A Wayward Self-expression

How many times have you heard individuals proclaiming proudly, “I believe in saying stuff straight in people’s face, not behind their backs. If I don’t like something which a person has said or done, I speak plainly in front of him.”? The obvious subliminal message behind such a statement is a supposed ‘clean conscience’ on the part of the speaker which evidently translates into outspokenness and a lack of deceitfulness. Beyond the obvious utility of such a self-advertised quality (I suppose, an honest chap would much rather let his actions do the talking and not resort to statements, the truth of which will only be borne out at a later time, but then, I have been wrong before), I ponder over this – just how important is it for us to let others know that we dislike their actions/ words?

A couple of days ago I made a new friendship. A very close friend introduced us; one of the first things my new friend said by way of self-disclosure was the oft-repeated statement about ‘saying stuff upfront’. I was tempted to ask her a few questions at this point, but I stopped myself cos I felt that it might be the wrong time. The rest of that meeting floated by in that cloud of pleasantries and discussion of shared experiences and likes/ dislikes, which always envelops first conversations.

Later I reflected on this widely-regarded ‘positive’ trait where one voices one’s displeasures and feelings in such an in-your-face manner. I suppose that in the society where I and many of my friends have been brought up, there is indeed an argument for speaking one’s mind. You see, we come from a cloistered environment where the parents’ and the teachers’ word was considered beyond reproach. When a parent or a teacher or an elder wanted you to do something, you just did it…without questioning.

When I was in Class 8 in school, we had a visiting dignitary from the University of Leeds; he was a mathematician who had even been awarded some honour by the Queen for his work and on this particular trip, prior to visiting us, he had spoken at many other institutions in India and Assam. He addressed us in the school auditorium and today, I can remember only 1 thing which he said. He said that everywhere he went in India he was surprised by the total awe in which he was regarded and the air of eminence with which his words were treated by academicians and students alike. Back home in his classroom in Leeds, he confided that his classes were peppered with far more questions and doubts but here in India, whatever he said was accepted without enquiry. He further disclosed that as a mathematician, he was always programmed to ask ‘Why’ and ‘Why not’ and that this spirit of a quest is essential for anyone in science.

So, coming from a background where we suppressed our queries in home and in school/ college, we always consider ourselves as being too believing or too lenient with our doubts, wrt others. Subsequently in the work-place and in later relationships, we tend to over-compensate by being unnecessary sceptical and vocal. A scientific bent of mind, a spirit of enquiry and elocutionary skills that in childhood, are expected to find application in studies and acquiring knowledge; we belatedly introduce to our professional and personal lives in excessive amounts to compensate for the previous inactivity. I know that I have, sometimes unconsciously and oftentimes with intent but I have wondered later, about the utter efficacy of it all.

• Surely, we will not like everything that a close friend or fellow-employee says or does, but does it mean that we have to have to give voice to such disquiet all the time? Or are there times when we can hold down such a spirit of outspokenness in the face of a more matured judgement which might dawn later?
• In the interest of fairness - where we are so quick to discuss and highlight the follies of others which vex us, are we in the same spirit, also agreeable to just as spontaneously praise and uphold  others when they affect us positively?
• Finally, is self-expression only a reaction to others? Surely, expression of the self if it is to yield any worth, should overstep a horizon beyond ‘what you do’ and ‘how that makes me feel’?

I need a great amount of help to resolve these posers for myself. 

The Beguiling Charm of the Delightfully Fatuous

All of us are children once; so this piece does not seek to portray the child as a monster, but to lend colour to a side in him which is seldom understood, much less studied. Children till the time that they develop an irritably rasping adult-child voice and shoot up suddenly leaving them with big misshapen knobs for knees and a disposition decidedly veering towards the testy, are generally regarded as lovable cherubs. Babies and young children attract a kind of affection, wonder and indulgence which I suppose, we accord to God in some measure.

There is another side to children though – and it is not pretty. One of the iconic (and most violent) films in the Western genre, ‘The Wild Bunch’ opens with a powerful scene. An outlaw gang rides into town past a bunch of children gathered around, observing something with smiling faces and twinkling eyes. The camera shows a couple of hapless scorpions whom the children have evidently trapped and thrown right in the midst of a squirming colony of red ants. We see snatches of this torturous diversion for the kids; the kids are all smiles and subsequently all fun having extracted from this macabre exercise, the kids pile straw on top of the squirming ants and scorpions, and set the insects on fire. This sequence shown as a motif I suspect, of the patina of mindless violence which pervades the movie, is also revealing of how children sometimes seek and derive a pleasure from means which are to say the least, extremely cruel and evil-hearted.

