any point, I have to hold the rope fast. And Simi does not make the task any easier. She flings her legs wildly, cries out for assistance repeatedly, loudly protests about the utter stupidity of the task just like most of us (all this while still on her way up), but reaches the top somehow. Finally, it seems to me.

Another time, we are seated next to each other in a test. I must have spent half the time on my paper and the other half assisting Simi with hers. Every so often, Simi looks up, softly whispers in my direction, and then I would look up too and whisper back the answer to her. Simi typically does not have many of the answers for the test but how does anyone refuse Simi?

While we are discussing Simi, the subject of her seemingly indecipherable name makes for a delightful side-story. Most of us in the batch are acquainted with the name ‘Simran’ (well, someone who has seen DDLJ knows anyway, but then who among us has not seen DDLJ?!), but Jassimran?? In the beginning I guess, some of us call her ‘Simran’ and a few even tease her with ‘Just-Simran’. Added to all these, faculty members develop a particular ability to pronounce her name in hilarious tongue-twisting individual versions. Finally, when it seems that her name could not further morph, someone comes up with ‘Simi’; or maybe it is she herself who puts an end to all the name-changing. And Simi is how she’s known now. I did not care to understand what ‘Jassimran’ actually meant then, but with a little effort now, I am delighted to miraculously (it seems) discover how that unique name, that mystical-sounding nomenclature fits her to a T. Jassimran is a Sikh name, etymologically derived from ‘Jas’ meaning praise or glory, and ‘Simran’ meaning ‘realisation of the highest truth and purpose in one’s life’ or alternatively ‘rememberance through deliberation, meditation and realisation’. So, Jassimran simply explained, is the glorious commitment of the consciousness to the higher spiritual, awakened and self-aware state.

The thing about Simi which I realise fully now (well, I grasped the tip of this even back then) is that she’s one of them. You do not meet too many of them (I have befriended exactly 3) cos simply, they are not around much. Yes, they are individuals but they exist within such a wonderous space encompassing individuality, freedom and the amazingly prescient ability to realise almost, the entirety of the universe around them, that when they are with you, you unknowingly exult in their glow but when they are not there, you long for that indefinable quality which you do not seem to get anywhere else. They are what you would call ‘happy souls’; happy not in that they do or say things which are self-appeasing but they believe in utterances and actions which are so much in harmony with the things around them. If all this sounds too dense, then I suppose it is my inadequacy which makes it seem so. For when I remember that happy and bright light which we used to call ‘Simi’, a simple and deep warmth of the touch of a singularly wonderful person is the first thing which I feel. And as time goes by, increasingly it is the only thing I feel and remember. And that is enough.

[Simi’s birthday comes on 22^nd July and in this month, CPq will explore the happiness and the little joys which I guess, Simi would have liked to share in]

“Only the gentle are ever really strong….”

My friend Kaushik has a natural affinity towards animals, the physical manifestation of which can be unnerving at times. He knows almost no dread or obscure sense of ‘human’ regard for his appearance or the animal’s. I remember how I used to be put off by his easy attempts to pet stray dogs. I suppose I was more concerned about how the paws of such mangy mongrels might ruin my outfit, or leave stains upon my person. Kaushik’s love for animals however transcends such petty boundaries which we build around ‘expected behaviour’.

One recent incident further reflects this kindred feeling that Kaushik feels towards animals. He was recently driving his car along a highway with his mother. They were going to a family function outside the city. From a distance, he saw a crumpled heap ahead, of something which was obviously a road-kill.

He stopped the car and proceeded to get out of the car. His mother asked,” What do you think you’re doing?” Kaushik replied,” I’m going to see if I can help the animal.”

“Are you crazy? If you do that, the nearby people may think that you’ve hit the animal.”

“That may be so, but I’ve got to see to the animal.” Kaushik said as he stepped out.

The animal was in the middle of the road, and it took some time to get to it. It was a busy highway and cars and trucks were zipping by, a couple narrowly missing the stricken animal. With no apparent concern for his own safety, he stooped near the animal, saw that it was a goat kid and that it was beyond help. He picked up the bloodied mess, walked over to the roadside and laid it down gently. By that time, the kid was dead and a motley group of people had gathered around.

