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]

In Deep Waters no longer Still....

The recent spate of floods in the state has affected man and animal alike, uprooting them from their homes and rendering them shelter-less. A tenuous struggle for survival and escape from the rising waters has taken a toll on lives - both human and animal. This is just a collection of pictures of the flood-laden landscape of animals and accompanying little vignettes.

Take a close look at the picture above of villagers gathered around their precious few possessions in a country boat as they paddle to higher ground. The bottom right corner of the pic shows a man perched upon what looks like a little mound, and something resembling maybe a tree stump in front of him. A closer observation reveals that the stump is actually the tip of the trunk of an elephant thrust upwards by the pachyderm to breathe in air, and the man is the elephant’s mahout clinging on precariously to the great beast’s back. The Asiatic Elephant is on an average, 9 feet tall at the shoulder; so the ground must be submerged under atleast 9 feet water.

Deer like the ones shown here sheltering on an embankment, are particularly at threat in the present situation. Deer in the wildlife parks of the state are being compelled to escape from their protected environs. Reports suggest that a large number of deer have entered villages at the fringes of such parks, where some have been bitten by dogs while many others have been injured after getting entangled in fences surrounding people’s homes. A great many number of deer, being the naturally jumpy, nervy animal that it is, have been struck down by speeding vehicles on highways. Added to all these, poachers are having a field day killing large numbers of deer which have ventured out. Venison is highly regarded as a local delicacy and with the deer forced closer to human habitations, they have become exposed. However, while at one end, there are wantonly careless drivers who are mowing down hapless animals and opportunistic poachers killing the animal for their meat, due recognition has to be accorded to the efforts of wildlife guards and conservationists who have rescued and saved stricken animals – deer, rhino and elephant calves, primates. I saw a news footage of a herd of deer that had taken refuge at a football ground besides some cows contentedly munching grass, alongside a group of village kids playing ball nonchalantly in the background.

The rhino featured in the pic here stopped traffic in the busy national highway (NH 37) for almost half a day when it strayed out of Kaziranga park, searching for shelter on the highway. Forest guards fired blank rounds in the air in a bid to chase the rhino away into the adjoining hills. Even as the guards’ efforts proved futile, the busy traffic on the highway slowly and gingerly weaved its way forward under the watchful eyes of the foresters, with the rhino being at times, hardly more than 20 feet away from some of the vehicles. The rhino took its own sweet time however, in moving away from the scene after some hours.

In the midst of all these – nature’s fury, tireless efforts by wildlife personnel and the grimy acts of unscrupulous poachers – I hope and pray that animal (and man) emerge from the present ordeal triumphantly stronger and hopeful.

Nippon steel in the family

The Second World War (1939 to 1945), the most “widespread war in history” affected hundreds of millions of people worldwide; it has affected me too, albeit in a small way. My grandfather (‘aata’) who was trained as a surgeon, was involved in WW II. He was a part of the British Indian Army Medical Corps, and had actively served in the war in Burma (now Myanmar), where the allies first stemmed, and then pushed back the Japanese juggernaut that was threatening the entire continent. Aata probably served in those frenetic battle-field medical stations just behind the front lines, where the freshly wounded would be immediately brought in and being a surgeon, he must have been involved in some pretty hairy situations. Anyway, aata was with the allied troops when they marched into Rangoon (erstwhile capital of Burma, now Yangon), recapturing it from the Japanese army.

My beloved Aata

When the war ended, aata was honourably discharged from the army. He returned home, now an Army Captain and bringing a very special object, a ‘spoil of war’ if you will. Aata was just a doctor, mind you; he was no warrior but when he came back from the war, he carried with him a warrior’s weapon – a Japanese samurai sword, a “katana”. 

The Imperial Japanese Army required all its officers to wear the sword and as a symbol of aggression, it must have been very effective. The unsheathed katana and the accompanying cry of “Banzai!” have remained enduring images of the belligerent Japanese army in WW II. The story behind the katana in our family is simple enough – aata prised loose the sword from the cold grasp of a dead Japanese officer lying in a paddy field. Steel from Nippon was widely regarded then as is now, as being the very best of fighting steel and the samurai sword which the Japanese Emperor Hirohito mandated all his officers to carry, was very sought-after by the Allied troops.