As a child, I was often subdued, meek and quite dull-minded. I stumbled and stuttered my way around adults and kids my own age; I guess, people who knew me a child would have called me ‘colourless’. It was this dullness and absolute uneasiness with most of the stuff in that life I suppose, which gave rise to an extremely violent and perverse streak in me. I was filled with the most blood-thirsty ideas of how to divert my mind, and animals invariably, were the easy targets. Animals and I confess, some of the people around me too – typically the servants and their children. If I saw an insect, I would chase it around till I cornered it and squashed it; if there was any pretty trinket which my younger sister possessed, I couldn’t wait to forcibly snatch it from her and hide it, even break the thing sometimes. As I grew up and learnt to observe others, I saw so many other children who had that same violent, senseless streak – anything pretty belonging to someone  else had to be defaced, any kid younger had to be bullied and any creature small enough had to be terrorized. And kids, as the opening of ‘The Wild Bunch’ suggests, may be most brutal when they are in a mob.

Acclaimed British write Rumer Godden, who possessed such unique insights into people, particularly children says “….children can turn into monsters”. However, classifying children as either strictly belonging to the harmless, lovable stereotype or conforming to the violent and cruel mould, may be wrong and what is more significant, reeks of a mindset extremely opinionated and unlearned. How then should we view and treat children? I found the answer in one of Godden’s stories. (A child is a layer cake, just like an adult but oftentimes with a shining purity which is rarely found elsewhere.) The story is titiled ‘Lily and the Sparrows’; a group of children thoughtlessly kick around a tiny peke dog who was the only companion of a dowdy, lonely spinster, till the poor creature is reduced to a dead, bloody mess. One of the children’s father apologises to the elderly lady saying, “They didn’t mean it. They didn’t know what they was doing. You mustn’t think that. Not bad kids really.” Later the old lady, distraught and extremely grief-struck at the renewed solitariness of her grey life, prays before God saying, “Father, forgive them for they don’t know what they do.”

In the sensitive, understanding words of the child’s father and in the old lady’s sympathetic prayer beseeching forgiveness, I curiously find redemption for the heartless antics of children and for the angry kid that was me so long ago.

[CPq has explored the theme of playful cruelty among children earlier in this piece about boys and house lizards]

‘Yogi-c’ Bear!

I had the opportunity last week to go to the city zoo. The Guwahati zoo is to say the least, quite large and juxtaposed against the heaving concrete mass of the city just outside its walls, acts as an oasis of green resplendence. I have seen pictures of zoos worldwide, especially in Europe and America where the facilities are immaculately designed and maintained, lawns are manicured, and the zoo enclosures are extremely animal- and viewer-friendly. I remember seeing a programme about a rhino in some zoo in America where the animal was barricaded within metal rods so designed to almost look and feel like bamboo stalks, while at the same time, being strong enough to restrain. It was an African White Rhino and his enclosure was spotlessly clean; even some of the foliage on a trellis beside his enclosure was amazingly life-like but artificial. The animal looked quite happy too. It is with some sense of regret mixed in part with no small measure of pride, that I say that our city zoo is unlike the other zoos I had just talked about. You see, the Guwahati zoo itself rests within a reserve forest which means that for a large part of your trekking within the premises, you do feel as if you are in a forest and not a man-made facility. The topography of the zoo is also quite unique; the terrain is undulating fringed by small hillocks on the northern side, ringed by bamboo thickets in places. The zoo also has natural water-bodies though I confess that they may definitely be better looked-after. The terrain slopes down from north to south with the lower southern side (the part untouched that is) somewhat marshy, where some of the water-loving animals are kept. As we entered through the shining new gate of the zoo, we were greeted by the loud (almost vulgar-sounding) hoo-hoos of the Hollock Gibbons, and therefrom started a magical 6 hours. I present before you here, the story of one particularly sage Himalayan Black Bear who blessed us with an unique visitation that hot sunny day. He sat on his haunches with all the utmost seriousness of a person contemplating the more subtle stuff in life; he looked so much like the ‘Laughing Buddha’ figurines sold and bought these days that it was decidedly uncanny. Lets call him ‘Yogi’.

About Love: Wille zum Leben or as Schopenhauer may say, “It’s 100% Natural!”