These people were all the while, watching the entire spectacle from a few shops by the roadside. One of them spoke up,” Well now, this kid has died and the owner has to get compensation. How much will you give?”

My friend blew his top cos he had seen these people mutely watching how the kid was suffering with no thought of perhaps, helping it or if nothing else, picking it up and moving it off the road so that it does not get bloodied any further by passing vehicles. He put up a spirited argument with the assembled throng, giving them such an earful about simple human concern and a sense of civility that shame-faced, a few gave their apologies and shuffled away. This is very amazing cos if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’s such a gentle soul that I’ve only seen him raising his voice, indeed getting into a confrontation maybe only 3 times in the 20-odd years that I’ve known him.

Kaushik told me later,” If there was any chance of saving that kid, I’d have driven him till I could get him help elsewhere” - which is just the truth cos again if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’d have done exactly that.

I know for a certainty that if it was I who was driving on that highway on that day, I’d just have sidestepped over the stricken kid and driven away. Oh sure, I’d have felt bad for a little time but I’d have recovered from the sad episode telling myself,” Ah Roon, but what could you’ve done? The animal must have already been dead.” This is why in the face of such rampant weakness and apathy, the strength and piety of one who thinks and acts differently is commendable and worthy of emulation.

[It was the Hollywood legend James Dean, himself an incandescent flame that burned all too briefly who said ‘Only the gentle are ever really strong’.]

Overcoming a C1-C2 Complication With A Heart like Tiffany’s

The older brother holds his younger brother’s hand as he lies upon a stretcher, covered in a loose blue robe just before he is about to be wheeled into the OT for a surgery which might enable him to move upright again, or might even paralyse him from the waist down, if it failed. As the duo were waiting for the OT crew to usher them in, the younger brother his head immovably strapped to a hideous neck collar, asks his brother with tears in his eyes, “Dada, why did this happen to me?” The older brother looks down at the tear-stained face of his sibling, ineffectually tries to wipe out the moisture from his own and not knowing what to do, just clutches his brother’s hand tighter. That younger brother was my brother Sunny and that fateful day, I was dearly holding onto his hand. Due to God’s grace, the operation was successful and post-surgery, Sunny is now perfectly well.

Sunny had a road accident in May 2005 right after his Class X exams, and fractured his C1 and C2 cervical vertebrae which as our orthopaedic surgeon proclaimed, are the 2 uppermost bones in the spine. The skull rests on the ring-shaped C1 which serves as the base, and the C2 forms the pivot upon which the C1 rests. So, my brother was in danger of his skull hanging loose from the spine (C1 fracture), as also the added risk of not being able to move his head around (C2 fracture) even if he overcame the first danger.

We admitted Sunny into intensive care in a Guwahati medical facility for some days. Due to the injury, Sunny’s head was supported by a neck collar and since he could not move his head, he had to perpetually stare at the ceiling above. The doctors were non-committal and running a battery of tests, and we waited for advice.  Resting Sunny on his side for a few minutes each day for wiping clean his bed sores was a complicated task involving atleast 3 people, and required careful manipulation of his upper body so that his head did not move more than it had to. This typically took around 15 – 20 minutes each time. Family came to see Sunny at the facility, and concerned members, grown people at that, broke down outside with fear and sadness, after visiting Sunny in ICU. My brother however, was the one with a smile on his face almost all the time, through the daily injections and the frequent saline solution infusions, and even bantering with the medical personnel who attended to him. Finally we were informed that Sunny had to be operated to walk again and move around normally, a surgical procedure for which our case was referred to AIIMS, Delhi.