It was I guess in the early 1990s, that I saw our katana. My father drew out the sword from its maroon-coloured scabbard very carefully. It looked distinguished even after all the years; it was very slender and had a continuous curved blade. My father began telling me about the sharpness of the blade; the katana was quickly put to the test, first on a hapless water gourd and then again, on a few, fat potatoes. It ran through the veggies like a knife goes through butter. The veggies decimated, my father sheathed it back and I can still remember how pleased I was with the entire demonstration. The katana was not mounted or exhibited in the house; the reason for that I feel now, was cos of its history as a weapon of war. Instead it was kept high up (remember I was small then) on top of a wooden bureau, carefully rolled up inside a piece of large cloth.

For a few years, the katana was the companion of Nitul dada (the son of my father’s elder brother). In his teens, dada used to sleep with the katana under his bed, I suppose as a weapon against burglars. I can understand how as a boy, dada must have been fascinated with the katana. To my anguish, I was too small then to wield it. The katana is a single-edged sword; its razor-sharp cutting edge is a meticulous blend of unique Japanese steel called ‘tamahagane’. It must have been to protect dada from any accidents that the razor-sharp edge of the katana was blunted by repeated hammerings but it was sharp nevertheless, as the veggie exercise showed.

Shortly afterwards, aata and 'ai' (my grandmother) died, my parents and I moved out from our ancestral home and the memory of the katana faded. It was almost a year back while on a visit to our old home that I remembered the katana and I asked Nitul dada (now a 40-something father of 2 daughters) where the sword was. Dada did not know. I guess we have lost that little, history-laden bit of Nippon steel. Or is it even now, lurking in a long-forgotten corner of the house waiting to be taken out of its scabbard to be shown to a new generation?

The Mushroom as an Essential Ingredient of Magic!

It has been raining here quite a bit now and the ground has been sprouting all sorts of greens. Yesterday I saw a mushroom – entirely white in colour and as cute as a button. I plucked it to show my mother. When she saw it, she exclaimed, ’Bang-shaati’. I must explain here that in Assamese, the mushroom is called ‘bang-shaati’ or ‘bang- shota’, the word itself being a conjoint of ‘bang’ meaning ‘frog/toad’ and ‘shaati/shota’ meaning an ‘umbrella’. Therefore, the Assamese word for mushroom - ‘bang-shaati’ – literally means the umbrella of a frog. I tried to imagine a frog sheltering from the rain under the classic umbrella-like top of a mushroom, and surprisingly, that image came to my mind quite easily. As a kid, I remember how I used to collect mushrooms and play with them.

It is fun when you can recall buried-down remembrances from back when one is a kid; somehow the discovery of the tiny, delightful thoughts of a child who was you once, appeal instantly to the adult you are now. I discovered upon subsequent research that I was certainly not the only one who had fantasies about that cap-and-stem form. Tales involving the mushroom are rooted in myriad cultures and folktales.

The mushroom is sometimes called the toadstool – another reference to how the merry frog and the staid mushroom form an instant alliance, atleast in the mind. In German folklore and old fairy tales, toads are often depicted sitting on mushrooms and catching, with their tongues, the flies that are said to be drawn to that fleshy fungi. And surprisingly, it was just as easy for me to imagine a solemn frog planting its small behind on a mushroom to catch a breather, and catch some flies as well!

As I was searching for more tales, a long-forgotten wisp of an idea from childhood materialized suddenly. When I was a kid, I used to think that the mushroom was some kind of a house; of course, being small, it made logical sense to my kiddie mind that the people living in them must be tiny too!  And to my secret delight, I discovered that again I was not the only one who had the ‘mushroom-house’ idea. The mushroom has been frequently depicted in fairy tales as being an essential part of the gnomes’ identity. Gnomes wheel them around (I don’t know why!), live in them, use them as convenient props and otherwise, make a great fuss about this wonder of the fungi world. In the film ‘The Smurfs’ (2011), the legendary elf-like smurfs are shown living in their own wonder village with a clear, flowing stream and a charming wooden bridge over it, wild lavender blooming all around… and of course, houses made out of mushrooms with colourful yellow, red, orange tops! Other mythical creatures like fairies also conveniently rest under and perch upon wild mushrooms, when they are I guess, tired from all the fluttering around.