The next time you see Handsome Bob and Plain Jane holding hands and evidently in love, slowly recall the name of Arthur Schopenhauer before you inevitably silently mutter in surprise, “Why her?”. The logical next question is, ‘Who is Arthur Schopenhauer?’ He was one brainy dude, a philosopher actually, and rather a crusty one as history announces, but a thinker known for a perceptual clarity which has attracted and influenced many other thinkers.Now Schopenhauer or let’s call him Mr. S, says that when two people fall in love, the real purpose is…um, procreation and furtherance of the species.

Mr. S' work in ‘The World as Will and Representation’ proclaims that all human effort is designed towards furthering a will (or desires in common parlance), which tragically is destined to be unsatisfied. This discontentment later leads to pain and suffering. Here’s what Mr.S says about love.

• Mr. S calls love ‘wille zum leben’ or ‘will to live’. The romantic condition is by extension of this ‘will’, just as inevitable as feeling hungry or thirsty.
• Nature succeeds in pulling wool over lovers’ eyes by deceiving them into thinking that the love and companionship of their mates are essential for their lives’ happiness. When in fact as Mr. S says, it is not so…you’ll be unhappy with or without your loved one. Yes, love as Mr. S puts it, is nothing but Nature’s deception.
• Guys look for complementary physical features (mainly) like a sharp nose, nice eyebrows while girls typically look for ruggedness, strength and security. In other words, we search for the most ideal mate so that the offspring from such a union leads to a perfect specimen (imperfect love with perfect result, result here is a baby).
• Mr. S also has a comforting word for people who get dumped – your partner’s rejection is not necessarily a condemnation of you personally; it is just that he/ she has found a better mate who can produce a more perfect specimen. Gee, I don’t how rejected lovers are meant to construe this as comforting.
• Once the baby comes in, Nature’s agenda is fulfilled. The physical attraction now being thoroughly worn down, the two people formerly in love, are destined to spend an unhappy existence together or, just part ways.
• Since we look for complementary mates, short girls will fall in love with tall guys and yada-yada. Hence, the first question in this piece, ‘Why her?’

I feel a natural (that word again!) tendency to dismiss these basifications as hokum but I will not. Empirical evidence is just too strong for casually tossing out whatever Mr. S has to say. Further the interpretation of desires as the root of all disenchantment is a philosophy which has been expounded by far too many sources for it all to be just a single man’s ravings. There is a remarkable congruence between Mr. S’s words and the ascetic teachings of Hinduism and the core beliefs of Buddhism.

The remarkable thing about stuff in life is this – if you think long and deep enough, everything can be reduced to insipid, dull details. There is this wonderful moment in the film Local Hero (1983), when a knowledgeable scientific sort explains the phenomenon of the Aurora Borealis to a layman as ‘high energy protons spilling into the earth’s atmosphere..’ and the wonderstruck guy is just too amazed at the colourful display overheard. It is not important to the guy how the Aurora has been formed, perhaps what is important for him and for us too I guess, is just to be present there in that silvery moonlight when that display occurs. I feel the same way about love.

Looking beyond the colours!

Is animation a film genre or a film technique? In the mind of course, animations are films where the scenes are created by the artist’s hand or the computer.  As the slew of animations past and present amply prove, animated films do not have a fixed stable of settings, neither do they have a predominant mood nor do they follow fixed thematic patterns. Animations today harmoniously nests in a space where they borrow and develop upon elements quintessentially associated with other genres. So, we have a western-style ‘Rango’, a war-themed ‘Grave of the Fireflies’, a sci-fi ‘The Iron Giant’, a fantasy-filled ‘Spirited Away’, the political commentary ‘Persepolis’, a dramatic ‘Mary and Max’, and the list goes on and on.

Defining animated films as those meant for children entertainment is both marginal and erroneous. With major animated productions in recent years with epic settings and advanced technology (notably 3D), animations are no longer the realm of the kids or the kids-at-heart. From the ‘realistic animations’ of Hollywood to the anime toons of Japan to “claymation” techniques, animation films are entertaining and like so many have proved, make for great cinema.

A man's destiny that is truly wonderful

Moloy: The Forest Man

When I saw the animated short film ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ a year back, I liked the film for its minimalistic pastel-sketching look (so minimal that you can see the lines and curves forming the pictures) and needless to say, the profound idea, so simple in its conception yet utterly jaw-dropping for anyone who pauses to consider undertaking it. The man I praise now has I am sure, never seen this film or heard of its protagonist, Elzéard Bouffier but what he has done and is still doing, may be the subject of a film named ‘The Man Who Planted Trees - II’; only this film would not be fiction but the biography of a real-living person.