Flying Sunny to Delhi presented another challenge; since he had to lie on his stretcher throughout, 3 seats had to be unhinged from the airplane floor, and the stretcher had to be fitted there. Apparently out of all the flights flying out of Guwahati, Indian Airlines was the only one who could do it. This was Sunny’s first flight and he spent it tied to the airplane floor for a flight time of 3 hours. We spent close to a fortnight in AIIMS before Sunny could be operated upon, and another fortnight post-surgery. Throughout this entire period of close to 2 months, the only moment of vulnerability when Sunny expressed his fears and cried, was when we were waiting to be taken into the OT. As we were waiting outside, we were told that one family member could escort Sunny to within the OT, and I went along with him holding his right hand with my left.

Pals playing "Mustache Mafiosi"
with Sunny (middle)

It has been more than half a decade since then. Even now family members reminisce about the strength and inner courage that Sunny showed when others around him were sobbing openly. It is a source of secret pride for me that my brother, all of 16 years then and with his whole young life ahead of him, never subjected himself and others to frustration and fear. I know all too well, the helplessness that sometimes creeps in and the all-too-normal reaction of bitterness and proclivity to blame God and Man for the present misery.

Sunny is now a Masters student and imbued with a joie de vivre which is infectious. He is living upto his name now and I am sure, will for all days.

(The title has been adapted from a line in the film ‘Auntie Mame’ and for me, invokes the core of a person shining with radiance and a flinty character, both qualities synonymous with the diamond of which Tiffany's is a major designer.)

With eyes closed

It was just the day before i.e., 12^th July around 1 in the afternoon that my friend Kaushik (also read about him here), calls me and says that I have got to go somewhere with him. I ask, ‘Where?’ and he tells me this.

Tiny & Kaushik

Earlier in the day, post-breakfast, Kaushik hears the piteous meows of a cat outside the house and so, moving out to the verandah, sees a tiny kitten huddled out in the lane in front. Mixed with the kitty’s cries are the loud caws of a few crows. Kaushik sees the crows swooping down on the kitty and trying to peck it; the mother was nowhere to be seen. My friend goes out and retrieves the defenceless kitty and brings it home. The kitty was so tiny, almost like a mouse, with a mottled brown coat and shivering and crying continuously. It was so small – its eyes had not even opened and it could not have been more than 3 days old. Everything about this kitty was tiny; the legs, the tail, its ears and it could not even open its tiny mouth properly. Kaushik tried putting it in front of a saucer of milk but it could not feed itself.

Just over a couple of months earlier, Kaushik and his mom had taken care of a litter of abandoned stray kittens for a short period. The kitties were older and had been able to feed themselves with the food and water offered to them in plates and saucers. So Kaushik thought that handing over to an animal shelter where they would have better facilities for raising young animals, was a good idea. He searched online and found the details of 2 shelters operating in the city. He called the first number but it was of no use; the person on the phone stated that they looked only after dogs. He called up ‘People For Animals’ next and they said that they could help out if the kitty could be brought to their shelter. Kaushik noted down the address and then he called me.

It was pouring outside and another couple of hours later, we set out for the shelter. The first time I saw the kitty, I am amazed. I had never seen such a tiny kitten before. I pick it up gingerly; over its eyes are 2 small patches of pinkness, it feels almost weightless in my palm. Another hour later and we were there. The people at the shelter took the kitty, saying that it would have to be fed through a bottle, wrapped it in rags and put it inside a small empty carton.

It was then that I glanced around the place. PFA maintains this animal shelter through the donations and services of benevolent animal lovers and concerned citizens, and like-minded organisations. The facility is a shelter for abandoned, injured and rescued animals. It is a largish plot with a single-storey building in the middle, with a couple of shed attached at the back, possibly for storing feed. Just beside the entrance gate, there are a few pens, and one rickety structure which looks like a coop. A couple of covered cow-sheds with the ubiquitous feeding troughs in the middle completed the picture. The shelter was a regular menagerie and moving around, I told myself that this is what Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ would have looked like. 

Animal Farm

A few indolent dogs were stretched on the cool floor of the shelter and catching their forty winks in the manner that only dogs can pull off. 5 – 6 kittens were playing around, scurrying around corners, very inquisitive about our presence, rubbing themselves against us. One huge sheep was surveying us with the air of a very wary proprietor, attempting to size us up. This inquisition was not in the least, affected by his constant attempts to get at some old newspapers lying on a shelf and convert them into lunch. The other animals tied up or kept in enclosures were on the whole, lot less enthusiastic about goings-on.