Thank God for mushrooms, frogs, gnomes, fairies and ....for imagination!

If a rhino could goose step

What would the unicorn be without its distinctive pointed horn? Probably just a horse or maybe, even a pony. Just as that large, spiraling horn gives the mythical unicorn its entire identity of invulnerability, purity and grace, so do the other individual oddities and bits in the animal kingdom lend their own touch of distinction and class to their holders. Just think – would anyone recognise a tiger if not for its singular black-and-yellow stripes, will kids ever draw pictures of elephants without their massive trunks; can you imagine a rattlesnake without the customary tchik-tchik of the rattle at the end of its tail? The answer to all these is ‘no’.

So imagine my surprise when I went to the city zoo last month and saw a horn-less rhino contentedly munching grass in its enclosure. It was a massive African White Rhino (the largest of all the rhinos) which naturally has not one, but two horns on its snout. The specimen I saw in the zoo however, was without its two traditional accessories. At first sight, I felt a strangeness cos it was the first rhino I’d seen without a horn. I experienced a funny feeling and later, I felt a bit sad too. Governments in Africa where the White Rhino is found, have undertaken de-horning of their rhino population in some measure in a bid to prevent them from being poached for their horns. Of course the humaneness of such an exercise is under scrutiny - to what extent, you may tamper with nature to protect it from man’s greed? Further, the rhino’s horn regenerates (the horn is solid keratin, the same stuff our hair and nails are made of) and so, de-horning does not serve as a lifelong safeguard.

To come back to our zoo rhino, I was so taken in by its strangeness that I ventured close to get a better look. The rhino must have already been de-horned when it was brought to our city zoo cos I don’t imagine such a procedure being undertaken here. There was a five-feet sturdy parapet all around the enclosure but I found a high mound of soil alongside where I could look down on the rhino. A few other people had also gathered around that spot. There was a man who lifted up his son on his shoulder so that he too, could get a closer view of the rhino. The kid asked, “Father, what is that?” His father replied, “Why son, that’s a rhino.” The kid was puzzled, “But where is its horn?” The father had no answer. As I climbed down from the mound, I honestly wished the rhino’s horns would grow back soon and it would reclaim its proud majesty.

A rhino’s horn grows back in typically, two to three years.

Quests Road-ful (& Hope-ful!)

Whether the 'the road' as a theme in cinema, qualifies as a genre or exists just as a story-telling frame is not clear. Cinema has found an expression in the road type of films – often-at-times a lone voice stained with wistfulness, fuelled by an idea but also at times, propelled by nothing more than an urge to keep on moving. The road movie places its characters on a moving plane, away from home and known quantities and into a journey which then, becomes the central theme of the story. The road movie also frequently explores other enduring motifs of man – the (often unexplainable) quest, the bringing together of unlikely characters, the visitations of loneliness and reflections, discovery of the self.   The road becomes a metaphor for a lot of realities – disenchantment, jettisoning of old ideologies, attainment of love/ fame/ other definite goals, or simply an escape from set patterns. Very often, the intent of such a journey becomes subservient to the realities of the road – a sort of in-between place where one has neither the comforting notion of a home left behind nor the aspirational idea of a final destination lying ahead. 

There have been stellar road films through the ages. Capra’s ‘It Happened One Night’ and Ford’s ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ are two obvious gems from the classical period; Wender’s ‘Paris, Texas’ and Lynch’s ‘The Straight Story’ are other stark gems where the road or rather, ‘that idea of a journey ‘ exists almost as a separate character in the story, full of a dramatic and visual beauty which might be quite epic.

N.B. Among the recent crop, 1 film which captivated me is ‘Against The Current’ (2009) where it is the Hudson River in New York State that does duty as the road. As 3 friends wind their way down the Hudson river to New York city with the lyrical and steady movement of the water as a constant companion, the film offers an even, hard look into the characters and their lives. The film also showcases the natural beauty of the Hudson Valley (called ‘America’s Rhine’ as a tribute to one of Europe’s most beautiful geographical regions), alongwith sweeping shots of ships using the waterways and the railroads by the riverside and over the Hudson. ATC is a languid and deep portrayal, much like the river Hudson itself. A great ‘Quest Road-ful’ movie!

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.