The film based upon a short story, is about Bouffier, a solitary shepherd who over the course of 40 years, plants trees of all kinds, and brings back prosperity and a reason for living to an entire tract of desolate region in the French Alps. The man I am basing this piece on, is a simple villager named Jadav Payeng, who over the course of almost 3 decades has brought back greenery and life to a barren stretch of land in Assam. Whereas the achievement ascribed to Bouffier was just fiction, what Payeng has achieved exists very much for anyone to see.

A particular geographical feature of the Brahmaputra Valley in Assam is the sandbar, a tract of land of river sand which gets created whenever the water level of the river goes down in winter. Short grasses grow in these barren, exposed bits of land till the time monsoon steps in again and the river reclaims what once belonged to him. Once in a while, the river may change its course slightly and leave behind sandbars which are not reclaimed. The hero of this piece, Payeng (affectionately called ‘Moloy’) singled out one such sandbar 3 decades back and started planting bamboo trees in the barren land. He planted the trees by himself on land which was not his (it belongs to the Forest Deptt.) using his hands and maybe, a shovel. He nurtured the tender plants (on land which as the authorities informed him, was barren and not suitable for growing anything except bamboo), and the first forest sprang up - a bamboo thicket.   

I suppose it was at this point (the first tentative success) that Moloy must have thought of having a full-fledged forest with different trees and animals in it as well. So, he extended the purview of his vision, planted seeds of different trees this time around, transported red ants into his forest (as someone informed him, red ants positively affect the acidic properties of the soil) getting stung by them, stood guard over the first saplings as they grew up, and his single-minded passion has now resulted in a man-made forest cover stretching over nearly a 1000 hectares which animals like elephants, tigers, deer, rhinos and others like snakes, different birds have made their home. His efforts have been recognised by the authorities who have started aiding him now, and what he has accomplished is slowly becoming known to people. The Chief Minister of Assam has bestowed Moloy with the well-earned moniker ‘The Forest Man’ and the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) has honoured him on this year’s 'Earth Day'.

It was in Feb this year that I got an opportunity to see a short programme where Moloy was being interviewed in the midst of his forest. I remember being stuck by a few points about this person and I shall attempt to present these here to drive home the enormity of what he had undertaken and achieved.

> Even as he started out, Moloy was very clear about his motivations. The idea always has been to bring greenery and life to a land where previously, there was nothing. The idea never was and still is not, to somehow benefit personally from this transformation. Moloy’s only income comes from a few cows which are looked after by his son and elder brother cos he himself is always working in the forest; I guess the wants of a man as simple as he is, are very few – so meagre that  even a few pints of milk from his cows suffice.

> To prevent poachers and tree-fellers, Moloy himself guards his forest. Armed with only a lantern and a stick, Moloy sleeps alone in the forest night. He says that even the animals of the forest take him as their own. On being asked by the interviewer about the danger of snakes, Moloy replied simply that they do him no harm; in fact, on many occasions, snakes slither over his body as he lies in the forest at night, never harming him.

> On more than a couple of occasions, Moloy had confronted gangs of tree-fellers who had come into his forest at night. Himself armed with just a stick, he says that he had challenged the trespassers armed with axes, that they would have to kill him before they could harm his beloved trees. They had backed down in the face of such dauntlessness.

> Towards the end of the interview, the interviewer asked Moloy as to who would defend the forest once he was gone. Moloy’s reply was deceptively child-like; he said,” This forest I have planted belongs to the people of the world. The oxygen that the forest releases is being breathed in by the people of the world. This forest and its inhabitants will be cherished and looked after by the people after I am gone.”

Huh?! Hearing this response, I thought to myself, “How little this person knows – he believes that his little forest in a former sandbank in Assam benefits entire humanity.” Then I realized my folly. Somehow the thinking of this (almost) illiterate goes beyond just ‘me’ and ‘mine’ and he is able to preoccupy himself with the good of all mankind! It was my thinking which I found regressive and self-occupied.

All along in this piece, I have referred to the forest as ‘Moloy’s forest’ (which is what the local people call it interestingly), though a forest can hardly be created by man alone, and the ownership of such a forest of course, is never man’s prerogative. But somehow I feel as do the locals, that it is only right.