There was a kitten much like the one that we had brought along except that it was older and therefore larger, and with a large discoloured and obviously recovering wound just above its right eye. One of the keepers picked up the kitty and showed us the marks left by 28 stitches on its belly, when it was hit by a vehicle on the road. We also saw a purebred puppy alone and shivering inside its cage. It was very small (maybe a month old) and its hair was coming off its skin and all the time that we were there, it was closely curled up in the foetal position. We were told that it was suffering from a nervous illness and could not move about without falling over; all its motor skills were affected. Its owner had probably decided that he had no use for such a puppy, and left it at the shelter.

The one which does not leave my mind was a very old dog with wrinkly brown skin, and very sad, liquid eyes. On closer inspection, we found that it was suffering from cataract in both eyes. When it walked, its side swayed and it moved very laboriously; nevertheless it came near me. I wanted to pet it but something about its appearance put me off. Its face had such a human emotion when it was looking at us that it unsettled me. Much later as we were coming back in the car, I realized what that emotion was. That look on the old dog’s face was that of resignation, and this epiphany was the saddest moment of my day.

I feel it deeply now that every once in a while, we should close in our senses and let the heart take over. All of life’s actions cannot be and should not be taken with eyes wide open.

(You can know more about People For Animals here . )

“Those whom the Gods love”

It is quite commonplace that the news of a person dying in infancy/ adolescence/ youth is usually accompanied by comments like, “Tsk tsk, but he/she was so young”, “its not fair”. Yet when it happens to someone with whom you shared some moments of life, fairness, age or any other consideration to “decide” who should die and when, are gone. You just feel….numb. I felt the same on 27th February, 2010 when I heard that Sayak was no more.

Sayak Sarkar was my MBA batch mate with whom I shared a room wall for 1 year (he lived in the hostel room next to mine in the 1st year and we lived in different hostel blocks in the 2nd year). He was strictly not a friend but just a batch mate

who shared the same curriculum, same professors, same assignments and the same bland canteen food as me. I was always mindful of what I considered was his overbearing and opinionated nature. But Sayak being the person that he is, I could not help being drawn into his plans for monthly incursions into CR Park for fish and debates about what is best for our batch’s placements.

You see, Sayak was one of those people you meet who had an enduring interest in social good (in this case, our batch), lengthy discussions and ……..food. Yes, he was a true food aficionado – the sort who cultivates an extensive interest in cuisines, especially all fish preparations and also not averse to trying out new dishes. He also possessed an indeterminate interest in advising people about how they should plan their life. Being unknowledgeable of how these bits of advice worked out, I was surprised that some other batch mates did actually consult him for help. It is a measure of how meticulous he was regarding his own life too; he still is the only person I have met who plans his vacation in Microsoft Excel with columns for “Day”, “Activities to undertake”, “Time Allotted”, etc. I was dismissive of these traits and of the person too, at that time.

Yet when I heard that he died on a highway inside the gnarled remains of a car, I felt sadness in the most profound sense. Although we lived and worked in the same city for one odd year, I had met him only twice. Alongwith his family, other batch mates, his colleagues, I too went to a police station in a town in Maharashtra whose name I cannot remember now, retrieved Sayak’s body from the local morgue and went to Pune to cremate his mortal remains.

Afterwards, I found myself thinking of him and googling his name many times and visiting the links that came out. Being indifferent to him when he was alive, I was now reduced to trawling through the net to acquaint myself with the digital vestiges of all that is Sayak’s. And I found unexpected stuff; my MBA batchmates are not the only people who benefited from Sayak’s advice, his Orkut account has loads of scraps from old friends to this effect. He had been quite active in platforms which discussed European club football and online games; I saw so many snaps which he had uploaded in social sites, snaps of his friends, of the places that he had visited, of his good memories. Before February happened, it seems he had real plans to go to South Africa for the FIFA World Cup 2010, being the avid fan that he was of the game.