I have adapted the title for this piece from a line in the story ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ and the short clip from the film towards the end where narrator lauds the efforts of Bouffier, provides the context.

Different Folks, Similar Strokes

A visible part of Christmas celebrations worldwide is the singing of Christmas carols - a tradition involving a group of singers going from door-to-door and regaling the residents with carols (like the famous ‘Joy to the World’). Carols may also be sung by larger, more professional groups formed from church choirs. Though carol singing is an art and as art goes, different groups bring their own variety into their songs but there is one detail which is seemingly common. The objective of all carol singing is to spread joy and merriment among the listeners, and sing praises of the Lord and invoke His blessings upon all.

We have something like the Christmas carols much closer to home in the form of Bihu Husoris. Bihu (the spring festival of Assam) is celebrated with its own set of traditions and comes accompanied by a lot of singing and dancing. One of the Bihu customs is the husori.

Here’s how Christmas carols and Bihu husoris bridge the divide and become similar. Every spring young people form their own bands (which traditionally comprised only male members) to sing and dance to the tune of a category of Bihu songs called ‘husoris’. Two enduring motifs of all ‘Husori geets’ (husori songs) are God and Nature. Carols too, are about the same spirit of spreading happiness and warmth, and praying to the Lord.

Just like the Christmas and caroling groups, these bands (called ‘Husori dols’) are an integral part of the spring festival. The husori dol congregates first at the local prayer-house (naam-ghar) or the house of the village headman (gaonburha) or under a big tree (traditionally believed to house the spirit of Nature). Thereafter, they would go about their business of spreading benediction and good cheer. The husori dol would announce their arrival to the people of the house with energetic bursts of drumbeats from outside the gate (podulimukh). The house-owner would venture out to the gate and cordially invite the dol into the front-yard and bid them welcome. The first words of the husori would traditionally sing the praise of the Lord. A husori dol uses few instruments – typically a drum (dhul) and a kind of trumpet (pepa). The dol would sing and dance and before leaving the house, all assembled – the dol and the household – would prostrate on the ground and pray to the Lord asking for His protection, and praying for good health and contentment of the people of the house. The house-owner typically offers betel nuts, a few leaves of paan, maybe a good piece of home-spun cloth and sometimes, a few coins. 

This husori custom typically exists in villages resigning urbanites like myself to be content only with the images on TV and in newspapers. This year though, I have my own Husori tale. A couple of us friends ventured out on 14^th April (the traditional 1^st day of Spring) and leaving the city behind, we took a trip to a resort. As we turned off the highway and onto a lane, we saw a bunch of kids in the middle of the road. These kids turned out to be amateur husori dols waiting for passing-by vehicles – boys in dhotis with crisp clean gamosas (a piece of cotton cloth with red and intricately patterned woven motifs) wrapped around their heads, and young girls dressed in mekhela chadors (silk sarees) and adorned with traditional Assamese jewellery items. The youngest boy was almost as tall as his dhul! 

We stopped and the kids in the dol started their husori; the boys began beating their drums, the girls started singing and swaying to the beats. I must confess that the singing was slightly off-key and the dancing was mediocre, but they were kids after all and I wasn't complaining. The tall-as-his-dhul boy was beating his drum for all it was worth, and the simple, easy grace with which those kids performed was simply heart-warming. Obviously the husori was being conducted very amateurishly and for money but I could not help being taken in by the beauty of the moment. I fished out a few notes and started distributing among the kids. It was then that my friend pointed further along down the road. I followed the outstretched finger and saw not one, not two but five other husori dols patiently waiting for us further ahead! The kids of the first dol happy now with their collection, bade us onward with that now-universal greeting – ‘Happy Bihu!’ We made ritual stops for all the dols; all kids and very young at that. It was obvious that the girls had borrowed their mothers’ and elder sisters’ dresses; the mekhelas were all in sizes many times big and held together with safety pins, and the little girls had difficulty moving around in their heavy dresses. I suppose it was easier for the boys – all they had to figure out was the intricacy of dancing and staying inside their dhotis at the same time! I ran out of small change, my friend ran out of patience but eventually, we negotiated past all the dols, with raucous shouts of cheer or disappointment (depending on their collection) from the kids. As we moved on ahead towards the resort, I looked back and saw another car turning into the road, and all the kids preparing their song-and-dance routine for the new visitors. I felt glad that we had made that trip and wished myself silently – ‘Happy Bihu’!