I can only be sorry now that I had closed my mind towards Sayak in an effort to safeguard myself. So, I pray now for his peace.

(Sayak died in a road accident on 26th February 2010 around 9 am. He was driving with some friends on a trip to Goa. They had hardly started out when it happened just an hour’s drive away from Sayak’s place in Navi Mumbai. There were 2 casualties; Sayak who was driving and his friend who was in the co-driver’s seat.)

As strong as a dove.

This post is a new beginning in many ways; so here goes.

It was no accident that one-third of the ancient world lived and died under the gaze of the eagle-headed vexillum of the Roman empire. It was only natural that the conquering Romans chose to embark upon their expeditions with their eagle emblem in tow because then as is now, the bird is an enduring symbol of power, grace and resolute determination to rule the skies. Lions, tigers, crocodiles, elephants et al even the humble bovine have found their way onto family crests, national emblems, decorative tapestries and even into scrawly drawings that small children choose to embellish their books with.

This fascination with adorning collective insignia and even personal possessions with the images of animals stems from the fact that they seem to represent certain ideals that we aspire to. It is perhaps important that when it comes to aspiring, we should observe and learn from both the predator as well as the hunted, from the eagle as well as the dove.

This is a short tale of a dove which started one wintry evening when my friend Kaushik, on returning from work was informed by his mother that an injured dove had been rescued by is father. It was raining outside and this bird had sought shelter under their car where it was seen and brought inside. On inspection, the dove was found to have a broken wing and bleeding from a few bruises. It looked like it had been attacked. Kaushik warmed the wet bird by a fire, applied some lotion which his doctor father provided, and kept it in their store room. All the while, the dove lay unmoving.

Kaushik tells me now, “I thought then that the bird would not live cos it was so still and if it was not an adult, it would find it very difficult to survive that evening’s ordeal.” The next morning when it was provided with broken rice and water, it started pecking at the grain. This showed that the dove was indeed an adult bird cos otherwise, it would have had a hard time tackling the (comparatively) big grains. The next 3 days, the dove contentedly partook of the grain and water. Everyday Kaushik would apply lotion to its broken wing twice – once before leaving for work and then again, after he returned. This whole time though, the dove would stay put at one place and not shift its roosting place inside the store.

On the 4th day, when Kaushik went to inspect the dove in the evening, he found a broken egg beside it. The dove was evidently a female, and been roosting in that one spot cos its egg was about to hatch, and now that new life inside her was gone.

On the 5th day, when Kaushik came home in the evening, his mother told him that another dove had stationed itself just outside the store room by the window sill and been cooing for quite a while. When he went inside the store, he saw the dove fluttering its wings and trying unsuccessfully to take flight. It had recovered sufficiently to leap and tap the windows with its body.

For the next 2 days, the other dove which was obviously the mate, kept on coming outside the window in the mornings and take up its cooing. The one inside cooed back. During this time, the female dove inside had regained its strength and was flying erratically round and round inside the store, leaping onto the windows and ventilators but there was no way out.

Finally on the 7th day since they had rescued the dove, Kaushik decided to let the dove take its chances. Early morning, the male dove had taken up its customary position outside and Kaushik held the female and took it up to their terrace. The male on seeing his mate, immediately flew up to the terrace of their neighbour’s house. My friend wanted to release the dove in the presence of its mate believing the sight of him would enthuse it to push its newly-healed body further and fly.

He placed the dove on the terrace and moved away. Seeing this, the male came onto the very edge of the neighbour’s terrace and then 2 things happened very quickly. The male flew directly overhead and the female took off in its mate’s wake. Together they flew away to another nearby terrace, stood there for sometime looking in my friend’s direction. Then the pair took flight together and left.

My friend tells me, “When that pair flew, my heart spouted wings alongside – I felt so happy and blessed.”

All it took was 1 man, 7 days and 2 doves. Devotion, resilience, attachment – they mean broader things to my friend and me now.